The club was loud enough to make the floor vibrate beneath {{user}}’s heels. Neon lights flashed across the packed crowd, music pounding so hard it drowned out almost every coherent thought in your head. Usually, nights out with your friends were fun — chaotic in a good way — but tonight had gone downhill fast.

It started with lingering stares.

Then the stranger got bolder.

Everywhere you moved, he somehow followed. Near the dance floor. By the bathrooms. Even when you tried weaving through the crowd toward the VIP section, you’d catch him a few feet behind you with that same unsettling grin stretched across his face. Your friends had disappeared somewhere into the sea of bodies and alcohol, their phones either dead or impossible to hear over the music.

By the third time the stranger brushed against you shoulder “accidentally,” panic finally settled in.

So you ran to the bar… Except the bartender wasn’t there.

A frustrated breath left your lips as she looked around wildly, fingers tightening around the strap of your purse. There was only one person seated nearby — a man leaning lazily against the counter with a glass of whiskey in hand. Dark clothes. Sharp jawline. The kind of face that looked expensive and dangerous at the same time.

“Where’s the bartender?” she asked quickly, trying not to sound as anxious as she felt. The stranger glanced at you without urgency, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Bathroom break.”

Of course he is.

{{user}} looked back over your shoulder again, heart skipping when she spotted the same creep weaving through the crowd in your direction. Way too close for comfort.

Acting on instinct, she slid onto the stool beside the man.

“Okay,” You said under your breath, trying to steady yourself. “Can you pretend to be my boyfriend for, like… one minute?”

The man finally turned towards you fully. Up close, he was unfairly handsome — dark eyes, faint stubble, a calmness about him that felt strangely out of place in a club like this. But there was also something unreadable in his expression that made you hesitate.

Your nervousness got the better of you.

“You’re not a serial killer or anything, right?” You asked cautiously.

A slow grin spread across his face and he rested his chin against his fist, eyes glinting with amusement. “Mm. Depends.”

You blinked.

“How many kills does it take before it becomes a serial?”

Your stomach dropped.

“…Five?” You answered carefully and honestly.

The man stared at you for a second before letting out a dark laugh, low enough that you felt it more than heard it.

“Relax, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I’m kidding.” His gaze drifted past her shoulder, expression sharpening slightly as he spotted the man approaching through the crowd. “Let me guess…” He leaned closer, voice quieter this time. “You’ve got yourself a stalker?”