Page 67 of Surprise! I'm Engaged To My Boss
I was ripped from my thoughts when I turned onto the side street next to the bar, passing through a stretch that was a bit dark due to a broken streetlight. From there, I spotted my car — and was surprised to see it wasn’t blocking any other vehicle, simply because there were no cars in the surrounding spots. That raised a red flag in my mind just as I looked down and saw — faintly, thanks to the poor lighting — the shadow of a man behind me making a sudden move, raising something in his hands.
I managed to turn quickly, using both hands to block the object coming at my head — which I now saw was a metal rod.
I saw on the guy’s face the kind of desperation someone feels when they weren’t expecting a fight. Ihad spent years of my life practicing Muay Thai, and even though I hadn’t trained seriously in two or three years, I still hit the gym regularly and kept myself in shape.
I always knew it would come in handy someday.
Gripping the rod with both hands, I braced one leg and used the other to deliver a sharp kick to the guy’s abdomen, knocking him back and nearly making him fall.
I walked toward him, now with a clear advantage. But I wasn’t a fucking coward like he was, so I tossed the rod away. I’d teach the bastard a lesson using only my fists.
At first, I figured he’d try to fight back — my first assumption was that he was trying to rob me or something. But he just turned around and, clearly spooked, bolted down the street like a rat.
"Get back here, you son of a bitch!" I shouted.
I even started to chase after him, but stopped a few steps in when another warning light went off in my head.
What if the target wasn’t me? What if the real plan was to get me away and leave Camila alone for someone else to go after her?
The sheer panic that thought brought on made me turn around and sprint back toward the bar. As soon as I stepped inside, my dread only multiplied — the table I had been sharing with Camila was now empty.
My eyes swept over the entire place until I finally spotted her. A few people were dancing near the stage to the music played by the band, and among them, I recognized Camila’s red hair. But she wasn’t dancing. She was walking toward the exit on the other side of the bar.
Looking more closely, I saw she wasn’t alone. There was a man next to her, his arm around her waist, seemingly guiding her somewhere.
The first red flag that flared up inside me was something I had never felt so intensely before — a deep, burning hatred for the man who dared touch Camila. Jealousy.
But that was quickly replaced by a second, even more urgent warning: Camila was in danger.
I practically flew at them. I grabbed the bastard by the back of his jacket, yanking him back and forcing him to let go of Camila.
As soon as he turned to face me, I landed a punch right in the middle of his face. He stumbled and crashed onto a table. The sound of glasses and plates shattering made the band on stage stop playing, and suddenly every eye in the place was on us.
If I were in my right mind, I would’ve known this was bad — very bad. That kind of behavior could seriously hurt me in the custody battle for my daughter.
But I was nowhere near my right mind. I was blinded by rage, so I grabbed the guy again and punched him once more.
Soon, people started trying to step in, and I may have hit one or two of them by accident. I was completely consumed by fury. All I wanted was to keep beating that son of a bitch until he stopped moving.
I lost track of how many times my fist collided with his face, until several hands managed to pull me back and hold me off. That’s when the wailing sound of a police siren finally reached my ears and seemed to snap me out of it.
I couldn’t be doing this...
But that bastard had dared to touch Camila, and—
"Camila?" I whispered, panic rising.
I looked around until I saw her. She was still standing in the same spot, her eyes blank, drifting through the chaos that had erupted in the bar.
I rushed over to her, gripping her shoulders. Even though I was right in front of her, it was like I was invisible — her eyes still distant.
"Camila?" I repeated. "Are you okay? Say something. Talk to me, Camila..."
"I..." Her voice came out much slower than usual. "What’s happening?"
She was completely drugged.
Someone had done this to her.
