The manager scurries to Wolfe and his cronies and starts explaining something to him. I feel stared at when he sneaks pointy glances at me as well. I, in turn, train my eyes on Wolfe's reactions. His right hand first travels through his hair in visible exasperation and a poker face sets in- what a masterpiece of a fake reaction! His eyes travel from the broken pieces of glass on the floor and he looks behind him, to where the man now lays, his face bloodied like shit.

Wolfe says something to the manager, but he is clever enough to be quiet about it- he has the perfect idea of how menacing and powerful my ears can be. The manager moves out of his way and he strides towards me. Beside me, I feel Melian getting off her seat and her protective side rising, but it's not her that makes me feel so electrified. It's not the hundreds of people staring at me that makes me feel so different. It is exactly one, one very lethal pair of eyes.

When children race against each other, it's for a prize.

When coaches race against each other, it's for life. For power. For dominance.

"What in the name of Christ are you even doing, you stupid fucking woman," he growls near me in a low voice.

"Exactly whatever he deserved," I match his aggression with mine, feeling the flames of hatred lick at my mind again, demanding control of my entire behavior. I keep drinking from my glass, not giving him the attention he wants from me.

"You could get fucking sued for that stunt you pulled," he grits his teeth and with the flick of his hand, there is a glass of whiskey at his disposal. I stare at his choice of drink out of the corner of my eye. Macallan, huh?

"And who would?"

He stares at me and I stare right back- the club fades into non-existence as our eyes battle. The swirling black in his grey orbs has a sort of magnetism that pulls me to stare into them challengingly, yet everything about his body posture warns me not to.

"I told you I own a couple of clubs and stuff," he sighs, and downs the rest of his drink. "Like mentioned, the top floor is the corporate floor for the most elite of the elite," he mutters, "That man has enough power to sue you."

"I don't care," I grit my teeth back, finally letting my violent side take complete control of my mind, losing all rationality, "HE FUCKING CALLED ME A SLUT, A HOE, HE TOUCHED ME WITHOUT MY FUCKING PERMISSION," I feel my voice rising and Wolfe's eyes slightly widening, "HE CALLED WOMEN PLAYTHINGS. HE-" I down the rest of the drink, "OH FUCKING CHRIST," I mutter before throwing the glass at the man who cowers like a cat, barely missing the glass. The hush falling over the place is deafening, and my inner conscience growls, my temper flaring.

"That's enough, Isa," he growls near my ear and grabs my wrist. I slowly look up at him and feel his grip loosening. I get up nonetheless and kick the barstool I was sitting on, and stomp out of the club, Wolfe hot on my heels.

He catches up just as the elevator doors start to close. He shows his hand and the automatic doors retreat. He gets inside and crosses his arms as the doors close.

"The fuck, Achelois," he growls, "You just ravaged half my club, swore in public, and just-"

"I TOLD YOU, WOLFE, AND," I shut him up, and for once, he doesn't get on with his 'no-interrupting-me rule'. "-AND, I SHAN'T FUCKING REPEAT IT AGAIN, AND THAT BASTARD, GOT MUCH LESS THAN HE DESERVED."

"Hell yes?" He growls back, "And you'll do this!? Isa," his voice softens just in the slightest, "He could get you arrested for attacking him."

"He'll get arrested all the same- I could sue him for harassment, but," I grin maliciously at him, feeling the serpent of my temper raise its hood threateningly. "The point is, I'd rather shoot him."

"You weren't taught shooting to commit murders, little bird," he growls under his breath, "You're more naive than I think."

"Good girls are the bad ones that never get caught, Wolfe," I growl back, "Don't be so full of yourself."

"What you did was reckless and immature," he says, as if he were a fucking monk chanting fucking hymns by the day.

"And what he did was carefully thought and rational, to you," I shake my head disappointedly, "Only a stupid person can feel a stupid person, and that man is grateful you're sticking up for him."

"It's not about sticking up for anybody!" He snarls, fuming at me, but I don't react the way he wants. I bare my teeth at him and watch the flames dance in his eyes.

"Keep talking, Wolfe," I send a vicious smile in his way, my eyes glittering with a mixture of anger and sarcasm, "I'm diagnosing you."

He turns his head slowly towards me, the black totally set in his eyes instead of the infuriatingly intriguing deep grey. Within a split second, before I can interpret his movements, he has pressed me to the wall of the elevator, his muscular arms caging me from both sides and his waist just inches away from me. It's such a cleverly unleashed tactic that if I move or struggle, I'll just get pressed up to him and the only thing between us would be the clothes. It's no use, anyways, trying to struggle- Wolfe gets mad very rarely, but when he does, there is no moving him, unless I'm angry too. Like I said, two can play this game.

