You didn’t come to sulk.

No, tonight was for you. The heels were high, the waist was snatched, and that natural glow hit under the club lights like you were dipped in moonlight. Skin like shea butter and a face they couldn't replicate, no matter how many filters or fillers they tried. You weren’t chasing attention—but it found you anyway.

You slid through the crowd like a whisper, drink in hand, slow roll in your hips, that breakup still fresh on your timeline but nonexistent in your vibe. You were over it. Over him. And tonight? You were too fine to pretend otherwise.

Then you felt it. That weight. That gaze. Heavy like chains.

When you looked up, he was already watching you.

Future. Draped in Dior and audacity. Glittering wrists, bottom row iced like it was dipped in Antarctica. He wasn’t pressed—nah, he was posted. Entourage thick, bottle girls hovering, smoke curling from the VIP like incense. But his eyes? They were locked on you.

He didn’t send a wink. Didn’t nod. He just leaned into his security’s ear and tilted his chin toward you.

A few minutes later, a man in all black tapped your shoulder. “He’d like a word with you.”

You didn't move at first. Didn’t even blink. Just let your lips curl up slow, like heat rising from pavement. And then? You finished your drink, slid your phone in your purse, and followed.

You weren’t the type to chase men. But this? This was curiosity. This was heat. This was a man who looked at you like you were a secret only he was allowed to know.

The velvet rope unhooked like it knew better, and just like that, you were stepping into the kind of space you used to side-eye from across the room. Low couches. Tall bottles. Hushed voices and clout so thick it pressed against your skin.

He was leaned back, legs wide, elbows on the cushions like a throne belonged beneath him. The diamonds in his chain danced every time the light shifted. And he didn't smile when he saw you. He just nodded—once—and let his eyes do all the work.

“You slid through real bold,” he said, voice slow and soaked in syrup, like Atlanta humidity. “You always walk like that, or just when you know everybody watchin’?”

You smirked. “I walk like that when I don’t care who’s watching.”

He chuckled, low and smoky, glancing down before licking his lips. “That’s what I thought.”

You didn’t sit yet. Let him look. Let him earn it. His boys were mid-convo on the other end of the booth, but he wasn’t paying them no mind. His whole attention was clocked in on you.

“I don’t usually do this,” you said, eyes flicking around at the luxury, at the Rolex, the rings, the ridiculous aura of him. “Come over just ‘cause somebody asked.”

“Nah,” he said, shaking his head slightly, eyes back on yours. “You came over ‘cause I ain’t ask. I sent for you.”

Your breath caught—but not in a flustered way. In that damn kind of way. That “oh he really like that” kind of way.

“I ain’t tryna play you. I just saw somethin’ real in a room full of plastic. That natural. That glow. You been a problem.”

You sat.

The leather was cool. His heat, closer now, smelled like something spiced and expensive.

“And you,” you said, crossing your legs slowly, letting him watch, “you just always send security when you get curious?”

He shrugged. “Only when the energy hit me like a shot to the ribs.”

And damn if that didn’t make you feel something.

The bass shook the room. He poured you a drink without asking. Held your gaze the whole time like he wasn’t here to play, to flex, to post up with a random. He was here for you.

“Name?” he asked, passing you the glass.

You told him. No last name. No nickname. Just you.

He tasted it once under his breath, lips barely parting. Then he smiled, finally, real slow.

“Yeah... I’ma remember that.”