Olivia's energy was fading. The hypnotic beats of The Weeknd still moved through the floor, but her body wasn't keeping up anymore. Her gaze drifted to the VIP lounge where her so-called friends sat, glittering under too much light, laughing too loud. She exhaled, sharp. Friends. The word didn't mean what it used to. They were distractions, not the kind of thrill she actually wanted.
Across the room, Bailey caught her eye. A smirk. A quick gesture toward her nose. New material. Olivia's pulse kicked before she could stop it. The signal hit like muscle memory. She didn't even need to ask. Bailey's message was clear, this night was far from over, and neither was the temptation.
Her throat was dry. Her skin sticky from heat and perfume. She wanted a drink, something to cut through the noise, something that burned enough to make her forget. Maybe a line. Maybe anything. She told herself it was just another night, another way not to feel. The quiet that waited at home was louder than any bass, and she wasn't ready for that kind of silence.
She turned toward the lounge. The thought of it, the rush, the blur, pulled at her. The signal still buzzed in her head, right up until he appeared, slicing through it like a blade.
She hadn't seen him at first, standing near the bar, hidden by the crowd. He'd been there for a while, watching. Told himself he was only here to make sure she got home in one piece, that Pereira wouldn't hear another rumor. But when she moved toward the VIP lounge, he moved too.
Then he was in front of her.
She looked up. Heat surged before reason caught up. Her heart stuttered, her breath hitched, and the way he stood there, still, certain, made the pull worse. Her skin flushed along her neck, pulse climbing. Something about him felt deliberate, too composed. She didn't fight it. For a heartbeat she didn't even try.
Her mouth curved, slow, almost mocking.
"Do I know you," she asked. The question came out sharper than she meant. Something about him felt familiar, wrong and right at the same time.
He didn't answer, just watched her, quiet and assessing, as if he were recording the exact second she came undone. Then he stepped aside, barely, enough for her to pass, close enough for his presence to stay on her skin.
She kept walking, but her steps faltered. She could feel him behind her, that stare dragging across her back. It didn't feel like flirting, it felt like a claim, a warning.
She didn't even know his name. Her body didn't seem to care. Her thighs pressed together, reflex, stupid. Her pulse tripped, breath uneven, every nerve tuned to him and nothing else. Irrational. Dangerous. Exactly what she was looking for.
He was behind her again. Close. Too close.
A hand caught her arm, firm and sure. Her breath snagged. He pulled her through the crowd, the other hand finding her waist like it belonged there. She should have stopped him. She didn't. His steadiness disarmed her more than any smile could have.
They slipped deeper into the shadows. The music blurred. Lights flickered. The air thickened until it was only him and the echo of her pulse. His scent, clean, dark, expensive, wrapped around her. It felt like falling into something she wasn't ready to name.
When they stopped, he let go of her arm but kept his palm on her waist. She looked up, defiant, though her chest tightened. His eyes locked on hers, calm, unreadable.
She didn't care who he was. Not then. All she knew was the ache under her skin that needed somewhere to land. Her hands moved first, sliding over his chest, heat bleeding through fabric. She kissed him. Hard. A decision and a dare in one breath.
He answered instantly. Urgent, rough, consuming. The space between them disappeared. Friction, breath, heat. His fingers tangled in her hair. Her back met the wall. His mouth traced the edge of her jaw and she let out a sound she couldn't hold back. Her fists caught in his shirt, pulling him closer.
She felt his heartbeat under her palm, hard and fast, his grip tightening at her hip, guiding her as if he already knew her rhythm. The kiss deepened, pace quickening, breath breaking apart. The room slipped away until all that existed was pressure and relief, want chasing want.
He broke for air, barely. His mouth brushed her ear. Words followed, low, dark, meant only for her. Not a line. Not even a sentence. A promise, or maybe a warning. Whatever it was, it tore through her. Her body answered before her mind could.
A gasp. A tremor. She wanted his hand in her hair, his weight against her, the kind of closeness that erased thought. Need rose fast, dizzying.
He pressed in, body flush to hers, and suddenly breathing felt like work. Her knees weakened. He was everywhere, on her skin, in her lungs, under her nails.
She couldn't stop anymore. The words slipped out before she could catch them, her voice raw.
"Let's get out of here. Now. I can't wait any longer."
And she meant it.
He studied her for a beat, long enough for the noise around them to fade. Then his hand slid down, caught her wrist, fingers locking through hers, a command that didn't need a word. The bass rolled under their feet, lights blinked red, then dimmed.
"Now," she said again, quieter. It wasn't clear if it was a plea or an order.
He nodded once. No smile. No hesitation. Just decision.
They moved, back through the narrow corridor, through the crowd that pretended not to see. Olivia didn't glance toward the VIP lounge, didn't look for Bailey. Temptation had already shifted, turned into something sharper.
Outside, the city waited, cold air, dark glass, nowhere safe to land.
The pulse didn't slow. It changed rhythm.