The August night was thick with storm clouds, the sky so heavy it felt ready to burst at any second.
A flash of lightning tore across the darkness, followed by a deafening crack of thunder, and then the rain came crashing down—fast, fierce, and merciless. Big raindrops slammed into the ground like someone dumping buckets from above.
Stella Adams walked alone with her umbrella on the dim, nearly pitch‑black road, splashing through puddles with uneven steps. Her shoes were already filled with water, her toes soaked to the point she couldn’t even feel them anymore.
The streetlights along this stretch had gone out two days ago, leaving everything in complete darkness. Stella was terrified of the dark to begin with, and now every nerve in her body was pulled tight like a snapped wire.
The chaotic roar of rain mixed with the faint, almost invisible sound of footsteps behind her, drilling straight into her ears.
She bit her lip without thinking, muscles locking up all at once. Her fingers clenched around the umbrella handle so hard the rigid grip dug sharply into her palm, sending a sting of pain up her arm.
Those footsteps splashing through the water were getting closer—too close. A chill shot through her spine. Her pace sped up on its own, and she didn’t dare look back.
With trembling hands, she fumbled for her phone. Raindrops blown by the wind splattered across the screen, but she didn’t even bother wiping them away. Her mind had gone completely blank. She forced her stiff fingers to tap Vincent Ashford’s number—her fiancé.
She pressed the phone against her ear with all her strength. It rang and rang, no answer. The footsteps were practically right behind her now. Fear pushed tears into her eyes, trembling on the edge of falling. In her heart, she kept begging Vincent to pick up, just pick up.
Right as the call was about to time out, the line connected. No greeting—just chaotic chatter, loud voices, and off‑key singing blaring in her ear.
Stella’s tears spilled instantly. Her voice shook, laced with a sob.
“Vincent… someone’s following me! I’m really scared. Can you… can you come get me?”
It hadn’t even been raining when she left. She’d waited almost half an hour outside the mall trying to get a cab. When none came, she’d had no choice but to walk home.
Inside the bar’s private room, smoke hung thick in the air, the smell of nicotine mixing with the heavy scent of alcohol. Lights flashed wildly, painting everything in neon excess.
Vincent paused mid‑gesture, fingers tugging at his collar.
“It’s this late. What are you still doing outside?”
His first reaction wasn’t worry—just irritation that she was out so late.
Stella, rushing forward without watching her step, suddenly plunged her foot into a deep puddle. She let out a sharp yelp, her voice trembling so hard it caught in her throat.
“My—my tablet broke, so I went to the mall for a new one. Vincent, I’m really scared right now, can you please come?”
Vincent frowned, but before he could speak, a woman beside him let out a bright, teasing laugh—Yvonne Fairchild, acting playful and bold.
“Come on, it’s a law‑abiding society. What danger could there be? If something really happens, you call the police. Girls your age worry too much.”
Stella Adams gripped her phone so tightly her knuckles went pale. Wind lashed at her face, flinging cold rain like needles against her skin until it felt as if even her blood was freezing.
At the bar, Yvonne Fairchild lifted her glass right under Vincent Ashford’s nose. “Vincent, it’s my birthday. You promised you’d spend today with me. If you don’t drink this, you’re basically telling everyone you don’t respect your buddy here.”
Vincent hesitated, the heavy roar of the storm coming through the call making his expression flicker.
Seeing this, Yvonne leaned in and added fuel to the fire. “Come on, everyone’s watching. You’re really gonna ditch the whole group just to answer one call? That’s kinda messed up, don’t you think?”
Vincent didn’t spare a second thought for his fiancée’s fear. “Fine, fine, I’ll drink.”
The moment he downed the entire glass, Yvonne laughed so hard her shoulders shook. “Knew you were the chill type!”
Vincent then muttered into the phone, completely perfunctory, “Stella, I’ve been drinking. I can’t drive. Just grab a ride home yourself, okay?”
Before she could even respond, he hung up and tossed his phone aside as if it weighed nothing.
“Vincent! Vincent!” Stella’s voice cracked as she screamed into the empty line, but the only reply was the dead, cold silence of a dropped call.
Vincent was two years older than her; they’d grown up together since they were kids.
Back in school, he’d always been the one looking after her.
When people bullied and mocked her after her parents passed away, he was the one who confronted them and forced them to apologize.
When she burned with fever and fainted, he stayed by her bedside the entire night.
But everything had shifted after they officially started dating a year ago—fast and sharp, like a cliff drop.
Vincent had this so‑called “girl bro,” Yvonne Fairchild, someone who had stuck to him since high school, constantly boasting she didn’t get along with other girls.
Their relationship crossed lines—way too many lines—and Stella had warned Vincent more than once.
But every time, Yvonne would stand by smirking, adding little jabs and stirring things up. Vincent never took Stella’s side. He always said she was paranoid, dramatic, acting like some spoiled princess.
They’d fought countless times because of Yvonne, but thinking of the Ashford family’s kindness, Stella was always the one to swallow her pride and apologize first.
Now, hearing that harsh click from the call ending, Stella felt her heart sink completely. Just as she tried to dial the police, a large hand yanked her arm so hard she stumbled. Her umbrella and shopping bag crashed to the ground.
A bolt of lightning tore across the sky, turning the whole street bright as day for a split second.
And in that flash, she saw him clearly—
A man in a black raincoat, face thick with greasy flesh, eyes glinting with something filthy. His lips stretched into a grin full of yellowed teeth, the kind of smile that made her stomach turn cold.
Thunder cracked so loud it felt like her eardrums were going to explode.
Rain slammed down in sheets, the wind howling like some wild beast ready to swallow her whole.
"Don't touch me! Help! Somebody help!" Stella Adams went pale with terror, fighting back with everything she had as she swung her phone at the man's head.
He lifted a hand and smacked it away. Her phone flew straight into a puddle, vanishing into a splash of muddy water.
Her summer clothes were already thin, and the downpour soaked her in seconds. The wet fabric clung tightly to her, outlining every curve she desperately wished she could hide.
The man’s eyes gleamed with sick excitement, his grip growing rougher. "No one’s coming to save you! Just be a good girl and give in!"
His disgusting laugh mixed with the rain, drilling into her ears. Stella’s heart plummeted. Her face was ghost‑white, tears lost in the endless stream of water.
The man let out an arrogant cackle as he reached for her clothes.
Just then, bright headlights sliced through the rain.
His hands stopped mid‑air. He flinched and instinctively raised an arm to shield his eyes.
The car hadn’t even fully stopped when the back door swung open with a sharp thud.
A man stepped out—tall, straight‑backed, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. His features were sharp and cold, his presence carrying an unmistakable authority that didn’t need announcing.
In a heartbeat, that long, composed silhouette closed the distance.
He grabbed the raincoat thug by the collar, the strength in his fingers making the seams strain. His knuckles cracked, veins standing out along the back of his hand. His face was dark with fury, and the usual chill in his eyes had twisted into something lethal and terrifying.
The thug, who only acted tough when no one pushed back, instantly went limp with fear.
The suited man’s fist slammed into his face. Blood and teeth flew out with the impact. Still not satisfied, he drove a brutal kick into the man’s stomach.
"Ah! Ahhhh!" The thug rolled on the ground, wailing like a dying animal, clutching his abdomen as if his insides were being ripped apart.
