The city pulsed with light and rain.
Maya's car slid to a stop before a tall black building wrapped in velvet glow. Gold letters shimmered across the glass doors: THE VELVET ROOM.
Zara stepped out, instantly feeling the weight of the place. The air itself seemed expensive. Music throbbed faintly inside—deep bass layered over a haunting piano note. A doorman in a tailored suit opened the entrance with a nod.
Her sneakers squeaked against marble. The scent of jasmine and champagne lingered in the air. She clutched her small purse tighter, wondering why she'd agreed to come.
Maya grinned beside her, already in full party mode. "Don't stand there like a statue," she whispered. "Smile. You never know who's watching."
"I shouldn't be here," Zara muttered. "Look at this place. Everyone's… perfect."
"Exactly," Maya said. "You blend by pretending you belong."
Zara wanted to laugh, but her nerves refused. She tugged at her thrift-store black dress—simple, short, clean. On Maya, it looked bold. On her, it felt borrowed.
They moved deeper into the club.
Velvet walls absorbed sound, so the music became a pulse rather than noise. Tables glowed beneath crystal lamps. Men in tailored suits leaned close to women who looked sculpted from perfume and diamonds.
A server offered a tray of champagne. Maya grabbed two glasses and handed one to Zara. "To not being broke for one night."
Zara managed a small smile. The bubbles tickled her nose, light and sweet. "Just one drink," she said.
Maya was already scanning the room. "Two. Maybe three. We're celebrating you surviving hell week."
Zara sighed. Her last paycheck barely covered groceries. The landlord's threats still echoed in her head. But here, under the club's golden light, reality blurred. Maybe for a few hours, she could pretend she was someone else.
They found a small table near the edge of the dance floor. From there, Zara could see everything—the slow swirl of bodies, the flicker of diamonds, the careless laughter of people untouched by worry.
And then she saw him.
At first, just a silhouette.
Broad shoulders in a dark suit. Hands resting on a crystal glass. A watch that glinted under dim light. He sat at a corner table reserved for the elite—surrounded by men who looked dangerous in silence.
But it wasn't the power around him that caught her breath. It was his stillness.
While others laughed and drank, he simply watched. His eyes—dark, unreadable—moved across the room until they found hers.
Zara froze.
The connection hit like electricity—sharp and sudden. She looked away, cheeks burning, but her pulse betrayed her. Something about him pulled at her, dangerous and magnetic.
Maya noticed. "Don't look now, but there's a man at the VIP table totally checking you out."
"I'm not interested," Zara said too quickly.
"Then why are you blushing?"
"I'm not."
"You are," Maya teased. "God, he's hot though. Probably rich. Or married. Or both."
Zara rolled her eyes but couldn't stop herself from glancing again. The man was still watching. This time, his lips curved slightly—half a smile, half a dare.
She felt her stomach twist. It wasn't like her to feel this way. Not about strangers. Not after everything.
Maya leaned closer. "I dare you to smile back."
Zara shook her head. "Absolutely not."
"Come on. What's the worst that could happen?"
"I embarrass myself."
"Or," Maya said, "you have fun for once."
The music changed—slower now, sensual. The lights dimmed to a deep crimson glow. Zara traced her finger along the rim of her glass, trying to ignore the heavy gaze that still lingered from across the room.
Her thoughts drifted to rent, to unpaid bills, to the sketchbook waiting in her drawer—filled with dreams she couldn't afford. Maybe Maya was right. Maybe one night of pretending wouldn't kill her.
When she finally looked up again, the man was gone.
She scanned the VIP section—empty chair, untouched drink. He'd disappeared as quietly as he'd appeared.
"See?" she murmured. "Just a look. Nothing more."
Maya shrugged. "Your loss."
But Zara couldn't shake the chill that crept over her skin, as if his eyes had left an invisible mark.
---
Across the room, in the shadows near the bar, Adrian Voss watched her again.
He wasn't used to noticing anyone outside of business, but this woman was different. No designer jewelry, no practiced smiles. Just a kind of raw, unguarded beauty that made the noise around him fade.
Luca leaned toward him. "We should go. The investors are waiting upstairs."
Adrian's gaze didn't move. "They can wait five minutes."
"You don't do this," Luca said quietly. "You don't stare."
Adrian's lips curved. "Maybe I'm changing."
Luca frowned but said nothing.
Adrian turned back toward Zara's table. The friend was laughing loudly; Zara wasn't. She looked like someone carrying the weight of the world while pretending to dance. He respected that kind of quiet strength.
He motioned to a waiter. "The woman in the black dress," he said. "Send her a drink."
"What kind, sir?"
Adrian thought for a moment. "Red wine. Something rare."
The waiter nodded. "And the message?"
Adrian slid a black card from his wallet, his signature embossed in silver. He took a pen and wrote five simple words:
To new beginnings – A.V.
Then he paused, changed his mind, and crossed out his initials. It would be better if she didn't know who he was—yet.
---
Back at the table, Zara swayed lightly to the music. Her nerves had eased a little; the alcohol had softened the edges of her exhaustion.
She was mid-conversation when a waiter appeared beside her.
"From the gentleman at the VIP section," he said, placing a crystal glass before her.
Maya squealed. "I told you! I told you!"
Zara frowned. "What? No, that's probably a mistake—"
The waiter placed a small black card beside the drink. "He insisted it was for you."
Zara picked it up. The surface was smooth, heavy. No name, no number—just those words written in bold silver ink:
"To new beginnings."
Her heart skipped.
Maya grabbed the card and inspected it. "Oh, this is so romantic. You have to go thank him!"
"I don't even know who he is."
"That's the fun part."
Zara looked up toward the VIP section—but it was empty again, only a shadow behind the curtain of red light.