Chapter 2

Ava's POV

That was a complete disaster. 

Leave it to me to run into a scary white man head-on five minutes into the night. 

I exhale with relief as my gaze latches on a group of people in the far corner of the room.

A bar is just what I need. 

If nothing else, at least a little drink will help me relax. Plus I'll have something to do. 

I move into the line as I wait in the queue, trying to occupy as little space as possible. Unfortunately, it appears that there are no drinks that I am familiar with. What on earth is a Negroni Sbagliato? 

It's probably something I can't afford, I try not to show my nervousness by speaking in a steady, calm tone when it's my turn to give the order. 

"Could I have one Natty Ice, please?" 

I realize it's not the most elegant choice, but as a financially strapped graduate student, I already have too little money. I am not going to go out and buy a drink for fifteen bucks. That was my plan, anyway. 

At my request, the bartender wrinkles his nose. He sneers at me.

I know right away that I've made a mistake. 

A voice yells behind me, "We don't serve that sort of thing here," frightening me so much that I nearly trip over my dress trying to turn around. 

I find myself looking directly into the eyes of a heavyset, silver-haired white man. Although it's difficult to tell, he appears to be in his mid-sixties or early seventies. 

He smiles to make me feel better and puts his large hand on my shoulder, sensing my surprise—or maybe fear. Even though his touch is warm, I get a shiver as his fingers move over my bare skin. 

Horrible. 

"Uhh," I stutter, trying not to irritate him. 

He gives the barman another glance but doesn't let me go. I have no choice but to stand there while he makes the necessary corrections. 

He says, "Two vodka tonics, for me and the lady." 

I wanted to disagree, but since he didn't bring his wallet, I realized that dinner tonight would have drinks included.

In other words, I asked for the cheapest beer they had. I should have just ordered the damn Nagini drink earlier. Without saying anything, the bartender refills our drinks. The older man doesn't let me leave until everything is ready. Then, he lifts both glasses and nods to the side for me to come along.

I don't have anything more important to do right now. And he did help me back there. It's okay to have a drink with him. Also, he reminds me of my grandfather. Maybe he's alone here too and would appreciate some company? 

Once we are out of the bartender's sight, I say, "Thank you for helping me back there." 

"Of course, my dear. I'm happy to do it.”

As he hands me my drink, our fingers touch. I feel a chill go down my arm. Strange. Even though I don't want to think about it, I start to feel shivers on my back. "Feeling cold?" I force a smile. "Just a bit.”

"You know what they say, a little spirit will warm you up." He raises his glass in toast and I raise mine too, even though I've never really heard that saying before. 

Drinking a vodka tonic is surprisingly easy. I can drink half of it without realizing I need to slow down because it's not very strong. Then, I felt a bit awkward putting it back on the table.

"Your name?" 

Oh no. I suppose I should have introduced myself. 

"Ava Reed," I say with a grin, "I'm one of the graduate students."

"Summa Cum Laude," he exclaims, his expression turning slyly amused. "You must be very smart." 

Even though I try not to, I blush because I'm not used to getting compliments. With each passing moment, he acts more like a grandfather.

"My name is Mr. Alberto Martini."

"It's nice to meet you," I respond. "Are you one of the university's donors?" 

"Possibly," he smiles. 

 I wait, but he doesn't explain much about his part in this. It's clear he's not a student. I wonder what's the minimum amount of money required to get invited to a party like this. It might not be polite to ask. 

"Want to dance?" 

I try not to laugh, but I'm surprised by the question. 

"Um, okay?”

He raises his glass again to toast, and I watch closely as he drinks it all. 

He softly says, "Nice, nice," and grins as he watches me finish the drink. " To our friendship." 

After I'm done, he takes my glass and heads to the dance floor. 

I awkwardly follow him, struggling to keep up as he puts our empty glasses on the bar. The room starts to get quieter, and I start to feel dizzy more often. I must be getting drunk quickly tonight because I drank on an empty stomach. On the bright side, though, my chest discomfort has eased.

To be honest, I'm a little excited. 

Mr. Martini looks at me and reaches out his hand.

"Do you know how to dance the waltz?" He asks.

I feel my cheeks start to burn.

"No, I don't.”

I should have thought more before saying yes to his offer. This banquet isn't like a regular high school dance. These people got special training for this event. Nope, I haven't. "We'll just listen to the music from over here, then.”

My stomach churns a little, but he holds on to my hand tightly as he ushers us out of the main part of the room and into the crowd of people chatting to the side. My mind is racing with a thousand ideas, but they're coming one at a time. 

As we make our way into the crowd, Mr. Martini approaches me more closely and puts his hand on my back. 

 I can almost pretend I don't notice how his touch stays on my bare skin for longer than needed.

I repeat to myself over and over, Grandfather, He's just an old man looking for friends. Be careful not to upset him and don't leave to hurt his feelings.

It's difficult not to step on anyone's toes because of how closely everyone is crammed together, and this forces me to get even closer to Mr. Martini. 

He asks, "Too crowded?" 

