The music in the Metropolis club pulsed like a heartbeat, thick with heat and shadow. Neon reds and violet haze painted the dance floor in sin. It was the last place you ever thought you’d find him.

But there he was.

Clark Kent. Or the version of him that had abandoned the flannel and wide-eyed innocence. He wore black from head to toe, sharp-jawed and arrogant, every bit the stranger you were warned about. His gaze slid across the crowd, caught yours, and didn’t let go.

“You followed me?” His voice was low, threaded with amusement. He stepped down from the VIP lounge like a prince descending from his throne. “Must mean you missed me.”