Chapter 10: First Encounter

★SELENA'S POV★

The bartender poured me the eighth glass of tequila, the rich amber liquid gleaming enticingly under the dim, sultry lights of the club. With a practiced hand, he slid the drink toward me, the glass clinking softly against the polished wooden bar. Without hesitation, I seized it and brought it to my lips, savoring the familiar warmth and the fiery burn that marked each sip. I swallowed hard, the tequila igniting a fire within me, momentarily drowning the turmoil of my thoughts.

After downing the shot in one swift, experienced motion, I exhaled a satisfied sigh. It had been one of those nights where I felt the need to drown my sorrows in alcohol, and this particular bottle of tequila had become my unlikely companion on this solitary journey.

My glass, now empty, served as a silent plea for the bartender to refill it. I pushed it forward, the message clear, or so I thought. But instead of the customary nod of acknowledgement and a swift refill, the bartender shook his head. His expression held a mixture of genuine concern and a hint of disapproval.

"You've had enough alcohol for one night, ma'am," he spoke, his tone a blend of sympathy and responsibility. "I can't pour you another glass."

My immediate reaction was a frown, my patience dwindling rapidly. "I didn't ask you to tell me the gibberish you're spitting from your dirty mouth," I retorted with a trace of slurred speech. "I told you to refill my glass."

The bartender remained unyielding, his decision influenced by club policy and genuine care for my well-being. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but you've already had eight glasses of tequila tonight, and I can't…"

My anger flared up like a wildfire, and I cut him off with a sharp, cutting interruption. "Are you fucking nuts?!" My voice grew louder, my words laced with frustration. "Your job here is to fill my glass with whatever drink I want and not tell me the number of drinks I've had. Now refill my glass before I land a dirty slap on that ugly face of yours!"

Still, the bartender remained firm, attempting to uphold the club's responsible drinking policy. "I'm sorry, ma'am, but it's against our policy to let our customers get drunk while in the club."

The bartender's refusal incensed me even further. "Are you kidding me or what?!" I slammed my fists on the counter, the impact rattling the glasses. I leaned in, grabbing the bartender by his collar with a furious grip. "If you don't want me to release my wrath on you, refill my fucking glass right now!!" My voice thundered, inches from his face, my eyes burning with intensity.

Just when it seemed that the situation was about to spiral into chaos, a soothing, masculine voice intervened from behind me.

"Hey there, chillax."

Startled, I turned around abruptly, though I refused to release my grip on the bartender's collar. What met my gaze was the most breathtakingly handsome man I had ever seen. His presence momentarily diverted my attention from my anger. He was impeccably dressed in a sharp black jacket, sleek black trousers, and glossy black shoes. His ebony hair was styled elegantly backward, enhancing his striking features.

However, for now, my focus remained on the bartender, who had just infuriated me by denying my request.

"And who the fuck are you to tell me to chillax?" I demanded, my rage now redirected at the newcomer.

With a calm and collected demeanor, the handsome stranger addressed me, attempting to mediate the situation. "The bartender has done nothing wrong to you, so let go of his collar so he can attend to me," he said, his voice measured and polite.

I scoffed angrily, still hesitant to release my grip on the bartender's collar. "I'm not letting him go until he refills my glass with tequila." My gaze returned to the bartender, who appeared genuinely frightened by the escalating situation.

The handsome stranger leaned in slightly, his voice even and reassuring. "Let go of him first, and he'll refill your glass."

My fiery glare shifted to the man beside me. "If he doesn't refill my glass with tequila, I swear to God, I'll fucking slap you," I warned, my tone low and threatening, my eyes locked onto his.

"Okay," he said, unfazed by my threat. "The bartender will refill your glass, so release his collar and have a seat."

With a slow and begrudging release, I let go of the bartender's collar, my rage still simmering beneath the surface. The bartender, visibly relieved, scurried away to refill my glass with tequila, his hands trembling slightly under the intensity of the situation. Meanwhile, the handsome stranger calmly took a seat on the stool beside me, a small, satisfied smile playing on his lips as he observed the tension in the air.

