22 years later.
V The Bar, City Z.
Country S.
The moment the old clock mounted behind the liquor shelves struck eight, the neon sign outside flickered alive.
A single glowing letter illuminated the darkening street.
V.
The vibrant violet light spilled through the bar windows and bled onto the damp pavement outside, painting the narrow alley in electric color while music from inside drifted lazily into the humid night air.
Kaija Sepala was the first person to walk through the doors.
She entered quietly, one hand tucked into the pocket of her faded blue jeans while the other adjusted the strap of her worn canvas bag over her shoulder.
Her outfit was painfully ordinary compared to the women who usually worked nightlife districts in City Z. A loose gray sweatshirt hung comfortably off her frame, sleeves partially covering her hands, while her sneakers squeaked faintly against the polished wooden floor.
It was the same thing she always wore here.
Comfort over beauty.
Practicality over seduction.
Still, none of it mattered.
Not when she looked like that.
The moment the bartender glanced up and saw her, his expression softened automatically.
Long black hair spilled carelessly down Kaija's back, slightly messy from the evening wind outside, and her sapphire-blue eyes carried that familiar distant coldness that somehow only made men stare harder.
'Last night,' she reminded herself quietly as she stepped toward the stage area. 'Just get through tonight.'
The thought left a strange bitterness in her chest.
For four years, this place had been part of her life. The sticky counters. The scent of alcohol soaked into the wood. The dim amber lights. The sound of drunken laughter mixing with cheap music. She had spent almost every weekend under this roof singing for strangers who forgot her face by morning.
And somehow… she would miss it.
Not enough to stay.
But enough to hurt a little.
Her band trickled in several minutes later carrying instrument cases and half-awake expressions. Someone immediately began tuning a guitar while another complained about traffic. The familiarity of it all settled around Kaija like an old sweater.
Vance emerged from behind the counter carrying drinks himself instead of forcing one of the bartenders to do it.
That alone showed how much he adored her.
"Kaija, my lovely star," he announced dramatically as he placed a large pint of dark ale beside her near the stage. "Tell me honestly, are you planning on emotionally destroying my customers again tonight with that tragic little angel voice of yours?"
Kaija snorted softly under her breath.
"Absolutely," she replied in her usual lukewarm tone before taking a sip of the ale. The bitterness rolled across her tongue, warm and familiar. "I'm giving you all I've got tonight, Vance."
Then she added flatly:
"It's my last night."
The smile vanished from Vance's face.
The glass in his hand froze halfway through polishing.
Slowly, carefully, he lowered it onto the counter like sudden movement might somehow undo what she had just said.
"Woah, woah, woah," he whispered, immediately leaning toward her. "Hold on. What do you mean last night?"
His expression turned genuinely alarmed.
"Angel, listen to me, we can negotiate." He pointed frantically around the room. "Is it the pay? I can raise it."
Kaija raised an eyebrow.
"Is it the band?" Vance continued desperately. "I can replace every single one of them by tomorrow if you want."
"Hey!" the drummer protested from behind them.
Vance ignored him completely.
"Or the drinks? Are you sick of beer? I can get cocktails. Expensive cocktails. Fancy fruit slices. Tiny umbrellas."
Kaija laughed quietly despite herself.
"No, it's not that." She reached over and patted his shoulder almost affectionately. "I got a real job offer."
The word real stung more than either of them expected.
Vance visibly deflated.
Kaija looked down at the amber liquid swirling in her glass.
"I can't keep doing side gigs forever," she said softly. "I've got my Hospitality degree now."
A sour look crossed Vance's face instantly.
"What kind of job steals you away from me?"
"Flight attendant."
Silence.
Then came the inevitable defeat.
Everyone in Country S knew aviation jobs paid absurdly well compared to student work.
These bar performances had earned Kaija around S$800 a month during university—barely enough to survive after rent, groceries, textbooks, and transportation drained her dry every single semester.
There had been weeks she survived on instant noodles and free bar peanuts.
Weeks she smiled on stage while calculating whether she could afford detergent.
But S$5,000 a month?
That was life-changing money.
That was escape.
There was no universe where Vance could compete with that.
A long sigh escaped him.
"I see…" He rubbed the back of his neck before forcing a smile onto his face. "Well. Damn."
His eyes softened as he looked at her.
"You know, this place was dead before you came along." He gestured around the bar. "You brought life into it."
Kaija's gaze flickered away instinctively at the sincerity in his voice.
Compliments always made her uncomfortable.
"Every person who's heard you sing under this roof is gonna miss you," Vance continued quietly. "And I'm definitely gonna miss you."
For a brief moment, genuine warmth softened Kaija's usually guarded expression.
"Thanks, Vance," she murmured. "For letting me live out my little youth passion."
The owner watched her disappear backstage with the band, feeling strangely emotional.
'Damn kid grew up right under my roof,' he thought bitterly.
By nine o'clock, the bar had transformed completely.
The warm haze of alcohol and conversation filled every inch of the room while cigarette smoke curled lazily near the ceiling. Glasses clinked. Laughter erupted from crowded booths. Neon lights reflected across polished bottles behind the counter.
Then the door opened again.
A tall man entered.
