Steam curled up around Trang as she stood under the rainfall showerhead, warm droplets tracing the contours of her slender curvy figure. Her long, dark hair clung to her back like wet silk, glistening under the soft golden lights of her bathroom. The silence was calming, but her eyes remained sharp—focused.
She stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel, and reached for her phone. A new message blinked on the screen.
"Go meet Ethan. Here's his location."
—Duy.
Trang let out a small smirk, subtle and unreadable.
Not long after, she emerged in a sleek, form-fitting black dress that hugged her curves without effort. She slipped into her Mercedes C63, the engine roaring to life beneath her as the city melted past the windows in streaks of neon and shadow.
When she arrived, she didn't need to look twice. An Audi S4 was parked near the front—low, clean, unmistakably Ethan's.
She stepped out. Her heels clicked against the pavement as she approached the bar. Through the window, she saw him—alone, swirling a drink, shoulders heavy with something unsaid.
She walked inside, straight to the seat beside him.
Ethan turned.
She was stunning. The way she carried herself—elegant, dangerous, yet calming. Her hair was tied loosely to one side, eyes dark and calculating, with a smile that barely touched her lips.
She nodded softly.
Ethan gave a small nod in return. "Nice dress," he said, voice low and sincere.
"Thanks," Trang replied, the faintest blush rising to her cheeks.
He eyed her posture, the calm control in the way she moved. "I'm guessing there's more to you than meets the eye?. You carry yourself like someone in charge."
Trang smiled, coy and composed, then waved for the bartender. "Watermelon juice," she said.
Behind them, two drunk men were laughing too loud, their eyes drifting toward Trang. One stumbled over, beer breath thick in the air, hand clumsily landing on her shoulder.
"Hey, baby. Come party with us. Lookin' real fine tonight," he slurred, fingers sliding toward her chin.
Ethan's face changed instantly—expression tightening.
"Hey, man," Ethan said, his voice cool and sharp like a blade. "You're out of line."
The drunk squinted. "Fuck you. I do what I want. Now fuck off!"
Ethan stood, slow and steady. "You don't touch women like that. Ever."
The drunk guy took a swing—wild, fast, stupid.
He never landed it.
Trang moved first.
A sharp, sudden knee to the groin. The man doubled over with a grunt, eyes bulging. Before he could drop, Trang swung her purse into his face with a loud crack. He hit the floor, groaning in pain.
His friend lunged forward. "What the fuck! Hit my brother and just walk away?!"
He grabbed at Trang.
But Ethan was already moving.
A quick low kick to the back of the guy's knee—crack—sent him down hard.
Ethan grabbed a whiskey bottle from a nearby table and smashed it against the guy's skull. Glass shattered. The man hit the floor, dazed, blood trickling down his temple.
He cursed, struggling to sit up. "You're fucking dead. Both of you!"
But he didn't get up.
Ethan looked at Trang. "You okay?"
"Fine," she said calmly, brushing her hair behind her ear.
They walked out together into the crisp night.
Ethan glanced over. "What's your name?"
Trang turned, smiling playfully. "Wanna grab some ice cream? My treat."
He blinked. "You're asking me to eat ice cream… after that?"
"Why not?" she said, tossing him her car keys. "You drive."
"You just met me," Ethan said, raising a brow.
Trang laughed. "Think I'm scared of being tricked?"
Ethan couldn't help but grin. "You're full of surprises."
They got into the car.
As Ethan drove, Trang leaned back, looking out the window. "Trang," she said finally. "My name's Trang."
"Nice to meet you," Ethan said.
"Thanks for helping back there."
He chuckled. "I think you were doing just fine on your own."
She looked at him, amused. "Maybe. But you're still a good guy."
Silence for a moment. Then Ethan asked, casually, "You're a spy, aren't you?"
Trang smirked. "Nope. Just a very well-trained assistant."
He raised an eyebrow but said nothing more.
The city passed them by—lights reflected in the windshield, the scent of night air drifting in through a cracked window. Somewhere between flying bottles and strawberry ice cream, something had started.
Something new.
Something dangerous.
Something interesting.