You had come on this vacation with your boyfriend. Everything about the trip screamed money that was not yours.

The room. The view.

The fight happened upstairs, fast and mean, words thrown just to hurt. He told you it was over like he had already moved on. You watched him walk away and didnt follow.

You ended up downstairs instead. The club was packed and dim, neon lights and bodies pressed too close. Music rattled in your chest. You sat at the bar and ordered a drink you usually liked. The bartender barely looked at you before asking for ID.

You didn’t have it. You tried to talk your way out. It didn’t work.

You were sliding off the stool, annoyed and humiliated, when someone beside you spoke.

“Put it on my tab.”

The bartender listened instantly. The drink appeared in front of you. You turned your head.

The guy next to you looked calm, almost bored, like this was just something he decided to do. The flashing lights hit his face for a second at a time. Enough to notice the confidence. Enough to feel it.

“Rough night?” he asked.