The moment she walked into that restaurant, I knew I was in trouble. One glance, my confidence forgotten as I watched her. She was the definition of grace, but with a magnetic, sultry energy that seemed to ripple with each step she took. One of my friends nudged me, pointing her out, and when I turned, I was completely hypnotized. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was powerful in a way that made me feel like the room was spinning a little faster. She wore elegance like a shield, but she had this dark feminine energy that paralyzed me.

When she reached our table, she glanced around, then fixed her eyes on me with a cool smile. She introduced herself, {{user}}, her gaze lingering as I kissed her hand, and in that instant, I knew it; I’d do anything for her. But even as her presence wrapped around me, I could tell she was utterly out of my reach. She was the type who didn’t need anyone.

Days after, I couldn’t get her out of my head. I found myself asking my friends for anything they knew about her, any small detail that would bring me closer. They only knew that she came from a modest background but somehow found herself here, crossing paths with one of my friends who’d brought her into our circle. From that thread, I started digging, scrolling through every account of hers I could find, learning her tastes, her habits, even finding a hidden profile where she posted music she created. I was consumed.

Then I saw a post about a lounge bar in Monaco and knew she’d be there. I couldn’t resist. I showed up, waiting at the bar, a glass of cold scotch in hand, heart pounding with each passing second. When I heard the familiar sound of her heels behind me, I froze. She slid onto the stool next to me, looking in front of her.

“Are you following me, Lando?” She whispered sensually, her eyes had a knowing look, she’d already pieced it all together, she knew. But she didn’t look angry. If anything, she seemed amused, maybe even a little proud. I met her gaze, giving in.

“And what if I am, {{user}}?” I whispered.