Niamph never liked places like this—loud, vibrant, and suffocating. She would have much rather spent her evening at the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour, the one she had read so much about and longed to visit. It was even on her bucket list.

She cringed as her eyes scanned the crowd—people smoking and drinking like reckless junkies. So what if they were some the so called high society by elites? Their wealth could’ve been spent feeding the innocent or funding a charity, not wasted on hedonism.

Her eyes widened in shock when she saw a couple shamelessly making out in the middle of the room, oblivious to the people around them. Everything in her wanted to run away.

But she couldn’t leave Cara behind. No matter how mean or ruthless Cara is with her, she is still a girl. And this place… this place is  filled with strangers.

Niamph pushed her way through the crowd, the blaring music making her head throb. Her eyes searched desperately for Cara, but there was no sign of her. Panic slowly crept in—people around her seemed completely out of their senses, lost in flashing lights and alcohol-fueled laughter.

She spotted a staircase and quickly climbed to the second floor, hoping Cara had gone there. But this level felt… different. Darker. The walls were lined with strange, indecent paintings, and one word stood out in bold, red letters: BDSM.

Niamph frowned, tilting her head. What does that even mean? Probably something related to a different kind of community, she reasoned.

She leaned over the railing, scanning the floor below in hopes of spotting Cara, but her thoughts were cut off when she bumped into someone.

“I’m sorry—” she began, then froze.

The girl standing before her was wearing almost nothing—just a delicate, black lace that barely covered her. Niamph’s eyes widened in horror. Is she… poor? A wave of pity washed over her. It must be so tough working like this...

The girl, a waitress holding a tray of colorful shots, gave Niamph a slow once-over and smirked.

“People aren’t always what they seem like ,” she mumbled to herself, “Enjoy.” she said with  a sultry pitch of tone.

She winked and walked away, hips swaying with practice ease.

Niamph stood there, confused. The girl’s words echoed in her mind, but the meaning escaped her. She sighed softly, convinced the girl must be distressed—her tough life must have affected her mind.

Making a quick cross sign over herself, she whispered, “Protect the poor girl, Lord.”

She spotted a half open door at the end of the hallway. Drawn by curiosity and worry she walks towards the door.

But the moment she stepped inside, she froze—then staggered back a step, her eyes wide with horror.

The air was thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and perfume. A naked woman twisted sensually around a chrome pole in the center of the room, her movements slow and practiced as a group of wealthy-looking men cheered and threw money at her. In the corner, things were even worse—two men were taking a girl at once, fucking her without shame as she moaned loudly, a disturbing smile stretched across her face as if she were enjoying being used.

Niamph’s breath hitched. She slapped a hand over her mouth as bile rose up her throat. Her body trembled in disbelief.

Dear God... what is this place?

She turned and ran, almost tripping over her own feet. Her chest was tight, and her heart pounded like a war drum. She didn’t stop until she reached the rooftop, where she collapsed against the railing, gasping for air.

Tears welled in her eyes. She felt sick. Shaken. Lost.

She had never seen anything like this—never even imagined people could act like animals in public, with no shame, no conscience. It was like stepping into Hell.

Clutching the railing, she whispered in a shaky voice, “Protect them, Lord... they don’t even know they’re lost.”

Niamph gripped the cold railing, her chest still heaving. She closed her eyes tightly and began to whisper verses from the Bible under her breath, trying to calm the storm inside her. Her heart pounded, and her breaths were uneven, but little by little, peace began to settle over her.

When she finally opened her eyes, she took in her surroundings. The rooftop was strangely quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos below. Everything was immaculately arranged—plush chairs, potted plants, even a bar setup in the corner. It looked less like an escape and more like a reserved space, meant for someone important.

She turned slowly, scanning the area. No one was in sight—until her gaze landed at the far end of the rooftop. Her breath hitched.

