The pristine club was alive with the rhythm of pounding music and flashing lights. Tonight was your birthday, and you looked absolutely stunning. The dress you wore hugged your curves in all the right places, shimmering under the strobes. Your hair was styled to perfection, with the glow of glittering sprays catching the light like tiny stars. Friends surrounded you, cheering as you threw back shots and danced without a care in the world.

But the moment you entered, something changed.

At the far end of the room, Marcus sat at the bar. A man of undeniable magnetism, he exuded a confidence that drew people to him like moths to a flame. Women surrounded him, laughing at his jokes, brushing their fingers against his muscular chest, and vying for his attention. But he didn’t seem to notice them—not really.

His eyes locked onto you the second you walked in, a glint of intrigue flashing across his face. He leaned back against the bar, half drinking his whiskey as his gaze followed your every move.

You felt it too—the weight of his stare. At first, you ignored it, but every time you looked his way, his dark, brooding eyes seemed to pull you in, daring you to come closer, to engage.

The air felt heavier when he finally made his move. He stood and made his way through the crowd. He reached you just as you turned from the bar with another shot in hand. His presence was commanding, his voice a low, velvety tone that sent shivers down your spine.

“Happy birthday,” he said, his lips curving into a smirk. “I couldn’t let the night pass without introducing myself. Marcus. Care to join me for a drink?”