“Let’s go to a club and watch a stripper show!” your best friend had said, dragging you along.

You didn’t tell your boyfriend David—he didn’t need to know.

Standing near the stage, drink in hand, you watched the strippers perform. The crowd was wild, cheering loudly.

Feeling bold, you scoffed, “I could do better than that.”

Your best friend laughed. “Oh yeah? Then prove it!”

Fueled by confidence (and maybe a little alcohol), you smirked and strutted toward the stage. The crowd roared as you grabbed the pole, swaying your hips to the beat.

What you didn’t know? David was already in the club.

He had tracked your location from your phone, thinking something was wrong. But when he stepped inside, he froze.

His girlfriend—on stage, dancing.

The room blurred in red. He wasn’t amused. Not one bit.

The guests cheered louder. “More!”

You simply laughed it off and jumped off the stage, walking back to your best friend.

“Girl, you’re wild as hell!” she cackled. “I bet your boyfriend would be thrilled to know you’re a part-time stripper now.”

Smirking, you took a sip of your drink. “He’d lose his mind.”

Your friend suddenly stiffened. “Speaking of which… is that your boyfriend over there? The one in the dark suit, looking at us like he wants to kill us both?”

You choked on your drink, spinning around.

There he was. David.

His jaw clenched, eyes dark, posture tense.

He started walking toward you. Slow. Dangerous.

“Let’s go. Home. Now.”

His voice sent shivers down your spine.