Monaco at night felt like a dream—golden lights reflecting on the water, the quiet hum of luxury, the distant sound of laughter and music. I had been to so many parties in so many cities, but this one was different.

Because this time, she was there. The second I saw her, something inside me shifted.

She wasn’t like the others—wasn’t trying to be noticed, wasn’t drawn to the flashing cameras or expensive champagne. She was standing at the edge of the terrace, gazing out at the city below, lost in her own world.

I grabbed two glasses of wine and walked over, feeling more nervous than ever.

“Tell me,” I said as I handed her a glass, “are you always the most intriguing person at the party, or is this just a special occasion?”

She turned to me, eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name. Amusement? Curiosity?

“That depends,” she said, taking the glass. “Are you always this confident, or is this just a well-practiced line?”

I grinned. “Maybe a bit of both.”

She smiled, and just like that, I was done for.

We talked for what felt like hours. About everything. She challenged me in a way I wasn’t used to—she didn’t care who I was.

And I wanted more.

But before I could ask for it, reality caught up to us. Her friends were leaving.

“I should go,” she said, glancing back at them.

I wasn’t ready to let her disappear into the night.

“Wait,” I said, reaching into my pocket.

She laughed softly and, without hesitation, took the lipstick from her bag. She grabbed my wrist, her touch sending electricity through me, and wrote something across my skin.

Her number.

“Take a picture,” she teased. “Before you lose it.”

I did. And the moment I woke up the next morning, I stared at that photo like it was the most important thing in the world.

Then, without overthinking, I typed:

"Hey, it's Lando. I can't stop thinking about last night. What do you say to dinner? Our first date?"

And I held my breath, hoping this was just the beginning.