"Where did you say he touched you, without your permission?"

His grey eyes reminded me of the blacksmith's fire.

It's in the eyes; always in the eyes. The answers, the interpretations, the stories, the secrets, the mysteries, the emotions, the questions- just a single flicker of the eye and the right reader can study you flawlessly. Eyes having their own vocabulary, what a beautiful language to learn.

His grey eyes had the bluish hue of sunlight upon slate, the blue symbolising the toppling, unstoppable waves of a stubborn ocean. The well set foundation in his eyes intrigued me, as if he was super concrete about his views.

"He groped my ass and snaked his arms around me," I say, without a single flicker in my confidence. Knowing clingy women, most of them would probably be shy and awkward about it, and knowing Wolfe, he'd try to waive my confidence first and make fun of my stuttering second- so I'd rather be as confident as he is about fucking a woman in the ass and not knocking her up.

"At times when you're angry, Crimson," he breathes down my face and feel the rich smell of Macallan on his breath and his spicy scented probably expensive as fuck perfume tickling my nostrils. His eyelashes are pretty long, I notice.

"Are you even listening to me?"

He catches me off guard but I do not give him the pleasure of knowing he did. I raise my head and put on a stubborn stance. "News flash, I don't care."

"Remember, your words can create gardens or fucking burn forests down, Achelois Crimson," he says as if we were discussing gaming strategies, "Choose 'em wisely."

"Good thing I love the heat that comes with forest fires, Wolfe Theodore," I pronounce each of the words slowly and roll them across my tongue, feeling the tang of confidence and stubbornness coat my tongue at the same time. "Strong women do not play the victim, nor do they act pitiful or point fingers. They fucking stand and they fucking deal."

"What you did wasn't called dealing, little bird," he whisper-growled, "Control that fire. Control those flames. You still feed your monsters."

"And they do my bidding, Wolfe," I snarl right back even before he's done, "THEY FUCKING DO. Understand that, whenever it feels like I'm out of control, understand that," I close my eyes and grit my teeth into a victorious smile, "I've clicked on 'Play'."

"You can't live if you're always like that."

"Now, Wolfe, we both know how much I love challenges," I let out a mirthless laugh, "Whenever someone says I can't do it, I'll do it twice, and," I inch just the slightest bit closer to his face, "I take pictures too."

The elevator comes to the ground floor, and the ding of it breaks our heated conversation (obviously, heated meaning angry). I walk out and he follows me and catches up with me effortlessly, putting on aviators almost immediately.

"You're gonna get me in trouble, lil' bird," he frowns, "Whereas you might have done a doctorate in ignoring people the way you just did in the club- hey, ouch!" He gnarls quietly as I pinch his palm, annoyed by his pointing out, "I can't ignore the media. You're going to get me in trouble every time I come to rescue you."\

"I don't fucking need rescuing!" I object, putting my hands up in the air- what the hell, man! "From my point of view, you were just a pain in the ass rather than my savior. And also," I frown at him, "My knight in shining armor might just be an asshole in aluminium foil."

He lets out a low chuckle. "Quite a way with words, don't you have?"

I shrug as we exit through the backdoors, the guards surprisingly absent. Must have been Nicolas or Stellan. Nice foresight.

The wintry Los Angeles air clings to my cheeks as soon as we exit the building, the familiar smell of drinks, sweat and sex immediately dissipating. I pull out my key and unlock my car. Wolfe follows me, and I don't question him until I get to my car.

"I'm no kid. I don't need help with crossing the road, even if that's what I'm not doing at the moment."

"While I quite disagree with your claim, I'm coming with you. I have business to talk about." He says, his seriousness snapping back to his face. I roll my eyes. "Don't complain if my car looks like it came right out of the junkyard to you."

"It's pretty good," he lets out a low whistle, "You're still underestimating yourself and your abilities. Though I like the black. It sort of," he pauses awkwardly, "-suits your thoughts and personality."

I smile and shake my head, getting inside the car and he gets it beside me. I swerve the car right away and take the windows down, needing some of the Los Angeles chill. The breeze weaves it's fingers through my hair and freezes my calloused, bony fingers to the next level of cold. The rest of the ride is quiet to my relief, I don't think I can take any of it anymore. Moreover, I'm definitely high on liquid courage and am likely to drive us right into a tree in a display of my temper.

It doesn't take a lot of time- only a distance of ten minutes or so. Wolfe makes himself comfortable on the sofa and picks up the monthly edition of the Entrepreneur off the centre table and starts reading, but I know how much of a reader he is. I leave him to his shenanigans nonetheless.

