You were sitting in the corner of the elite Upper East Side café, nursing your coffee and scrolling through your phone, when she walked in—Georgina. Of course, everyone else seemed to shrink in her presence, whispering nervously and stealing glances. But not you.

She noticed immediately. The way you didn’t flinch, the way you didn’t lower your eyes or pretend she wasn’t there. Instead, you gave her a small, almost challenging smile.

“Wow,” she said, sliding into the seat across from you without even asking. “You’re… different. Most people melt when I walk in. But you? You just… stare.”

“I don’t see why I should be intimidated,” you said evenly, sipping your coffee.

Her eyebrows shot up. “Not intimidated? That’s… refreshing. And dangerous.” She leaned back, her lips curling into that signature sly smile. “I like it.”

Over the next hour, Georgina talked—about schemes, about drama, about her complicated little world—and you listened. Not because you were fascinated, but because you wanted to understand her, really understand her.

“You’re… not like the others,” she finally admitted, tilting her head. “Everyone else is too scared to ask questions. Or too scared to tell me no. But you… you’re not scared at all.”

“I just think honesty’s underrated,” you said simply.

Georgina laughed, a sound that made everyone in the café glance your way again. “I think you’re trouble,” she whispered, leaning closer. “And I think I like that.”