Liam chose to enjoy the night as normally as he could, so when the club hostess offered him a VIP suite—complete with complimentary bottles, private attendants, and velvet-rope isolation—he turned it down with a small smile.

"No need," he said simply.

The hostess nodded, clearly surprised.

"Understood, sir. Enjoy your time."

She walked away with the guard who had escorted him in, and Liam stepped deeper into the club, letting the lights and atmosphere wash over him.

Music pulsed through the air like a physical force—deep bass, fast rhythm, smooth transitions. Bodies moved in fluid waves, neon colors bounced off the walls, and every breath felt warm with energy.

Liam headed toward the bar.

If he was going to try clubbing, he might as well try drinking too. It felt strange to enter a place like this and not drink. And for once, he wasn't in the mood to think too hard. He wanted to relax, to learn, to feel.

He raised a hand to the bartender.

"A glass of whiskey and a shot of vodka," he said.

The bartender blinked once—probably judging him silently—but nodded and got to work.

A Spanish woman seated beside him chuckled softly, turning her head just enough to look at him.

"You sure you can handle that combo?" she asked, amusement in her voice.

"Why don't we wait and find out?" Liam smiled.

She arched a brow, intrigued. "Is it your first time in a club?"

"Is it that obvious?" Liam asked.

She laughed. "Only newbies or people trying to get blackout drunk start with whiskey and vodka in one go."

Liam smiled, accepting the gentle teasing without protest. "Well… I won't deny it."

The bartender returned. Liam took both glasses, lifted them slightly, and knocked them back in one clean motion.

"Huh. You didn't even flinch," The woman blinked in surprise at him.

"I have good tolerance," Liam replied casually.

"Apparently." She laughed again. "I'm Isabella."

"Ethan," Liam answered smoothly—using the alias tied to his fake Macau identity.

Isabella tapped her fingers against her glass, eyeing him with a bright grin. "Ethan… feel like dancing?"

Liam met her gaze. "Lead the way."

She stood, offering her hand. He took it, and they walked toward the dancefloor.

***

The moment they stepped into the moving crowd, Isabella leaned closer and raised her voice over the music.

"Can you dance at all?" she asked teasingly. "Especially after what you just drank?"

Liam laughed lightly. "I can move every part of my body however I want—and go for as long as I want."

Her face heated instantly, though she masked it by flipping her hair and looking away.

"Show-off," she muttered.

"You asked," he smiled.

Isabella began dancing first, rolling her hips to the beat with smooth, natural rhythm. Liam matched her pace effortlessly, moving in sync with her tempo.

He didn't exaggerate his movements; he simply flowed with the music, adapting instantly, keeping her comfortable, and guiding the space between them with confidence.

Her smile widened. "You said it like a joke, but you actually can dance."

"You didn't believe me?"

"Not even a little," she admitted.

The two of them moved together for more than thirty minutes. The DJ switched between Latin beats, funks, EDM drops, and slow-tempo remixes. Through it all, Liam enjoyed himself more than he expected.

There was something strangely freeing about letting go, following the rhythm, and laughing with someone he'd met only minutes ago.

By the time they decided to return to the bar, they were both smiling. The smile was genuine, bright, and unforced.

Isabella dropped into her seat with a satisfied sigh.

"You're insane," she said, still catching her breath. "Most people would be wobbling after that combo you took."

"I told you," Liam said, "strong tolerance."

She rolled her eyes but smiled, and ordered another whiskey, with ice. Liam didn't order anything else. He simply turned in his seat, watching the dancefloor again with a soft laugh.

He had actually let himself go a little back there and kt felt good.

He turned back toward the counter and stopped, when he noticed a man was approaching.

Tall. Muscular. Wearing a formal black suit. Definitely security-trained. And definitely not a club employee. His uniform didn't match the others. Liam muttered to himself and his eyes narrowed slightly.

Private security. But for who?

The guard stopped directly in front of Isabella.

"My young master requests your company," he said flatly.

Isabella's smile vanished instantly. Liam didn't move yet. He wanted to see what she would do. He wasn't some self-proclaimed hero. If she said yes willingly, he wouldn't interfere.

But Isabella didn't hesitate.

"No," she said coldly. "Tell him I'm not interested."

The guard's expression darkened by a fraction. "Miss, it would be wise to come with me. Refusing may cause… complications."

"I said no," she repeated, sharper this time. "I'm not interested."

The guard clicked his tongue in annoyance and reached out to take her arm—

Except his hand never reached her.

Because Liam's fingers closed around his wrist mid-air.

The guard looked down, startled. Then he tried to pull back but his arm didn't move.

He frowned and pulled harder.

Still nothing.

It was like his wrist had been welded into place. He couldn't believe a teenager who was holding him down effortlessly.

Liam smiled at him, eyes calm.

"Stop bothering the lady. She said no," he said. "Go tell your young master that she's not interested."

"Are you sure you can handle the consequences?" The guard asked, glaring at him.

Liam tilted his head. "Do you want me to break your arm to show you how serious I am?"

The guard's jaw flexed. His pride wanted to respond, but his instincts told him something else entirely.

"…Very well," he said after a tense pause. "I will inform him."

Liam released his grip.

The guard stepped back, rubbing his wrist discreetly, but didn't dare say anything else. He walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

Isabella let out a long exhale.

"Thank you," she said softly. "And… sorry. I didn't mean to drag you into anything."

Liam waved dismissively. "It's fine."

"No, it's not," she insisted. "You don't know how these rich brats are. They think the world owes them everything. I might've just gotten you into real trouble."

"Even the POTUS can't threaten me," Liam chuckled lightly.

Isabella stared at him, then burst into laughter.

"Oh my God. You're ridiculous." She wiped a tear from her eye. "I have no idea if that's true or if you're just drunk, but wow—you really are something."

Liam smirked. "You've got no idea."

She took a sip of her whiskey, still smiling. "And… you've got a really strong grip."

"It doesn't compare to what you have," Liam said casually.

Isabella froze. Then her cheeks warmed as she caught the meaning. She looked away quickly, sipping her drink to hide the flustered expression.

Before the moment could settle, Liam's senses sharpened subtly, by his instinct and awareness, told him to turn.

He did and saw the same guard was returning, with another one beside him this time.

Liam let out a slow breath, a small amused smile forming at the corner of his lips.

"I really can't enjoy anything normally," he muttered quietly.

The two guards approached with heavier steps this time, faces set in hard expressions.

It was very clear that whatever "young master" they served clearly hadn't taken rejection very well.

Liam straightened his posture slightly.

If they wanted to escalate… he was more than happy to oblige.

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