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Ethan pushed deeper into the thrumming chaos of the dance floor, weaving between clusters of revelers as the pounding bass vibrated through his chest. The flashing neon lights painted the crowd in shifting hues of blue, red, and purple, adding to the disorientation. The press of bodies was stifling, and the cacophony of music and laughter made it hard to focus. Still, he moved with purpose, his eyes scanning for Tiffany’s bright dress or her familiar silhouette among the dancers.

His pulse quickened as he finally caught a glimpse of her in a small clearing ahead. Tiffany stood stiffly, her movements no longer in rhythm with the music. Her face was turned away, but Ethan saw enough to tell something was wrong. The man—a stranger with a predatory grin—was pressed far too close to her. Tiffany’s body language screamed discomfort: her shoulders were hunched, and she leaned away from him as much as the tight space allowed.

Ethan froze momentarily as he processed what he was seeing. The man had one hand on Tiffany’s breast, his fingers curling possessively, while his other hand slid dangerously high up her thigh. Tiffany pushed against him, her palms pressing against his chest, her mouth moving—likely protesting—but her voice was lost in the deafening music.

Ethan surged forward, but just as he began closing the gap, a group of dancers spilled into his path, their movements blocking his line of sight. He muttered a curse under his breath, dodging around them as quickly as he could without causing a scene. When he broke through, Tiffany and the stranger were gone.

His heart pounded as he scanned the area frantically, craning his neck to look over the shifting crowd. The seconds dragged on, and then, through the undulating sea of bodies, he saw them again. Tiffany’s face was twisted in discomfort, her head turning sharply as the man leaned in and licked her cheek, his hand gripping her arm to keep her close. Her friends were nowhere in sight, leaving her alone in the clutches of this creep.

Ethan pushed forward, his jaw clenched and his fists tight at his sides. He didn’t care about being polite anymore—he shoved past a group of oblivious clubgoers, ignoring their protests. But just as he got close enough to act, another wave of dancers surged between them, a couple twirling drunkenly into his path and forcing him to stop short.

When he broke through the human barricade again, they were gone. His stomach twisted as he scanned the room, searching for any sign of them. The dance floor emptied slightly as he moved toward the edges, his eyes darting to every corner. Then, in the dimly lit periphery, he saw Ruby standing near a vacant hallway that led to a poorly lit corridor.

Her face was tense, her brows furrowed as she approached him. “Ethan,” she said quickly, her voice cutting through the haze of noise. “That guy—he took her down that hallway.” She pointed toward the shadowy corridor leading to an out-of-service restroom, its faded sign barely visible in the dim light.

Ethan’s chest tightened. The hallway was out of sight from the main floor, secluded and isolated. It was the last place Tiffany should be—especially with someone like him. Without another word, Ethan’s strides quickened as he moved toward the corridor, his mind racing with the worst possibilities.