Chapter 6

Then the clash of steel against flesh was a sound that cut through the air like a sharp blade. The man with the knife swung with precision, and this time, the stranger wasn't quick enough to evade.

The blade sliced through the air, grazing the man's hand, and immediately, a dark red stain began to spread across the sleeve of his suit.

Diara's heart skipped a beat as she saw the blood, bright and shocking against the fabric, but the stranger hardly flinched.

Instead, he seized the opportunity. With a sudden burst of strength, he lunged forward and grabbed the attacker by the throat, his grip ironclad.

The man's eyes widened in shock, his bravado crumbling as the air was squeezed from his lungs. In one swift, calculated motion, the stranger drove the man's head against the pavement, knocking him out cold.

The knife clattered from the attacker's hand, useless now as it lay on the ground beside him.

The stranger straightened, his breath coming in controlled, even breaths despite the adrenaline still coursing through his veins.

He glanced down at his hand, the blood slowly trickling down his wrist, staining his pristine suit. A flicker of disgust crossed his face, his lips curling in a slight grimace.

He hissed softly, the sound of someone both irritated and resigned to the situation. Without another glance at the unconscious man, he turned and walked toward Diara, who was still standing in stunned silence.

"Call the police," he commanded, his voice low but authoritative. Diara, however, was frozen in place, her eyes locked onto his, her mind reeling from the shock of the attack and the swiftness of his response.

She couldn't help but stare at him, taking in the sharp lines of his face, the bloodied hand he cradled with almost disdain, and the calm, composed way he carried himself despite the violence that had just unfolded.

The stranger frowned, his patience wearing thin. He cleared his throat and repeated, "Call the police." This time, his voice was cold, smooth, with an edge that left no room for argument.

Diara snapped out of her daze, feeling a wave of embarrassment wash over her. She quickly averted her gaze, fumbling to pick up her bag from the ground.

With an awkward smile, she adjusted her glasses, trying to compose herself under the weight of his gaze.

Before she could reach for her phone, however, a car screeched to a halt in front of them, and a man jumped out, rushing toward them.

"Boss, are you okay?" the man exclaimed, his eyes widening as he took in the blood on the stranger's arm. "Why did you have to get involved? Look, you're injured!"

The concern in his voice was evident, but it was also tinged with exasperation, as though this wasn't the first time his boss had thrown himself into danger.

The stranger—Kellan, as the man called him—kept his expression neutral, his face a mask of calm indifference.

He was clearly used to these types of situations, and to the nagging that followed. "It's just a minor injury," Kellan replied dismissively, already beginning to brush off the concern.

He started to turn away, intending to leave, but Diara, still shaken and grateful, found her voice.

"Sir, please let me take you to the hospital," she interjected softly, her voice trembling slightly but firm. "You got injured protecting me. I need to repay the favor."

Kellan paused, his gaze shifting to her. For a moment, he looked almost surprised, as though he hadn't expected her to offer.

"I just helped you," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "Even if it was someone else, I would have done the same. So don't worry about it."

But Diara was persistent. "I understand, sir," she insisted, her voice growing steadier, "but still, I need to repay the favor."

There was a quiet determination in her eyes, one that Kellan recognized and respected. He could see that she wasn't going to back down easily.

Kellan sighed softly, acknowledging her resolve. "Very well," he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a sleek, minimalist business card. He handed it to her with a slight nod. "Here. Contact me with this."

Diara accepted the card, feeling a strange mix of relief and uncertainty. She looked at the card in her hand, the weight of the situation sinking in.

Before she could say anything else, Kellan turned and headed toward the car, his friend and assistant, Maxton, close behind him.

"Come on, let's head to the hospital," Maxton urged, though his tone was more nagging than worried. "You really should get that checked out."

Kellan waved him off, his face remaining impassive. "It's nothing," he replied, though the cut on his hand told a different story.

As they reached the car, Maxton continued to fuss, his words a constant stream of concern mixed with irritation. Kellan, however, remained silent, his mind already shifting away from the events of the afternoon.

As he got into the car, the car sped off. He didn't bother looking back again

Diara's heart fluttered as she held the sleek business card between her fingers, a giddy smile spreading across her face. She brought the card to her lips and kissed it softly, as if sealing a silent promise.

The man who had come to her rescue, who had fought so fiercely and protected her without hesitation, was going to be hers.

She was sure of it. The feeling was sudden, but it was powerful, a certainty that took root deep within her.

The police arrived shortly after, their flashing lights cutting through the fading afternoon light. The officers moved quickly and efficiently, rounding up the unconscious attackers and taking them into custody.

Diara gave her statement, recounting the terrifying events in a voice that trembled only slightly. The officers assured her that she was safe now, and after gathering all the necessary information, they left, leaving Diara standing alone on the sidewalk.

The adrenaline had faded, leaving her with a strange, buzzing energy that she didn't quite know how to release.

Later that evening, Diara found herself seated in a small, cozy bar, the warm glow of the lights casting a golden hue over the dark wood furnishings.

She was with her best friend, Ziora, who sat across from her, nursing a drink as she listened to Diara recount the day's events with a mixture of amusement and concern.

Ziora was a striking contrast to the typical wealthy elite from which she came. Her family was one of the most influential in California, but Ziora carried herself with a casual grace that belied her status.

She had always been unassuming, preferring simplicity and kindness over flaunting her wealth like so many others in their social circle. It was one of the many reasons Diara loved her—Ziora was genuine, grounded, and always knew how to bring Diara back down to earth when she got a little too carried away.

Diara, however, was anything but grounded at the moment. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she recounted the scene to Ziora, her hands gesturing animatedly as she spoke. "I wish you had seen him, Ziora! Oh my God, he was so gorgeous, so heavenly!" Diara's voice rose with enthusiasm, drawing a few amused glances from nearby patrons.

"The way he moved, the way he fought them off—so agile, so skillful! It was like something out of a movie."

Ziora listened attentively, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she watched her friend. She knew Diara well enough to recognize when she was exaggerating, though this time, it seemed different.

There was a genuine awe in Diara's voice, a deep admiration that Ziora hadn't heard before. But still, she couldn't resist teasing her just a little.

"So, let me get this straight," Ziora said, raising an eyebrow as she took a sip of her drink. "You met this guy once, right?"

Diara nodded, her smile not fading even slightly. "Yes, just once," she admitted, her voice dreamy as she replayed the encounter in her mind.

Ziora leaned forward, her tone light but her words pointed. "And you've already fallen for someone you don't even know?" She looked at Diara with a mix of disbelief and amusement, as if trying to gauge just how serious her friend was about this sudden infatuation.

Diara met Ziora's gaze with unwavering confidence, her smile growing even wider. "It doesn't matter," she declared firmly.

"We can get to know each other." There was a conviction in her voice that left no room for doubt. Diara wasn't just infatuated—she was determined.

Ziora sighed softly, shaking her head with a bemused smile. "You're something else, Diara".