The drink in my hand feels heavier than it should, the condensation slick against my palm. I hesitate at the edge of the dance floor, unsure if I should step in, but the moment my eyes find Vivian—already lost in the music, hair whipping around, arms raised without a care—I feel something loosen inside me.
If she can let go, so can I.
The beat pulses through my chest, and I begin to move, awkwardly at first, but soon I realize I'm no worse than anyone else here. Half the people on the floor are moving like amateurs anyway, thrashing more than dancing, and somehow that makes it easier. For once, no one is watching, no one is judging.
I dance until my lungs burn, until my legs ache and the world blurs with flashing neon lights.
When I finally stop, breathless and glowing with sweat, I glance around for Vivian. She's not hard to spot—dancing with some guy now, clearly enjoying herself. I smile faintly at the sight before letting my gaze wander further when my eyes spot him.
A man across the room, eyes fixed on me in a way that makes my skin crawl. His smile isn't charming—it's predatory. His gaze lingers too long, not with curiosity, but with hunger.
Not him. Definitely not him.
It isn't that he's old or even unattractive, but something about him feels… wrong. Like a spider watching a fly struggle in its web. And when he begins moving through the crowd toward me, my pulse spikes.
Nope. Absolutely not.
I slip away, weaving through writhing bodies, letting the music swallow me. My heart thuds as I dodge past one couple, then another, until I'm sure I've lost him. Only then do I allow myself to slow down, breath hitching, relief washing over me.
The bar counter offers a temporary sanctuary. I lean against it, considering another drink, but one sip of the bitter liquid in my glass reminds me why that's a terrible idea. Alcohol tastes awful, and I have no idea how much it would take for me to lose control. That's the last thing I need tonight.
My eyes catch a half-open door at the far end of the club. Beyond it, I glimpse faint light, the cool promise of air. Without a second thought, my feet carry me toward it.
The balcony.
And God, do I need it.
I push the door wider and step outside, the rush of night air kissing my skin. Compared to the suffocating heat inside, it feels like heaven. The music is muffled here, distant, as though the world inside the club belongs to another universe entirely.
For a moment, I close my eyes and breathe. The stars are barely visible through the city lights, but I drink in the sky anyway.
"Such a beautiful view."
The voice startles me. My breath catches as I spin around, and there he is—leaning casually against the small doorframe as though he's been standing there for hours.
And God, he's…
He's like no man I've ever seen in my entire life. Midnight-black hair, slightly ruffled as if someone had just run their hands through it. Sharp cheekbones, a jaw cut from stone, and eyes so dark they seem to catch the light and swallow it whole. His clothes—formal, tailored, far too refined for a place like this—only make him stand out more.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
I snap out of my trance quickly, forcing a polite smile. "Very beautiful." I say, turning back towards the glittering skyline. Safer to look at the city than at him.
He is right, the view from here is really amazing. The city glitters beneath the night sky, lights scattered like fallen stars across the horizon. For a moment, I let myself get lost in it—the hum of life below, the way the wind carries faint traces of music from inside, the freedom that seems to stretch far beyond the walls I've always been caged in. My lips curve into the faintest smile as I turn my head, trying to memorize every detail. It feels like the kind of view you could fall in love with… the kind that makes you forget where you are.
"I was talking about you."
The words strike harder than they should, making my heart stumble against my ribs. Compliments have never been my thing. They're messy, awkward—because then you're expected to return them. And looking at him, the last thing I want is to feed a man's ego when he clearly doesn't need help in that department.
"Well… thank you," I manage, the words coming out softer than intended. My gaze locks stubbornly on the city, as if its neon lights can anchor me.
But then I hear his footsteps as he makes his way towards me.
My pulse quickens as he comes closer, each step echoing in the quiet night air until he stands beside me. The heat of him, the sheer presence, is impossible to ignore.
"Funny thing about views," he says, voice low, almost amused. "They're always better when you have someone to share them with."
I finally turn my head, and he's watching me.
Before coming here, I thought it would be easy—find a guy, spend the night, and walk away with no strings. But now, with a real man standing right beside me, the weight of that idea feels heavier, more intimidating than I ever imagined.
He towers over me, his presence wrapping around me in ways that make my pulse stumble. His gaze—dark, steady, and far too intense—feels like it could unravel me if I let it linger for too long. I try to recover, recalling his earlier words, and manage to whisper, "Yes… views are better when you share them with someone else."
He tilts his head, as if amused by my attempt at composure, and I rush to distract myself. "You don't exactly look like someone who came here to have a good time."
I'm referring to the way he's dressed—nothing casual or careless about him. His fitted black designer shirt clings to broad shoulders, two buttons undone just enough to reveal the edge of a tattoo. Dark trousers complete the picture, along with a silver Rolex glinting under the balcony light. He looks more like he stepped out of a private boardroom than into a club.
"I came here to meet someone," he says simply, his voice smooth and unreadable. After a beat, he adds, "But you… you don't seem like the type who belongs in places like this."
He's right. And the more he says it aloud, the more this night feels like a mistake. My chest tightens with a realization I don't want to admit. "Yeah," I say, my voice low. "I thought it would be fun to dance, maybe… have a hook up for the night. But it was a bad idea."
The breeze tugs at my hair and I reach up, tucking the strands behind my ear, my fingers brushing against skin that feels warmer than usual. His eyes don't leave me, and I wonder if he can tell just how out of my depth I really am.