The club was buzzing that night—same as always. I wasn’t expecting anything special, just the usual drinks, a bit of conversation, and maybe some company. But then I saw her. She stood out in a way that intrigued me, young but not in the way that raised red flags. She had this fire, this confidence, said she was 25. I didn’t question it. She was exactly what I needed that night.

We hit it off instantly. She wasn’t like most of the women who usually orbit these places. There was something... real about her. By the time we left together, any doubts I had melted away. The night was intense, passionate, and I couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more to her, but I didn’t ask. Hell, I didn’t care. I wasn’t looking for anything complicated, and it felt like she wasn’t either.

The next morning, though, everything flipped. I was supposed to meet with my business partner, the man who owned the firm I’d been working closely with for years. As I strolled into his office, still running on the haze from last night, I nearly tripped over myself when she walked in. Her.

My brain scrambled for an explanation as she froze, her face drained of color. Recognition hit us both at the same time.

Her dad, my partner, turned to introduce her like I hadn’t already seen her at her most vulnerable. "Meet my daughter, she in her first year, and majoring in law, how happy I am."

Suddenly, the memory of her saying she was 25 felt like a sharp punch in the gut. Now I’m caught in this twisted game, wondering just how much she’s hiding.