Chapter 5: I'll Take You Home

Lila’s POV

The dimly lit private room at the club was thick with tension, the air heavy with the stench of expensive cigars and the underlying threat of violence. Ethan's voice, cold and sharp as a blade, sliced through the charged atmosphere.

"You want to keep living?" His dark eyes, like two bottomless pits of fury, bored into the older man, radiating a lethal intensity that left no room for doubt.

"Nobody threatens the strippers in my establishment. Get out. And consider any future business arrangements with the Pacheco family permanently terminated."

The older man's face flushed a deep shade of crimson, a mix of anger and humiliation. His hands clenched into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white. But one look at Ethan's steely expression, the unwavering determination in his eyes, and he knew this was no empty threat. With a final, resentful glare, he scrambled to his feet, his movements hasty and graceless.

He scurried from the private room like a whipped dog, not even bothering to collect the scattered cash that still littered the floor, a symbol of his defeated pride.

An uncomfortable silence descended upon the remaining men. They exchanged furtive, meaningful glances, their eyes wide with shock and curiosity.

None of them had ever witnessed Ethan Pacheco defend a stripper with such vehemence before. There was an unspoken consensus that this girl, Lila, was different. There was something about her that had managed to capture Ethan's attention in a way no one else ever had.

Ethan's piercing gaze, still smoldering with barely contained anger, swiveled towards me. "You. Come here." His voice, low and commanding, carried the weight of absolute authority.

"You'll be sitting on my legs, serving my drinks for the rest of the evening."

Lucas, sitting nearby, raised an eyebrow in mild surprise, but wisely held his tongue. He simply shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly as he settled back into his plush chair, knowing better than to challenge Ethan when he used that tone. There was a dangerous edge to Ethan's voice that brooked no opposition.

My head was spinning, a whirlwind of confusion and fear. The room seemed to tilt and sway around me, the thumping bass of the music outside only exacerbating my disorientation.

Don't mess this up, I repeated to myself like a mantra, my heart pounding in my chest. You can't afford to lose this job. My legs felt like they were made of jelly, weak and unsteady beneath me.

As I made my way towards Ethan, every step was a struggle. The room was a blur of faces and lights, and the noise seemed to be closing in on me. When I finally reached Ethan's chair, a sudden wave of dizziness hit me like a freight train. I stumbled, my balance completely gone.

But before I could hit the ground, strong, muscular arms caught me, pulling me against a hard, masculine chest. And in the next instant, I found myself seated firmly in Ethan's lap.

My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. I could feel the heat radiating from his body through the thin fabric of my costume, a searing warmth that sent shivers down my spine. That made me so wet... Oh god, please help me out of this.

His expensive perfume, a blend of sandalwood and musk, filled my senses, making my head spin even more.

"Pour me some champagne," Ethan murmured, his voice a low, velvety whisper against my ear. The command, though gentle in tone, was still laced with an underlying firmness that brooked no refusal.

My stomach lurched violently, a wave of nausea washing over me. But I forced myself to reach for the bottle, my hands shaking uncontrollably.

Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don't throw up. I focused all my energy on the crystal glass in front of me, my vision blurring and refocusing.

As I tried to pour the champagne, my hands were shaking so badly that the bottle wavered dangerously.

And as I tilted it, the golden liquid splashed over the rim of the glass, cascading onto Ethan's pristine, undoubtedly expensive suit jacket.

The room went deathly quiet, a silence so profound it was almost palpable. My heart seemed to stop beating altogether.

I had just ruined what was probably a five - thousand - dollar suit. Everyone in the room held their breath, their eyes fixed on Ethan, waiting with bated breath for his reaction.

To everyone's utter shock, he threw his head back and laughed. The sound, rich and genuine, filled the room, completely at odds with his earlier menacing demeanor. I stared at him in confusion, my muddled mind struggling to process this unexpected response.

Before I could say a word, the world tilted again, and this time, when strong arms wrapped around me, they didn't just steady me.

They lifted me completely off the ground. Ethan stood up in one fluid, graceful motion, cradling me against his chest as if I weighed nothing more than a feather.

"I'm taking you home, little troublemaker," he announced, his voice firm and authoritative, leaving no room for argument.

My blood ran cold despite my feverish state. The way he looked at me, with those penetrating eyes, sent a chill down my spine. He knows, I thought, panic rising in my chest. He knows exactly who I am.

But maybe he only knew me as his one-night stand and not as his runaway bride? Why was I feeling strangely sick today? No, no, no. I was not pregnant, was I? This was the worst, I didn't want to get involved with this terrible man anymore, I better not get pregnant.

I never want to go back to being the Mafia princess that satisfied my family, and I never want to marry the cheating fiance again! Not to mention pregnant with him!

As Ethan carried me from the room, I caught a fleeting glimpse of Lucas watching us leave, an unreadable expression on his face. But I was too dizzy, too overwhelmed to properly process it.