"I'm going to freshen up. Help yourself to whatever you want. Also, don't go into the library room, do not open the door at all even if Moore shits but make sure he doesn't overstep my front porch. Also, no surveying all the shitty pictures and stuff, Melian made me-"

"Yeah, yeah, crazy," he rolls his eyes, "I'll not move. And won't let your Conor or Mackley, whatever- into the house."

"Moore," I mutter before going into my room.

I feel relieved as the water slides down my body and weaves gentle fingers into my hair, massaging my scalp with a soft tempo. I finally exhale in relief as I feel the scent of the meaty man dissipating along with the water sliding down my body. I shiver as I realize how long I've been standing under the water. Getting out of the shower and tiptoeing out to my bedroom, I ransack the heap of disarrayed clothes. The heck, I'll need to spend at least a good three hours sorting this shit out.

Pulling on an alabaster striped soft t-shirt and a pair of cerulean chinos, I swoon at the delicate furry slippers embracing my feet. I might get a fucking foot-orgasm from this, the men can stand back and watch.

As I head outside, Wolfe's voice from the living room makes me stop dead in my tracks. I press myself to the hallway wall and lend an ear bits of his conversation. He talks in a hushed, urgent and commanding voice, and what he says makes my heart skip unsurely.

"...Find out who the fuck that man was," he growls in indignation, "I want him stripped off of his dignity and status in a day. I want his entire history and portfolio on my desk by tomorrow in the morning." I'm sort of touched, truthfully speaking. I walk out, but quietly. It's good that it's his back that is facing me. I cross my arms and silently listen to his conversation.

"Yeah. And find out why Carlo couldn't do the job."

Who the fuck is Carlo, now? This is some serious, deep shit that I'm getting in. I notice the glass of golden liquid in his hand as he occasionally gives it the slightest swirl, making the golden dance inside the crystal like a broken ballerina. Hennessy, huh? He has some good taste.

"Yeah. What about Frostine?"

My ears perk up, my subconscious immediately remembering Ian. What the heck, I'm the worst friend she could ever make. Stomping out of the bar like a child with anger issues- the guilt scorches my insides up; at the same time, I think it's adorable that Wolfe cares about Melian and sort of covers up for me. Wolfe and Melian?

The idea is revolting, but I'd always be with Melian if that's what her choice would be. They'd make a winsome pair, after all.

How do you have such supportive and intelligent relationship advice, Miss Crimson? Yet do not have a boyfriend for yourself- that part obviously remaining silent, though.

It's just what it is. Coaches don't play, hmph.

I grin at the imagination of people hounding me as they ask me the question and then almost squeal in glee because of the absolutely awesome answer I have for them. Ultra pro lite me, I guess.

"Fine. I hope she isn't much of a hard nut to crack, known that she is a bit of a nerd, you know what I mean," he mutters.

I almost feel like pouncing on him and ripping him apart for his ridiculous comments about my friend, but I manage to restrain myself. I face him with a vicious smile as he turns slowly, his conversation still not over. I'll never, ever forget the look on his face as he notices me. He ends the call abruptly, putting it back inside his pocket. It's then that I notice that he has removed his suit and it currently lies strewn on the back of my sofa. His shirt is black, the top two buttons open, revealing a layer of tan. His charcoal eyes seem to blend in with the rest of his outfit.

"My friend isn't a nerd," I mutter at first, "I might look like I'm just normally conversing with you-"

"But you've murdered me a hundred times in your head already," he holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Forgive me, little bird. Melian Frostine is a queen."

"Don't drop that Willy Wonka shit on me."

"How much of my conversation did you hear?" He casually sips from his glass and sends an interested look in my way. "Found some of this awesome shit in your refrigerator. I'd taken you for the light alcohol kind. This is," he struggles to find an appropriate word and fails like always, "-some surprising stuff."

I stride over to the kitchen counter and pick up the bottle of liquid. I raise it to my lips and inhale it's fruitiness before wrapping my lips around the mouth of the bottle. The oak alters the final taste of the Cognac, offsetting the sweeter, fruitier notes with a dry nuttiness, resulting in a well-rounded flavour profile. I find Wolfe grinning at me almost with an impressed smile. "What is more interesting than watching a woman drink like that?"

"I believe that is the second time I'm hearing this tonight," I laugh, feeling the brandy erasing the bitter memories of the night from my mind, remembering the bartender nonetheless. He's the kind of guy who does insignificant things yet leaves a lasting impression in your mind.

"You look as if drowning in deep thoughts," he mutters, his voice silky with the brandy. I shrug. "The events tonight have been quite intriguing be that as it may."

"Intriguing, hah," he jeers, "What might be intriguing for you might be destructive for a few others. I believe Tease Beat has some broken stuff to speak for itself."

