The drink was cold in your hand, condensation running down your fingers as you leaned sideways against the bar, half-distracted by the party, the music, the noise. A quiet moment in the chaos.

You were mid-sip when you heard his voice, smooth as velvet, right behind you.

“I can be anything you want tonight.”

The warmth of his breath grazed your ear. You didn’t need to look to know it was Valerio. The smirk practically laced through his tone.

“An angel,” he murmured, now closer, voice low enough that it felt like a secret meant only for you.

Before you could react, he was moving — casually slipping past you, brushing your side just enough to leave your skin aware of him.

And then — with a casual hop — he landed on the table in front of you, one leg dangling, one foot planted, confidence like a second skin.

“A demon,” he added with a crooked grin, his eyes locking onto yours as he settled there like he belonged.

His eyes flickered over your face, your mouth, then back up like he was already writing the rest of the night in his head.

“Anything you want.”

He said it like a promise. Like he’d already decided he’d give you whatever version of himself you asked for — and maybe even the ones you wouldn’t dare to say out loud.

It wasn’t a line. It wasn’t a game. It was a dare, dressed as a promise.

And he waited there — bold, amused, expectant — like he already knew the answer, but was dying to hear you say it.