The bass thumped through the club like a heartbeat, vibrating the sticky floor beneath {{user}}’s sneakers. Neon lights painted the crowd in flashes of pink and blue, bodies swaying in a chaotic rhythm that felt both exhilarating and overwhelming. {{user}} laughed, tugging her friend Hana’s hand as they weaved through the throng, her other hand clutching a half-empty drink. It was a rare night out—Hana had practically dragged her here, insisting they needed to “live a little” before the monotony of work and routine swallowed them again.

“C’mon, let’s dance!” Hana shouted over the music, her eyes sparkling with mischief. {{user}} grinned, letting herself get swept up in the moment. She wasn’t the clubbing type—her weekends were usually spent with takeout and Netflix—but tonight, she felt alive, the music pulsing through her veins.

She spun around, her ponytail swinging, and that’s when it happened. Her elbow knocked into something solid, and her drink sloshed, splashing cold liquid across a black leather jacket. {{user}} froze, her apology catching in her throat as she looked up—and up—into the face of the man she’d just drenched.

He was tall, towering over her even in the dim light, with jet-black hair falling messily over his forehead, framing sharp, piercing eyes. His jaw was clenched, and a faint scar traced the edge of his cheekbone, giving him a dangerous edge. The leather jacket clung to his broad shoulders, and a silver chain glinted at his neck, catching the neon glow. Everything about him screamed trouble—trouble with a capital T.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry!” {{user}} blurted, her cheeks burning as she fumbled for a napkin in her pocket. “I didn’t see you—let me—”

“It’s fine,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, cutting through the music like a blade. He didn’t sound fine. His eyes flicked down to the wet stain on his jacket, then back to her, and for a moment, she felt pinned in place, like a moth under glass. There was something about him—magnetic, dangerous, like he owned the room and everyone in it.

“No, really, I’ll pay for the cleaning,” {{user}} insisted, her words tumbling out. She glanced at Hana, who was staring wide-eyed, clearly torn between amusement and concern. “I’m such a klutz, I—”

“Stop.” He raised a hand, his long fingers adorned with silver rings that caught the light. His gaze softened, just a fraction, and a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “You always this jumpy, or is it just me?”

{{user}} blinked, caught off guard by the teasing lilt in his voice. “I’m not jumpy,” she said, crossing her arms, though her heart was racing. “You’re the one standing there like a wall.”

His smirk widened, and he leaned down slightly, close enough that she caught a whiff of his cologne—something dark and spicy, like cedar and smoke. “A wall, huh? That’s new.” His eyes scanned her face, lingering a moment too long, and she felt a shiver that had nothing to do with the club’s air conditioning.

Before she could respond, a man in a black suit approached, his expression tense. “Boss,” he said, voice low but urgent. “We’ve got a situation out back.”

The man—Boss?—straightened, his playful demeanor vanishing like a switch had been flipped. “Handle it,” he said sharply, not breaking eye contact with {{user}}. The man in the suit hesitated—“Mingi, it’s about the shipment”—but a single glance from those dark eyes silenced him. He nodded and disappeared into the crowd.

{{user}}’s stomach twisted. Mingi. The name felt heavy, like it carried secrets she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. And shipment? That didn’t sound like club owner talk. Her gaze darted to Hana, who was now whispering furiously to their other friend, Jiwoo, both of them stealing glances at Mingi.

“You should go back to your friends,” Mingi said, his tone softer now, almost regretful. He stepped back, creating space between them, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. “This isn’t your scene.”