A Saviour in the night

Chapter 4

Ivy's POV

“Miss, do you even know how to carry a tray properly?”

The woman’s voice was sharp enough to cut through the glittering music in the ballroom. My cheeks burned instantly, but I lowered my head, forcing a polite smile.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. I will be more careful.”

She scoffed and waved me off like I was dirt under her heels. “You better, people like you should at least learn to do your jobs properly.”

I nodded, swallowing down the sting of humiliation. The tray in my hand felt heavier than it was, my wrist was already aching from hours of holding it. I moved quickly, weaving past gowns that brushed the marble floor and polished shoes that probably cost more than my rent for a year.

The chandeliers above shone like a thousand stars, but to me they only mocked my situation. They belonged to a world so far from mine. I wasn’t a guest,  I wasn’t anything here. I was just a shadow, a servant, running until my lungs burned.

In the corner, the staff table waited with bottles of champagne and wine. I set down my nearly empty tray, exhaled, and refilled it carefully. My hands shook, but I forced myself to keep steady. If I broke one glass, it would come out of my pay.

I whispered under my breath, “A few more hours, Ivy. You can make it.”

By the time I turned back toward the crowd, the music had picked up again. Laughter spilled across the room, loud and carefree, so different from the pounding of my heart. I slipped between the guests, offering glasses with a tired but polite smile. Some ignored me, others muttered thanks without looking me in the eye.

I was invisible.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

The voice came from a man slouched against a column, his tie loose, his shirt half unbuttoned. His eyes were glassy, his cheeks blotched red from alcohol. I froze, trying to smile.

“Yes, sir?”

He reached out, brushing his fingers along my wrist as he plucked a glass from the tray. His touch made my skin crawl.

“Pretty little thing like you,” he slurred, swallowing half the champagne in one gulp. “Why are you running around like a servant? Come, sit with me. I will show you how a real man treats a woman.”

I pulled my wrist back gently. “I’m working, sir.”

He chuckled, the sound grating and loud. “Working? Carrying drinks doesn't work. You are just a tray girl. Be grateful I’m even talking to you.”

I clenched my teeth, bowing my head slightly. “Please excuse me, I need to serve the other guests.”

But his hand shot out again, gripping my arm. His fingers dug into my skin, and I gasped quietly.

“Don’t be shy,” he said, pulling me closer.

“Girls like you should know their place, do you know how many would beg for a chance like this? A chance to catch the eye of a man like me?”

My throat went dry, people were watching now. Some smirked, others whispered. Not one of them moved to stop him.

“Let me go,” I said softly.

He leaned closer, his breath was thick with whiskey. “Say thank you first, thank you for even noticing you, waitress. Or should I call you servant?”

Laughter rippled around us. My ears rang, my face burned with shame.

“I said let me go.” This time my voice cracked.

He sneered. “Ungrateful little bitch.” With one sharp move, he tipped his half-full glass onto me. Cold liquid splashed across my uniform, dripping down my chest and soaking into my apron.

Gasps filled the air, some people chuckled, my body shook with the effort to hold back tears.

“You should smile,” he continued, his voice cruel. “No one here cares about you. You are just here to carry drinks, that’s all you will ever be.”

The tray in my hands trembled, glasses rattling. My chest ached so badly I thought I would collapse right there on the marble floor.

My aunt's words echoed faintly in my head fighting for your dignity, Ivy. No one will hand it to you.

But I couldn’t fight him. My arms were weak, my voice was small, and my body was trapped.

And then I heard a deep voice.

“Take your hand off her.”

The words sliced through the ballroom like a blade. The voice was low, controlled and dangerous.

The man holding me froze. I did too, slowly, we both turned.

Damian Blackthorns was standing a few feet away, his tall frame showed through the crowd. His black suit fit him perfectly and his sharp jaw was set with pure rage. But it wasn’t his suit or his wealth that made my knees weak, it was his eyes.

They weren’t cold like on the screen I had seen earlier. They were burning, burning with a fury that made the air around him heavy. And those eyes were locked on me.

The drunken man scoffed. “And who the hell are you to tell me what to do?”

Damian’s steps were slow, deliberate, each one echoing across the now silent hall. Guests parted for him without a word, some lowering their gazes, others watching wide-eyed.

“I said,” Damian repeated, his voice low enough to vibrate in my bones, “take your hand off her, now.”

The man’s grip on me loosened, but he didn’t let go completely. “Oh, I see,” he slurred. “You want her too? Hah! You can pay for her later. Isn’t that what girls like this are for? To be bought?”

My heart sank into my stomach. The humiliation was unbearable.

Damian’s eyes darkened, and before I could even blink, he was there. One swift motion, faster than I could follow, and his hand closed around the drunk man's wrist.

The man  shouted instantly. “Ahh! What the-”

Damian twisted the wrist backward with unrelenting force. The drunk man fell to his knees, screaming. The crowd gasped, some covering their mouths in shock, others frozen where they stood.

“You don’t touch her,” Damian growled, his voice a dangerous rumble. “You don’t touch any woman. Do you understand me?”

“Let me go!” the man shrieked.

Damian’s grip tightened. His jaw flexed, and in one final motion, there was a final loud crack.

The sound was sickening, echoing across the glittering hall. The man’s scream tore through the silence.

My tray slipped from my hands, the glasses shattering on the marble floor. I didn’t care, my  whole body shook as I stared at Damian, at the fury in his eyes.