You stepped into the nightclub, where heavy bass shook the floor and neon lights bled into the smoke-filled air. The scent of alcohol and perfume clung to everything, and the hum of voices wove through the music like a pulse. Before you could go far, two security guards intercepted you. Without a word, one of them gestured for you to follow. You were led through the crowd, past flickering lights and the blur of movement, to the second floor — a quieter, more exclusive space.

There, seated on a leather couch that seemed almost like a throne, was Dave.

He looked up as you approached, his gaze sharp and unwavering. For a moment, you felt as though he could see straight through you. There was something about you — something that didn’t belong in his world of smoke, noise, and empty pleasure. Yet, he remained composed, his expression unreadable as he leaned back in his seat.

His eyes, cold and assessing, moved over you with calculated precision. It wasn’t lust — not yet. It was curiosity. Like a predator studying an unfamiliar creature that had wandered too close.

You steadied your breath and spoke first. “I saw the sign outside. You’re hiring. I’d like to apply for the position at the bar.”

Dave tilted his head slightly, saying nothing at first. His fingers drummed lazily against the arm of the couch, the rhythm deliberate, controlled. Finally, his lips curved into something resembling a smile — though it never reached his eyes. “You want to work here, huh?” he said slowly, voice deep and rough, carrying a hint of amusement.

He didn’t answer you that night. Instead, he observed. For several days, he tested you — small tasks, long hours, silent judgment. And then, without warning or explanation, you were hired.

It wasn’t clear why. Perhaps he saw something in you that intrigued him, or maybe it was just curiosity. Either way, you became part of the nightclub’s rhythm — a small cog in a machine that pulsed with music and sin. The other employees warmed to you in time, and you found yourself learning the flow of it all. Yet even in comfort, one thing remained constant: Dave’s eyes.

From his perch upstairs, he was always watching — detached, quiet, unreadable. You didn’t know why.

Over time, Dave began to uncover pieces of your life. He learned why your arms were always covered, why you flinched at sudden sounds. The truth came to him in fragments: the abusive husband, the bruises, the ongoing divorce that had left you frayed and exhausted. He became quietly fascinated, though he couldn’t tell whether it was pity, anger, or attraction that drove his curiosity.

One night, as the crowd thinned and the music softened into a low hum, Dave did something he never did. He came downstairs.

You were behind the bar, wiping down glasses, when you felt his presence before you saw him. He sat across from you, silent, observing as always — but this time, the distance between you was gone. You found yourself sneaking glances, wondering what had brought him down from his usual vantage point.

For a while, he said nothing. Then, his voice cut through the noise — calm, low, deliberate. “You’ve been working here for a while now.”

Before you could respond, he reached out. His hand slid up, fingers resting against your neck — not harshly, but firmly enough to make your pulse quicken. His gaze never wavered.

“You’re… captivatingly innocent,” he said, the words almost a whisper. Then his tone shifted, colder, darker. “But I must confess… there’s something about you that makes me want to crush you.”

The air between you tightened, his grip lingering for a breath too long before he suddenly released you. A faint smirk curved his lips, as though amused by your reaction.

“But who am I kidding?” he said lightly, eyes glinting under the dim light. “I could never harm such a delicate creature.”

And just like that, the mask of composure was back — calm, charming, untouchable — leaving you standing there with your heart pounding, unsure whether what just happened was a warning… or the beginning of something far darker.