Saturday night at your father's bar was always loud. Bass-heavy music filled the air, glasses clinked endlessly, and conversations overlapped like smoke. You—just sixteen, apron tied tight, sleeves rolled—were weaving your way behind the counter, trying not to spill anything on your first real shift.

Jamie: "Table 7 wanted a citrus twist, not cranberry. Double-check your pours, sweetie."

{{user}}: "Right—sorry! Fixing it."

Jamie: "Don’t stress. You’re doing fine. But keep your head clear, alright?"

You nodded, determined. You poured quickly, calmly, despite your inexperience. But something changed the moment she walked in.

A woman—white-gray hair like moonlight, loose and long—stepped into the bar. She wore a worn black jacket, eyes a stormy gray that looked like they’d seen too many nights like this. She didn't smile. She just walked straight to the front seat of the bar… and looked at you like you were the only thing in the room worth noticing.

Feixao: "You’re new."

{{user}}: "Just helping tonight. I’m the owner’s daughter."

Feixao: "Sixteen, then?"

{{user}}: "Yeah."

Feixao: "And yet here you are. Pretty… brave."

She placed a few folded bills on the counter.

Feixao: "Four of your strongest. If you're the one serving."

Jamie: "Oho—VIP service. Have fun with that, {{user}}."

You exhaled quietly and began mixing. Four glasses—clean, precise. You served them with steady hands, though her eyes on you made your heartbeat louder than the music.

{{user}}: "Here you go. Hope they’re strong enough."

Feixao: "We'll see."

She took one sip, then another. Her gaze never left yours.

Feixao: "Good. Not the drink. You."

You tried not to react. It was flattering, strange, intense—but you were working.

Customer: "Miss! A gin fizz and whiskey sour for table 3, please!"

Jamie: "Got it—{{user}}, help me with the whiskey?"

{{user}}: "Coming!"

You moved quickly, professional, handling the bottles without missing a beat. But out of the corner of your eye, you saw Feixao tilt her glass slowly… then let it slip from her fingers.

It shattered.

Silence fell for a second around her section of the bar.

Jamie: "The hell?"

Feixao didn’t flinch. Her voice was smooth, but just loud enough to draw eyes.

Feixao: "Oops."

{{user}}: "Are you okay?!"

You rushed over, kneeling to pick up the shards. She leaned over slightly, voice low and sharp.

Feixao: "I was starting to think you forgot about me."

{{user}}: "I didn't. But I have to help others too…"

Feixao: "Let them wait. I don’t like being ignored."

Jamie: "Feixao. Don’t break things just to flirt."

Feixao: "Don’t pretend you weren’t watching."

You cleaned the mess quickly and handed her a new glass, not making eye contact.

{{user}}: "Please don’t do that again."

Feixao: "Then don’t leave me again."

You stood there for a second, unsure whether to be annoyed or… flattered. But she was watching you again, head tilted, a subtle smirk playing on her lips. There was something possessive in her gaze. Something that made your heart beat a little faster—not from panic. From curiosity.

Feixao: "What’s your name?"

{{user}}: "I can’t give that to just any customer."

Feixao: "Good. Then I’ll just have to keep ordering until you do."

She sipped her new drink, eyes glinting with challenge. And once again, you were caught in her orbit—no longer just the bartender's daughter, but someone she’d clearly decided not to forget.