A man was standing on the edge of the railing, tall and terrifyingly still. His arms were relaxed at his sides, his dark coat fluttering gently with the breeze, and yet—his feet didn’t even tremble.

Oh God. Is he going to…?

Panic surged in her chest.

“Hey!” she shouted, voice breaking slightly. “What are you—what are you doing?!”

The man tilted his head, his body eerily calm. His broad shoulders shifted as he straightened, then slowly turned to face her.

He was striking—tall, powerful, with cold, narrowed eyes that studied her like she was an unexpected interruption.

Niamph’s nose flared, her brows furrowed in disappointment. “Are you really that weak?” she snapped. “You’re just going to end your life like that?”

The man’s jaw clenched. His gaze sharpened, as if insulted. He stepped down from the railing with slow, deliberate grace and began to walk toward her. His eyes trailed over her, taking her in—her modest dress, her flushed cheeks, her innocence worn like a halo.

“Stop running your dumb little brain,” he said flatly, his voice deep and cold.

Niamph’s eyes widened at his words, utterly stunned. “Excuse me? I just saved you, and this is how you talk to me? You’re unbelievably ungrateful!”

He stopped a few feet away, towering over her. His presence was intense—dangerous, almost predatory. But Niamph didn’t flinch. She looked up at him steadily, hands clenched at her sides.

She wasn’t afraid. She had been taught never to judge someone by their appearance, and she believed in it. Even if he looked like a sinner straight out of Hell, her faith in her lord didn't let her get afraid of his creation.

Mikhail clenched his jaw, the muscle ticking as his eyes darkened.

“Do you even know who you’re talking to?” he asked, voice low and sharp like a blade.

Niamph folded her arms over her chest, standing her ground.

“Yes. I’m talking to a human being,” she replied calmly. “And that’s enough. Ending your own life cuts your connection with the Lord forever—it’s a grave sin. You should never do that.”

Mikhail exhaled sharply and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly irritated.

“I wasn’t dying,” he said, voice laced with annoyance.

Niamph blinked, caught off guard. A flush of embarrassment crept up her neck.

“Oh...” she muttered, then quickly tried to recover her composure. “Then—then why were you standing on the edge like that?”

Mikhail didn’t respond. He simply stared at her, his gaze is stoic—cold, yet oddly intrigued.

The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken thoughts. Niamph shifted slightly under his intense gaze but didn’t look away.

He tilted his head, as if studying her. “You always assume the worst of people?” he asked, almost mocking.

“No,” she replied softly, “I assume the best. That’s why I tried to stop you.”

Mikhail’s eyes narrowed a fraction, and for a moment, the edge of his lips twitched—as if her words had amused him.

Mikhail pulled out a cigar from the inside of his coat, placed it between his lips, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. The flame briefly illuminated his chiseled features before he turned away from her, walking back to the railing in silence.

Niamph wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell of smoke—but she quickly masked her disgust. It’s not polite to judge, she reminded herself, even though the thick scent made her eyes sting.

She hesitated, then followed him slowly until they stood side by side at the edge. The city below sparkled like a sea of stars, alive and glittering in the night.

Mikhail exhaled a stream of smoke, eyes locked on the skyline as if it held answers only he could read.

Niamph’s gaze drifted to his hand—and then she froze.

Etched into the skin just below his thumb was a tattoo: the unmistakable triangle-and-eye symbol of the Illuminati. Her brow furrowed. Why would someone mark themselves with something so… dark? It was a known satanic symbol. She felt a chill crawl down her spine.

But she said nothing. Just stared at it quietly, heart twisting in confusion.

After a moment, she cleared her throat, her voice soft but laced with concern.

“Uhh—why were you standing on the railing earlier? You could’ve fallen.”

Mikhail didn’t look at her. He took another slow drag from his cigar before speaking, his voice low and unreadable.

“Because sometimes… it’s quieter up there.”