I give a hearty nod. 

He laughs and points to a door nearby. "Why don't we step into the hall for a moment?"

My mind is racing right now. The effects of the alcohol go far beyond my anxiety. 

I couldn't have drunk that much, could I? 

I turn to face the room again, but I feel like the room is closing in on me. Perhaps I really do need to leave. 

“Yes”, I reply. 

Mr. Martini guides us to a side entrance and out of the room, his calm hand resting on my back. Silently turning the handle, he leads us out into the dimly lit hallway. It's completely dark, unlike the ballroom we were in only moments ago; the only light streaming in through the windows is the moon. 

My mind is still spinning. 

"How are you feeling?" Mr. Martini asks. 

I feel the tinge of fear rising once more. It seems unattainable, as though I'm not actually in my body. I suddenly realize that, although I've been intoxicated before, this is not like that. Something else was making me feel lightheaded, not the music or the number of people. 

There's a problem. 

"What is this?" I ask, but it seems like my tongue is failing to answer because even those words come out slurred. 

"Do you feel alright?" Again, Mr. Martini asks. His tone is a little more excited this time, and I flinch as his hand slides down my back even further. 

"You?" I gasp. My anxiety starts to whisper to me again

He didn't like you, of course. 

To trust him was a foolish decision. 

If they weren't interested in having sex, no one would ever talk to you. 

I make an effort to ignore the voice. I must concentrate. 

"Don't worry, my dear. Relax. His hand tightens its grip on me even as he says it. I'm so sick to my stomach and so disgusted. 

With all my might, I push past him, causing him to stumble away. Before he can get up, I turn and try to run for the door, but the room turns sideways, sending me stumbling to the ground. 

Mr. Martini's weird laugh echoes down the hallway.

"Don't bother fighting me now." His voice has become much more predatory, far from the kind grandfather I met before. 

"Stop," I growl, getting up for a second try at getting away. "Mia is going to search for me.” 

Just as I catch my footing, his rough fingers grab my wrist and tug me back towards him. 

He laughs as if this is the funniest thing he has heard all day: "No one will look for you." "You ought to be appreciative that I am even focusing on you. You obviously don't belong here." 

I lie and say, "They will." "You'll be arrested." 

Just as his hands start tugging at the fabric on my back, he laughs again. I realize he's attempting to unzip my dress, and I feel disgusted. 

"No one would have reported me if we had done this amid the ballroom. This school is mine. I own those folks." 

His words sound genuine 

Can it possibly be true?

Certainly, someone with his level of money has ties worldwide, but to what extent? 

However, I'm not going to get any assistance in the hallway. My only option is to get away. He's fumbling with my dress, and I see an opening. Though it's a long shot, this could be my only opportunity. 

I let go and tumbled to the floor, escaping his hold. Hopefully, he will believe that the alcohol and the substance he used to drug me are to blame. I groan just to make the act believable. 

"Dammit." He seems unaffected by what I did, as he sighs and starts to bend down to pick me up again. 

Though my mind is still racing, I'm not quite done yet. Before I lose the ability to function, I have to get out. 

I wait until he's hunched over me, then use all the force I can muster to send my knee flying towards his face. 

Crack!

He topples over backward when it hits his nose. 

He yells, "You whore!" but I've already stood up. If only I could reach the door. 

Five steps left. 

Three.

One. 

I reach for the doorknob and quickly pull it open, lurching back into the ballroom's heat and cacophony without looking back. I'm not sure what I look like, but as I stagger through the crowd, I hear a few shocked gasps. With one strap holding my dress in place, I quickly slide the other one back over my shoulder. Right now, there's nothing I can do about the zip. 

I need to get help before I become too dizzy to function. 

I need to locate Mia. 

I turn around and look around for her in the crowd, but she's not there. 

I flinch as a black form abruptly moves into my field of vision, covering my face with my hands. 

"Stop!" I protest, ready to fight off Mr. Martini again if need be, but nothing happens. I look up at the man standing in front of me, confused, I lower my arms. 

That's not Mr. Martini 

To be honest, I'm not sure who it is. My vision is too blurry. I attempt to clear my vision by blinking at the handsome face, but it only becomes worse. My cheeks start to well up with tears, the room spins faster than it did before. 

Perhaps Mr. Martini is right. I have to try even though no one here might help me. 

"Please, help." 

The stranger wipes off a tear from my cheek, and I catch a glimpse of a gold signet ring. His strong hands quickly encircle my waist and reach my back. I'm paralyzed with terror for a split second before I feel him carefully zipping up my dress. 

He's... helping me. 

I stutter, "Thank you," but it's already difficult for my eyes to remain open. 

He bends over and puts a strong arm around my waist to support me as I get up. I collapse against his chest, my legs disobeying my orders. As his mouth gets closer to my ear, his beard rubs against my sensitive skin on my neck, and the smell of smoke and cedar fills the air around me like a cozy blanket. 

Finally speaking, his voice is low, calm, and somehow familiar.

"Oh, I wouldn't thank me just yet."