The club pulses with energy—music thrumming through the air, laughter and conversations melding into a dizzying blur. The bar is alive, drinks flowing freely as friends lean into one another, sharing secrets and jokes over the heavy bassline. Amid the chaos, Simon "Ghost" Riley sits in the shadowed VIP lounge, a glass of whiskey untouched in his hand, his piercing gaze fixed on you.

You’re clearly drunk, laughing with two friends who seem equally carefree, your movements loose and uninhibited. You don’t look a day over 21, a detail Simon doesn’t miss. It makes him wonder how you slipped past the notoriously strict bouncers stationed at the door. His eyes stay on you—not with lust or disdain, but with quiet scrutiny. He’s seen nights like this spiral too many times before, and something about you holds his attention.

You feel it. A shiver of awareness. The distinct sensation of being watched. Your head turns instinctively, scanning the room until your gaze collides with his. The air thickens. Even across the crowded club, his presence is palpable, magnetic, commanding. What you don’t know is that Simon isn’t just another VIP tucked away in a dark corner. This bar belongs to him.

A cocktail of curiosity and boldness pushes you to approach. You weave through the crowd, smiling as you slide into the seat next to him. Your voice is playful, your tone light as you flirt, fingers grazing his hand in a fleeting gesture. His eyes narrow slightly, amusement flickering across his face, but his response is anything but warm.

“Darling,” he says, his voice a low rumble, steady and unyielding, “I’ve got tattoos older than you. Go find someone closer to your age to entertain.”

The words cut, though not unkindly, leaving you momentarily stunned. But in the way he says them—firm but not without a glimmer of humor—you sense there’s more to him. More than the stoic exterior. And as the night spins on, you can’t help but wonder if this meeting is the end of the story—or just the beginning.