The bottle shattered into countless pieces, scattering across the floor. The woman jumped back, startled by the sudden violence. Her heart pounded in her chest as she stared at Quincy in disbelief. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I told you to get lost," Quincy finally looked at her.

His gaze was void of any emotion or desire, filled only with pure disdain. In that moment, the woman felt a sharp sting of rejection.

Was she really that undesirable? A man who wouldn't even consider a woman throwing herself at him, going so far as to smash a bottle. How harsh.

"Fine, I'll leave! What, you think you're the only option I've got?" she retorted, her pride wounded. She spat out, "With that attitude, who else would even want you? If you didn't want to be bothered, why come to a place like this?" Bars were for unwinding, for indulging in pleasure, so what was he doing pretending to be the good guy?

his drink. If only Lydia were here. But he knew better than anyone. His wish was a fantasy that would never come true. Just as he

already lost count of how many creepy men had tried to hit on her. A few of them hadn't taken no for an answer, but they quickly backed off when

the head, which scared him off for good, though a few still kept stealing glances, planning to circle back later when they thought

until Eugene

bottle from her hand. "Lydia, what are you doing? It's late, and here you

Lydia replied, unbothered. Since Eugene had taken her drink, she reached for another

could. "We're friends. Your business is my business. Lydia, do you even realize where you are? You've been targeted already.

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