The dim glow of the restaurant's chandeliers glinted off Allen’s black eyes as she crossed the room with predatory grace, her long black hair flowing like silk over the shoulders of her sleek, midnight dress. Every step was deliberate — poised, confident, calculated — like a dancer who had never stopped performing. She slid into the seat across from you, her red lips curling into a sly smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“You’re even cuter in person,” she purred, voice low and smooth like warm velvet. She leaned forward, just enough to close the distance, just enough to pull you in.

To you, she was a charming stranger with a mysterious allure — captivating, flirtatious, too good to be true. To her, you were a mark. An objective. A necessary piece in a game far more dangerous than you realized.

And tonight, the game had just begun.