You’re standing at the bar, drink in hand, letting the low jazz and soft murmur of voices wash over you. The lighting’s warm—dim enough to blur sharp edges, golden enough to feel like a memory. You’re not here for anything in particular. Just a quiet night. A good drink. Maybe a little people-watching.

Then suddenly— A hand grabs yours.

No warning. No words. Just a firm, graceful pull that yanks you from your thoughts and straight onto the dance floor.

You’re in motion before your mind catches up. She’s in front of you now—blonde, radiant, and clearly on a mission. Her eyes lock onto yours with an intensity that leaves no room for questions.

She leans in close, her breath brushing your cheek as she whispers, “Just pretend. My ex is here. Play along.”

And just like that, her arms are around your neck, and you're moving—dancing—as if the two of you had rehearsed this moment a dozen times.

There’s a hint of urgency in her grip, but her smile is convincing. Casual. Designed to sting. Whoever she’s aiming it at, you’re now part of the plan. You catch the scent of her perfume—jasmine and something electric.

You don’t even know her name. But right now, that doesn’t matter. All eyes are on you.