We waited in an uneasy silence, the tension still lingering, as the bartender returned with my glass, dutifully refilled.

<IVAN'S POV>

After Mrs. Meyer ventured to the dancefloor to lose herself in the pulsating rhythm, I decided to make my way to the bar to quench my thirst with a refreshing drink. As I approached the bar, a commotion caught my attention—a woman gripping the bartender's collar with a ferocity that left no doubt about her anger.

My eyes, however, couldn't help but stray for a moment, drawn to the woman's astonishing curves. She wore a captivating red gown that stopped just above her knees, emphasizing her slender yet sensuous form. The dress clung to her body, accentuating her alluring curves and making her presence impossible to ignore.

With my senses momentarily ensnared by her beauty, I slowly made my way toward her as she continued to berate the bartender, demanding a refill for her glass.

"Hey there, chillax," I offered, hoping to diffuse the escalating tension. She swung her gaze in my direction but didn't release her iron grip on the terrified bartender.

She sized me up from head to toe, her anger still evident. "And who the fuck are you to tell me to chillax?" Her words carried a dangerous edge.

"The bartender has done nothing wrong to you, so let go of his collar so he can attend to me," I reasoned, trying to be the voice of reason.

"I'm not letting him go until he refills my glass with tequila," she retorted, turning her gaze back to the bartender, who appeared utterly intimidated.

"Let go of him first, and he'll refill your glass," I insisted, attempting to ease the situation. Her threat of violence was not something I wanted to engage with.

"If he doesn't refill my glass with tequila, I swear to God, I'll fucking slap you three times!!!" Her voice was low, but the intensity was unmistakable. Her eyes bore into mine, conveying a lethal warning.

"Okay, the bartender will refill your glass so release his collar and have a seat," I conceded with a reassuring smile. Slowly, she complied, releasing the bartender's collar and taking a seat on a stool.

I joined her, sitting on the stool beside her, while we waited for the bartender to do his job.

"I swear to God, if the bartender doesn't refill my glass with the sweet tequila I was enjoying, I'll slap you thrice," she whispered to me, her threat hanging heavily in the air. I couldn't help but smile nervously in response.

"Hey man, hurry up and refill this beautiful lady's glass with tequila," I urged the bartender, hoping to put an end to the tension.

"I'm sorry, sir, but she's already had enough to drink, and I can't serve her more alcohol. I'll lose my job if I pour her another glass," the bartender explained, his reluctance apparent. With that, he abruptly exited through a back door, leaving us alone in our predicament.

"What the fuck?" I exclaimed, my shock at the bartender's departure palpable.

"Hey! Get back here!! Get back here, you asshole!!!!!" I yelled, futilely attempting to summon him back. But the bartender had vanished, leaving me to face the wrath of the unpredictable woman beside me.

Her gaze turned slowly in my direction, and the intensity of her glare sent a shiver down my spine. Her anger was palpable, and her clenched jaw and white-knuckled fists were clear indicators of her seething rage.

"Young man!" she called out, gripping my jacket with a strength that surprised me.

"Ye... yes?" I stammered, nervously observing her fingers, which had a vice-like grip on my jacket.

"I warned you before I released that godforsaken bartender's collar. I told you that if he didn't refill my glass with tequila, I would slap you thrice, didn't I?" She questioned, her voice laced with a chilling calmness.

"Yeah... yeah... you told me that," I replied, scratching the back of my neck anxiously.

"So now it's time for you to face the consequences," she declared with a sense of finality. Before I could muster a response, a thunderous slap landed squarely on my face. The impact was so forceful that my vision momentarily blurred, and stars danced before my eyes.

Before I could recover, two more scorching slaps rained down upon my left cheek in rapid succession, each one delivering a jolt of pain that left me reeling.