The drive to the club wasn't long. Just a fifteen-minute glide through the city _streets washed in neon and temptation, buildings pulsing with music and sin. But it felt longer. My pulse had begun to race the moment we left the gates.
I stared out the window, watching as the city blurred past, glowing in fragments. My fingers found my phone. I checked the time_just after nine. A quiet breath slipped from my lips as I switched on flight mode and turned off location services.
No one needed to know where I was tonight.
Especially not my father.
The car pulled into a dim parking lot, half full of exotic vehicles and polished chrome. Club Elara loomed ahead, its entrance a gold-lit archway guarded by men in suits and velvet ropes. Music thudded from deep within_low, bass-heavy, seductive. The kind that stirred something primal.
Celine tossed her keys to a valet and looped her arm through mine.
"You ready?" she asked with a wicked grin.
I nodded, but my hand trembled slightly against my clutch.
Inside was like stepping into another realm. A thick wall of sound and heat hit me instantly_the scent of alcohol, sweat, cologne, and perfume mixing into something dizzying. The lights were low and colored, moving across the crowd like restless spirits. Bodies swayed to music, the rhythm relentless and intoxicating.
This was freedom_but it felt foreign. Almost frightening.
All those years abroad, I had lived under careful watch. Even in classrooms and cafés, someone was always lurking behind me. Taking notes. Reporting back. I never drank. I never danced. I never even dated. I just existed in a controlled cocoon.
But here?
Here, I was invisible. Unwritten. For the first time… I was no one.
And it was almost too much.
I stopped just inside the threshold, clutching my purse tightly. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out the music. My eyes darted around_scanning, cataloging. The lights spun in colors that made me feel like I was drowning. Someone bumped into me, laughing. Another hand reached past me for a drink. The press of bodies. The shrieks. The flashes.
I suddenly wasn't sure I could breathe.
As my eyes roamed around the place, they caught someone.
Or maybe he saw me first.
Just outside the VIP lounge, behind a dark velvet rope and two armed guards, stood a man who looked like he didn't belong in this chaos at all.
He wore a black designer shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing a glimpse of ink on his chest and his neck. His jet-black hair was tousled in that effortless kind of way that didn't look styled, just undone. His hands were tucked into the pockets of tailored black trousers, his stance deceptively relaxed.
Another man in a suit stood next to him, whispering something in his ear, but his focus wasn't there.
It was on me.
His eyes were obsidian. Cold, unreadable.
They landed on mine with sharp, startling precision.
And for a split second, I felt stripped.
As if he saw too much_more than I allowed anyone to see.
I quickly averted my gaze, the heat crawling up my throat.
What the hell was that?
"To earth, Lyra," Celine's voice snapped me back.
I blinked. "What?"
She smiled, mischief in her expression. "You were staring."
"No, I wasn't," I lied too quickly.
"Oh, yes you were, and just so you know, i would ship you with him. He is an absolute masterpiece."
I scoffed, more to cover up my flustered state than anything else.
"Relax. I was just... looking."
But the truth was_my pulse hadn't calmed. Not even close.
~~~
Although I held a glass of alcohol in my hand, I had barely taken two sips. The taste was sharp, bitter _like melted metal mixed with burnt wood. I grimaced, wondering how anyone actually enjoyed this.
How did people drink such a thing and smile after?
The music pounded like a war drum all around me. The lights were too bright, spinning in endless color storms, and the air was thick with perfume and sweat. Bodies pressed into each other on the dance floor, hands roamed freely, and somewhere amidst it all, I had already lost sight of Celine.
She had been dancing with a guy almost as soon as we stepped in. Her laughter now blended with the rest of the crowd's, and for a moment, I felt like a ghost. Present, but not acknowledged.
I scanned the room again, not meaning to look for him, but still doing it.
The man from the VIP lounge.
But he was gone. Or at least no longer where I'd last seen him. I scoffed at myself, silently scolding the part of me that was… disappointed. What had I expected? That he'd just appear again? Speak to me?
I sighed, running my fingers through my hair. Maybe coming here had been a bad idea after all.
It was too loud. Too crowded. Too much. I wasn't used to chaos_I'd spent years surrounded by rules and silence. This freedom felt more like drowning.
Clutching my purse, I made my way off the dance floor and toward the only place that felt slightly less chaotic_the counter near the bar, where only a few people lingered in the dim backlighting.
The bartender had his back turned, busy mixing something complicated with silver tools. I leaned forward to ask for water, already tired of pretending to enjoy myself, but before I could open my mouth_
A voice behind me spoke first.
"Could you get her a glass of water."
The voice was smooth. Deep. Slightly rough around the edges like velvet scorched by flame.
I turned instinctively, and the air caught in my throat.
It was him.
The man from earlier
And looking at him closely, devastatingly more handsome than I remembered.
He took the seat directly opposite mine at the counter, the dim lighting tracing his jawline with a cruel kind of precision. His black shirt was partially unbuttoned, exposing a sculpted chest marked with faint tattoos_symbols I didn't recognize but felt dangerous just looking at. His neck bore the same ink, elegant and dark against his pale skin. A piercing in his left ear, a sharp black earring shaped like a dagger, glinted as he tilted his head slightly.
His eyes watched me and it made my stomach turn.
My mouth opened to speak, but nothing came out. A flicker of anxiety danced up my spine. He was just a man. Just another clubgoer. But something about the way he looked at me made my skin tighten.
Made my stomach flip.
Made my confidence shrink.
I dropped my gaze, suddenly desperate to find Celine in the crowd. She had come with me here, said it would be fun, said I needed to live a little.
And I had believed I could do it.
But now, with this man in front of me, reality felt too sharp.
He was not like the boys at university who were easy approachable. His presence was just enough to intimidate anyone.
"You don't like the drink," he said, still watching me, his tone unreadable.
I looked back at him slowly, my throat dry.
"What?"
His dark eyes flicked toward my nearly full glass of untouched liquor. "You have barely taken three sips."
"I didn't realize I was being watched," I said, trying to sound unaffected, though I could hear the edge in my own voice.
He leaned forward slightly, the scent of expensive cologne_ something smoky and crisp_ drifting between us.
"You walked into a room full of predators," he murmured. "Of course you were being watched."
I tensed.
He turned to pick up the glass of water the bartender had placed near us and pushed it toward me. His fingers brushed mine briefly.
"Drink," he said simply.
It wasn't a command, but it wasn't a request either.
I hesitated, and then slowly took the glass. The water was ice cold. My hands trembled slightly around it, but I hoped he didn't notice.