THE RETURN OF THE HIDDEN HEIR

Chapter 008: Bloody Dance

Inside the club, sound hit hard like a living thing. Bass rolled, and light fractured across glass and chrome as bodies moved in deliberate chaos.

Dora paused just past the entrance, her eyes flicking back once. She keenly expected to see Derrick stuck and mocked outside.

Instead, he was already there.

He stood a few steps behind them, jacket neat, and posture loose. Great displeasure crossed Dora's face before she quickly masked it with a laugh.

"Well," she said lightly as he approached her, "you made it after all."

Derrick met her gaze with an unreadable expression. "Was that in doubt?"

"Oh not at all," she said, already raising her voice. Then she turned toward a young man leaning against the bar like he owned the place. "Frederick, come meet Ivy's husband."

Frederick straightened slowly. Fancy jacket, perfect hair, and the kind of confidence that had never been seriously challenged. His eyes moved from Dora to Ivy, then to Derrick.

"This?" Frederick said, openly incredulous. "This is him?"

He gave off a sharp and humourless laugh, turning to Ivy. "You married him?"

Ivy stiffened, visibly embarrassed. "Watch your mouth."

Frederick ignored her. His gaze raked Derrick head to toe, dismissive. "Damn. I thought your grandfather had standards."

Dora smoothly stepped in, perfectly fanning the flame. "Quite surprising, isn't it? No background we can trace. No family we know. He just... dropped from the blue sky."

Frederick's jaw tightened as he turned his gaze back to Derrick. "Do you have any idea what you've taken?"

Derrick smiled faintly. "A legally binding responsibility, I believe."

That did it. Frederick's composure couldn't take it anymore. It snapped, anger spilling out raw and unfiltered.

"You must divorce her," he said flatly. "Tonight."

A hush rippled outward and a small crowd began to gather around them.

Derrick scoffed irritably. "And if I did, do you genuinely believe she'd marry you?"

Frederick instantly flushed. "Of course she –"

He paused, watching as Derrick's eyes slid past him–over to Dora's thin frame, the coiled tension beneath her elegance, and the hunger in her expression.

Rage burnt bright within Frederick. "You insolent–"

"He's the heir of Leonardo's family," Dora cut in sharply, placing herself beside Frederick like a blade. "That's one of the oldest lines in the City, you know. If he's not qualified, then tell me–who the hell is?"

Derrick looked back at her, his expression calm and gentle. "I am."

The room reacted instantly, making Derrick note that a lot of people had been listening.

Whistles, laughter, and booing followed. Someone shouted, "Get him!" Another instantly called for a fight. Glass clinked, and phones lifted to record.

Frederick surged toward Ivy, his hands swiftly wrapping around her arms.

"Is this low-life over here really your husband?"

Ivy swallowed. "Frederick, please. Let go."

He didn't.

"Were you forced? Did your family pressure you? If you couldn't say no, I understand–I can help. I'll talk to them. I'll definitely get you out of this mess."

His words continued to pile up until Derrick lost his cool.

"Let go," he said.

Frederick rounded on him. "You don't get to speak here–"

Derrick didn't let him finish. He stepped in, seizing Frederick by the collar and driving him back into the wall with a brutal thud. The impact knocked the breath from his lungs.

"I said," Derrick repeated in an ice-flat voice, "let go."

Frederick slid down the wall, coughing really hard.

The room erupted–shouts, curses, and over a dozen voices all at once.

"So that's it?" Frederick spat. "Using brute force to bully people? If you've got balls, fight me fair and square! You tricked her dumb grandfather into accepting your marriage proposal. I'm not convinced otherwise!"

The crowd latched onto it immediately.

"Yeah! Fight him!"

"He's just a sweet-talker, Frederick. Crush his pretty balls!"

Derrick's temple twitched as he turned to Frederick with open disdain. "So what if you're not convinced? She's married to me. And what you're doing now?" His smile turned sharp. "Trying to steal another man's wife."

The crowd surged after this, voices rising, and bodies closing in to block Derrick's path.

"Don't run now, boy!"

"What are you acting all damn high and mighty for?"

Derrick let off a low and humourless laugh as his gaze swept the room. "You? You're not even qualified to stand against me."

The provocation hit like a match to gasoline, and before anyone else could respond, Dora stepped forward.

"That's enough now," she said.

The room fell quiet.

She shrugged out of her jacket and cracked her fingerjoints, eyes locked on Derrick. "I'll take you up. Let's dance baby."

Ivy stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension.

"Derrick," she called, her voice sharp but not loud. "Walk away from this."