"We call it conflicting developmental goals," I grin, "And I could sign a cheque anytime you want." I add it on a serious note, not wanting to come off as a bloodsucking bitch, however much I love blood. No vamp stuff and secrets, I swear.

"That's something you can do quite easily," he leans back with a devilish smile, "I'm not telling you about refunds, little bird. My ways of taking payment might prove quite toxic for your standards," his voice is huskier this time round and I feel inherently self conscious. I look out towards the floor to ceiling windows that overlook the rest of the city just casually, "I'm sure you do."

"I'd rather not venture there," he shakes his head slightly with a conscious smile, "Who knows what kind of secrets I'd unearth?"

His words send a horrifying chill down my spine, regardless of the fact that I've got no such secrets about me. I do not acknowledge him, focusing on brandy and the city under me. His next words halt me halfway from having the last sip in the bottle.

"I found this on the table of your cabin," he says casually, taking out a black envelope from his pocket. I frown at it- how come have I not seen it?

He passes it to me. I place the bottle back on the table and tear the letter open. He leans back and I feel his gaze on me, hard and focused. There is a letter inside the envelope- the letters written in golden inscription.

"Dear Miss Achelois Crimson,
It's our pleasure to let you know that since you've been enlisted in the Thirty Under Thirty List of 2021, you have received a special invitation to the Annual Corporate Party for the Elite 2021 to be held on 2nd of June, this year. We'd await your presence at the venue mentioned underneath.

Paradis Glorieux,
Beverly Hills,
California.

We sincerely await your honorable presence at the venue. All the Best."

"That's awesome," he comments before I can register what in the fucking hell this stuff is. I toss the letter onto the coffee table and lean back, my arms leaning onto the back of the sofa. I shake my head. "This stuff isn't something I'll do. It's too overrated."

"Overrated?" He scoffs, "People would kill for your spot. You deserve a fucking break- Thirty Under Thirty isn't a toy! You know the publicity and the fame?"

"I don't need any of it," I growl back, "I've said it time and again, Wolfe. All my life, the only ever thing I've wanted to do is fucking blend in with the rest of the world."

"You're taking this too philosophically, for starters," he frowns, "Think practically, Isa."

"Practical or not," I snap, "It's my decision to make, Wolfe. You can't force it down on me."

"Oh, watch me do it now," he mutters and pulls out his phone. He puts it to his ear, probably calling somebody. And seeing that it was picked on the first call, I'm impressed. I lean back on the sofa and cross my arms.

"Miss Wright," he snaps, "I want an official invitation letter for the Annual Corporate Party 2021 to be mailed to Achelois Crimson within two fucking minutes," he swears like the word was just made for him, "It's done? Great."

My phone immediately lights up with a notification.

"WHAT THE FUCK, WOLFE?!" I scream in terror as I find the mandatory sign smiling evilly at the end of the mail from Chloe Wright. "This is downright bullying."

"And what'll you do about it, Achelois Crimson?" He growls and picks up the bottle of Hennessy and puts the bottle to his lips, and the fact that I'm aware of my lips on the same spot around the bottle leaves tingly, uneasy sparks down my neck, making the little hairs on my neck stand. He empties the bottle and gets up.

"You're getting nowhere with the stuff you're imposing on me, you bastard," I growl from behind and he stops dead in his tracks and turns towards me with an animalistic combination of a grin and a terrifying glance on his face.

"Don't overdo it, Achelois Crimson," he growls, but this time, his voice is rougher and sharper than a thousand blades, "That disobedience makes me want to fuck a certain someone raw."

He leaves, but the shocked sparks inside my body don't.

Goddamnit. 

A/N:-

So, guys, did you like this chapter!? chigirlsfantasy was right *wink emoji*. Wolfe is, thus, the owner of Tease Beat. However, it was sort of obvious. I however, like Achelois. She's so frank, and straightforward, and badass and everything!

Who the hell is Carlo?

I can't hear y'all!

*taps mic again to check if it's working. It is.*

What  are your guesses? Who do you think Carlo is? What was the job he couldn't do? And who is the certain someone Wolfe is talking about? Hard wink, there. This story is getting creepier with every second and I'm so excited! It ignites my nerve endings!

QOTD: Do you like your noodles with or without add-ons?

I hate my noodles with the add-ons, for example onions, or cabbage, or any vegetable, or even eggs, or even chicken (forget chicken, I'm the person who's obsessed with chicken emojis, so, that's not an option) or fish (invalid because I'm allergic to seafood). Also, noodles with add-ons insult the essence of noodles and I'm a girl of culture- regardless of if it comes down to anime or noodles.

That's it for the day! I'm getting back to Physics.

Bye!
Disha😎👊😍😍