Niamph smiled softly at his response. Something about the way he said it—“quieter up there”—tugged at her heart. Maybe he didn’t enjoy this chaos either. Maybe, just like her, he longed for stillness in a world that never stopped screaming.

“I like serenity too,” she said gently. “You should try visiting a church sometime… when you feel lost. It helps. Clears the mind in ways nothing else can.”

Mikhail turned his head slightly, giving her a look that was hard to read—part confusion, part amusement. A church? Her suggestion sounded almost absurd to him. He had never stepped foot in a place that holy. Never felt the urge. Places like that… they weren’t built for men like him.

Not when the devil had long claimed his soul.

He stared at her then he really looked. The soft freckles scattered across her nose. The natural blush on her cheeks. Lips the color of ripe cherries. And those eyes—doe-like, wide, painfully innocent.

His muscles tensed, jaw locking tight. They were too similar. Too much like hers. Her.

He clenched his fist, the leather of his glove creaking under the pressure. His stomach turned—not in disgust at Niamph, but at himself. At the way he had fallen so low, so pathetic,

that he now saw her in the eyes of a stranger.

He tore his gaze away, face hardening, eyes narrowing on the horizon.

Niamph caught the shift in his expression, the way his entire demeanor turned cold. Her smile faded. Her heart dipped.

He must think I’m being foolish. Or annoying.

She looked down and folded her hands quietly in front of her, choosing to stay silent.

“Are you here for an evening walk?” Mikhail asked, his voice flat, eyes still fixed on the skyline.

Niamph glanced at her dress and understood. With so many around them flaunting bare skin like armor, her modest appearance probably stood out like a misplaced note in a loud song.

“No,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m with my sister.”

At that, Mikhail finally turned to face her. One look, and he knew—she didn’t belong here. Not in this kind of club. Not among the wolves.

“And where is your sister?” he asked, the word sister laced with a quiet skepticism.

“I... I don’t know,” Niamph admitted, her voice is softer now.

He stared at her for a long beat, saying nothing. He could already guess the truth—this "sister" had probably abandoned her in the middle of these wolves. Pathetic.

Still, he didn’t say it aloud.

Instead, he asked, “What’s your name?”

Niamph hesitated, eyes searching his face. He didn't touch her inappropriately. He didn't look at her like a pervert —like she was something to devour. So maybe... he isn't’t as bad as he looked

“Uhh... Niamph,” she finally replied.

Mikhail repeated it under his breath, as if testing how it tasted on his tongue. “Niamph.”

She tilted her head, voice almost playful. “What’s yours?”

Mikhail’s brow arched, amused. She really doesn’t know who I am.

But before he could answer, her phone buzzed. She flinched at the sudden noise and quickly answered it.

“I’m in the parking lot,” came the slurred reply. “Come fast. We’re leaving.”

The sound of drunken impatience was unmistakable. Niamph’s expression tightened with worry. Without another word, she stepped back.

“I—I have to go,” she said hurriedly, already turning toward the exit. She didn’t want to risk Cara leaving her behind again.

Mikhail watched her retreating form in silence, the ghost of her name still lingering in the air.

Niamph.

Mikhail exhaled a long drag of smoke, the glowing ember at the tip of his cigar flaring in the dim rooftop light. He stared at the spot where she had vanished, the soft click of the exit door still echoing faintly behind him.

She didn’t belong here.

And yet, somehow, for a brief moment, her presence felt... grounding.

Tonight was supposed to be a quiet retreat. A pause after a brutal negotiation with the Yakuza. They had arranged one of their usual post-deal indulgences—a BDSM-themed night in the club’s private chambers. Not that he is unfamiliar with those games. He have played darker ones. But tonight... he didn't felt like indulging. Not in whips. Not in submission. Not in the artificial touch of hired skin.

He had booked the rooftop instead. No interruptions. No pretenders. Just silence, smoke, and sky.

So when he heard footsteps nearing—light but definite—his jaw clenched with irritation. No one dared interrupt him during his time alone.

