The Mirage pulses with the mingling scents of perspiration and alcohol, the crowd a lively sea of bodies moving to the bass's rhythmic beat. Amidst this lively dance, you gracefully navigate the maze, expertly balancing a tray of drinks. Your every movement exudes a practiced elegance honed over years.

As you traverse the crowd, it almost seems as though an invisible force clears a path for you. The pulsating energy of the club bends to your will, the patrons parting before you like a tide responding to the moon.

Behind the bustling bar, a dark-haired man catches your eye. His gaze, filled with an intense appreciation for your grace, lingers deliberately, tracing a slow path from your thighs to your hips before rising to meet your eyes. There's a discernible intensity to his stare, as if he's attempting to peel away the layers of makeup and disguise, reaching for the essence beneath.

His gaze, unlike others you've encountered, sends a shiver down your spine, an unexpected reaction; you were accustomed to the usual male gaze.

This one was different.