Dora paused, glancing back with mild curiosity.

Ivy didn't look at her. Her eyes stayed on Derrick. "This isn't a challenge you win by being a brave guy. You don't need to prove anything here."

Derrick didn't answer.

Ivy exhaled, frustration tightening her jaw. "I know you think you can handle this. And maybe you once did."

Her gaze flickered briefly to Dora, then back. "But that was just...timing. Good timing. And luck too."

Dora let out a quiet, amused breath.

"This is different," Ivy continued in a firmer tone. "She isn't bluffing. Dora breaks men who fight for a living, and she does it without weapons or noise."

Only then did Ivy turn toward her best friend. "You don't need to do this. He's not the kind of opponent who makes a point worth proving. Just let this slide."

Dora shrugged Ivy's concern off with a small, dismissive motion. Her gaze turned to Derrick instead.

"Watch closely," she said. "This is what happens when someone reaches for a place where they were never meant to stand."

A ripple of excitement tore through the club.

"Oh he's gonna get it tough tonight," someone said, almost gleeful. "Even hired mercenaries wouldn't dare provoke Dora!"

Derrick exhaled once. "I don't fight women–"

"Shut up!"

Dora moved, her strike cutting the air as she aimed between his legs.

Derrick barely twisted aside, stunned–not by her speed, but by her intent. She didn't pause. A kick followed, her body coiled, movement fluid as she lifted off the ground. Her fragrance hit him before anything. It was sharp and intoxicating.

The crowd roared. This was what they wanted to see.

Dora–New York's golden combat prodigy. National top ten. And Derrick–well built, but utterly unremarkable in their eyes.

He dodged again and again, and when she overextended, he reached out instinctively to steady her.

But he had too much strength compared to hers, and this made him pull her toward himself more than intended.

Her body collided with his chest, her soft buttocks fitting too closely between his thighs, and her lips brushing past his neck and landing against his shoulder.

Derrick froze–then immediately released her, stepping back with his palms raised in restraint.

A ripple tore through the crowd–boos, whistles and laughter.

"Oh look at that," someone shouted.

Derrick's jaw tightened.

Dora stared at him with fury flashing hot across her face.

"You think that was funny?" she hissed.

Then she attacked again.

He moved in the opposite direction of every single strike of hers.

"You're flashy," he commented as he dodged a blow. "Fast too. But you're over committing. Your moves are big, loud–"

He paused, then moved sideways as she staggered forward after an attempt to kick him.

"And easy to read," he added, turning slowly to her. He didn't seem to break a sweat, and this terrified all around.

"Who the hell is this guy?"

"Talking trash already?"

Dora turned to him again, her expression sharpening into something dangerous.

Then she came at him one more time. Rage sharpened her precision, strikes snapping faster and tighter. The air whistled around her limbs, but she was still no match for her opponent.

Finally, Derrick saw an opportunity to make a single move that would permanently stop Dora–just a small strike against her kidney.

He shifted to take it, but Ivy screamed.

"Stop!"

He pulled his strength back mid-motion as he harkened to the command, redirecting the force and pushing Dora away gently. But his fingers caught the tie at her top.

There was a sharp tear of fabric.

Gasps tore through the room as Dora's clothes slipped free and fell to the floor. She froze, breath caught, standing there in nothing but her underwear. This sudden exposure stole the air from her lungs, heat rushing to her face as every eye locked onto her body.

Her face burning with shame, Dora lunged furiously, wrapping her well trained and curvy legs around Derrick's head. Her naked thighs locked tight, and a fraction of more pressure would have ended him.

"I concede, you win," Derrick said, raising his hand in a dull manner before trying to push off her legs from his neck.

"He's giving up already!" someone yelled in mockery.

Another voice followed, dripping with contempt. "With those half-baked skills, you actually thought you could show off in front of Dora?"

A lady scoffed. "You should be thanking whatever luck you've got left that you weren't beaten until you were crying and begging on the damn floor. Fool."

But Dora’s grip only tightened.

"You don't get to end it like this," she snarled, breathing hot with rage.

Derrick strained now as he tried to control his resistance.

"Let go," he said quietly.

She didn't.

The crowd continued to roar, convinced that they saw fear in Derrick’s eyes.

But, just then–

Boom!

The electric doors slammed open and masked men poured in. Guns came up in unison.

"Everyone down!" one of them barked.

Screams and chaos instantly tore through the club, and the wild music went dead.

One of the masked men lifted his weapon and pointed it at as many faces as he could.

“We’re here for Ivy Lorenzo. Point her out now, or kiss my bullet."