Unless it’s another desperate stripper, he thought bitterly. Or some idiot who doesn’t value their life.

He reached behind his coat, fingers wrapping around the cold metal of his gun. He didn’t want to kill tonight, but if someone was foolish enough to disturb him, he wouldn’t hesitate.

But then… a voice. Trembling. Soft. Pure.

“Hey… what are you doing?”

His hand froze mid-motion. The grip on the gun loosened.

He turned and saw----a kitten. She wore an unassuming dress—like she had wandered from a park bench straight into a den of sin.

The corner of his mouth twitching in dark amusement. She had no idea where she was or with whom she had been interacting.

“Interesting"

He whispered, almost to himself, as flashes of their earlier interaction replayed in his mind.

"Very interesting."

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Niamph held Cara tightly, steadying her stumbling form as they walked down the dimly lit hotel corridor. She could feel the weight of her sister leaning heavily against her, legs barely cooperating under the haze of alcohol. A few guests passed by, casting judgmental glances their way, but Niamph kept her eyes forward, ignoring them all. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen Cara drunk—but tonight, it was worse. The alcohol reeked off her breath, and her usually sharp words had melted into incoherent murmurs.

They reached Cara’s suite.

“Cara, where’s the key?” Niamph asked gently.

Cara lazily pointed to her clutch, muttering something under her breath. Niamph dug through it carefully, found the keycard, and unlocked the door. She guided Cara to the bed and helped her lie down, pulling a throw blanket over her without a word.

Stepping out quietly, she closed the door behind her with a soft click and finally allowed herself to breathe.

As she entered her own suite down the hall, she leaned against the door, letting out a long, tired sigh.

Too much had happened. Too fast.

Niamph unlocked her phone, the screen lighting up to reveal several missed calls from Aiofi. She hadn’t even gotten the chance to tell her best friend about her sudden trip. Guilt tugged at her chest as she quickly tapped to call her back.

Aiofi picked up on the second ring, her voice laced with worry.

“Niamph! Where have you vanished? I’ve been trying to reach you for two days!”

Niamph took a breath, then quietly explained everything—how Cara had found out, how she used it to blackmail her into coming here, and how Niamph hadn’t had a choice.

There was a moment of stunned silence before Aiofi snapped, voice sharp with fury.

“That bitch... How did she even find out?”

Niamph exhaled shakily, pressing her fingers to her temple.

“She… she followed me one day. I didn’t know. And she saw me dancing.”

Her voice trembled slightly at the end, the memory of her words still raw and bitter.

Aiofi’s tone instantly softened, concerning seeping through.

“Hey… hey, it’s okay. If that stepsister of yours even tries anything else, I swear, I’ll kill her.”

A faint smile tugged at Niamph’s lips despite the heaviness in her chest.

As the conversation lightened, Niamph asked about the cat sanctuary back in Ireland. Just hearing Aiofi’s voice talk about her little fur family brought a softness to her chest. Her eyes lit up when Aiofi said one of the cats had given birth to five kittens.

"Five?" Niamph’s voice was full of wonder, her heart soaring.

At that moment, she wished she could fly back home—wrap herself in the quiet peace of the sanctuary and cradle the newborn kittens in her lap. But she couldn’t. Not yet.

In the middle of their laughter, a thought struck her.

“Oh! Aiofi… did you manage to get my belly dance identity card verified—the one I gave you?”

“Yeah, I did… or wait, let me send you the snap,” Aiofi replied casually.

Niamph meant to do it herself as it was a confidential proof but due to some busy schedule that day niamph handed it to aiofi.

She waited now, phone pressed to her ear, listening to the faint rustling and distant commotion through the speaker—clearly, Aiofi was searching.

A long pause.

Then Aiofi’s voice came back, lower, hesitant.

“Niamph… I—I can’t find it. I think I might have dropped it somewhere by mistake.”