And somehow, despite the noise, despite the crowd, despite the flashing lights, his presence immediately felt wrong for the place.
Too polished.
Too expensive.
Too cold.
Unlike the casually dressed customers lounging around in beach shirts and sandals, the man wore an immaculate black tailored suit that fit his broad frame perfectly. His leather shoes looked untouched by dust. Every strand of chestnut hair was neatly arranged.
And his eyes—
Silver.
Sharp, piercing silver eyes utterly devoid of warmth.
The kind of eyes that looked at the world and found it perpetually beneath them.
He paused briefly near the entrance, gaze sweeping across the shabby little bar.
The place was beneath him.
Obviously beneath him.
But boredom made people do strange things.
He had spent his entire life drowning in wealth, luxury, power, and privilege. Endless parties. Endless women. Endless business meetings. Endless hollow pleasures.
And somehow, despite having everything, nothing ever felt enough.
Nothing lasted.
Nothing excited him anymore.
One of his business partners had recommended this place for the alcohol.
So here he was.
The singing? Irrelevant.
Or so he believed.
He took a seat at the counter and lazily loosened the cuff of one sleeve before motioning for a drink. As he waited, his gaze drifted toward the stage.
A girl stood there talking casually with the band.
Beautiful.
Painfully beautiful.
Her blue eyes caught the stage lights like sapphires submerged underwater while dark hair cascaded freely down her back. She wore no revealing dress. No glittering makeup. No desperate performance of seduction.
And yet she drew attention effortlessly.
Still, the man only smirked faintly.
Beauty meant little to someone surrounded by it constantly.
Once you spent your life handling diamonds, even gemstones eventually lost their brilliance.
The bartender slid his drink toward him.
At the exact moment the rim of the crystal glass touched his lips—
The girl stepped onto the stage.
And then she sang.
The cold liquor slid down his throat while her voice poured through the room like velvet wrapped around shattered glass.
The man stopped breathing for half a second.
The glass froze midway back onto the counter.
The entire bar seemed to dim around her.
It wasn't even a particularly famous song. The instrumental behind her was amateur at best, slightly off-tempo in places, rough around the edges.
But her voice—
God.
It carried something raw inside it. Something lonely. Aching. Honest.
She didn't merely sing the song.
She possessed it.
Bent it into something hauntingly beautiful until it no longer belonged to its original artist at all.
The man stared at her without blinking.
'What the hell…?'
He slowly glanced around the room.
Every man was watching her.
Every single one.
Some openly mesmerized. Some leaning forward unconsciously. Others staring into their drinks with strange expressions like she had unearthed emotions they normally kept buried beneath alcohol and routine.
And for the first time in years…
The man felt interested.
Truly interested.
Five songs later, Kaija disappeared backstage.
When another singer eventually replaced her, irritation immediately clawed at him.
He waited.
Three songs passed.
She never returned.
His jaw tightened.
Finally, he motioned the bartender over and asked where the previous singer had gone.
"She already left," came the answer.
Something unexpectedly sharp twisted through him at those words.
Annoyance.
Disappointment.
Possessiveness.
He immediately requested to see the manager.
Several minutes later, Vance emerged from the back office, already wary from experience. Wealthy men who looked like this rarely brought pleasant outcomes into ordinary places.
Still…
The man looked strangely familiar.
Vance just couldn't place where he'd seen that face before.
"How can I help you, sir?" Vance asked carefully.
The man didn't waste a second.
"The singer. What's her name?"
"Kaija Sepala."
The name settled into the man's mind instantly.
Vance smiled faintly.
"You're lucky, actually. Tonight was her last performance here."
One dark eyebrow lifted slightly.
"She found somewhere better than this place?"
There was mockery hidden beneath the question.
Vance caught it immediately, though he maintained his polite smile.
"She got hired by Starlight Airlines," he explained proudly. "She'll be working as a flight attendant."
Then he chuckled softly.
"Honestly, I'm not surprised. She's beautiful, tall, and memorable." He paused. "Not exactly friendly, but that's part of her charm."
The man stared at him blankly through the entire explanation.
Then coldly said:
"Give me her number."
Vance's smile vanished.
"I'm afraid I can't do that."
The silver-eyed man's expression darkened slightly.
"I have a responsibility to protect my employees' privacy," Vance added firmly.
For several long seconds, silence stretched between them.
Then the man abruptly stood.
Without another word, he tossed a crisp S$500 bill onto the counter and headed toward the exit.
"Wait—sir!"
Vance grabbed the bill with widened eyes.
"Your drink was only S$30!"
The man glanced over his shoulder.
His gaze was ice.
"That money was for the singing," he said coldly. "Not your trashy drink."
Then he disappeared through the doors before Vance could even process the insult.
Outside, cool night air brushed against the man's face as he descended the stairs.
His silver eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
Starlight Airlines.
He had never once flown commercial in his entire life.
Private jets existed for people like him.
Commercial flights were crowded, inconvenient, loud, and beneath his standards.
And yet—
A slow smirk spread across his lips.
"Kaija Sepala."
Her name rolled off his tongue almost possessively.
A decision quietly settled into place inside his mind.
He would see her again.
No matter what it cost.
And once he decided he wanted something…
He always got it.