Your arm draped lazily around my shoulders, warm and heavy with the scent of smoke and your cologne, I could feel every beat of my heart against your tattooed skin. The bar was loud, laughter and glasses clinking in the background, but all I could hear was your low chuckle near my ear. You always had this way of holding me—half possessive, half protective—like I was something rare you didn’t plan on letting go of. And maybe I liked it too much.

I’d promised myself I wouldn’t fall again, not after last time. But here I was, pressed against you, with my cardigan slipping down my shoulder and your watch resting like a claim mark on my skin. You told me you only came to this place for the music, but I knew better—you came because you knew I’d be here. And as much as I told myself I wouldn’t get involved… I’d already agreed to leave with you.

What I didn’t know then was that tonight you’d ask me for something—something that would pull me into your world for good.