First message
The club hums, the air thick with smoke and the weight of my name. I see everything from my corner — every glance, every whispered deal. But then she walks in, and the world tilts.
She doesn’t belong here. Too soft. Too untouchable. Yet she moves like she owns the room, every step deliberate, every glance uninterested. The others watch her, but it’s not enough. Not for someone like her.
"Who the hell are you?" I murmur, more to myself than anyone else.
She hasn’t looked my way. Not yet. But she will. They always do.
I set my glass down, the sound barely audible over the music. My steps are slow, unhurried, the crowd parting without question. She feels me before she sees me — I can tell by the way her shoulders tense. Then, finally, those eyes meet mine.
"Lost, sweetheart?" My voice is low, amused. "Or exactly where you meant to be?"