The music pulsed in the background, low and rhythmic — not enough to distract, just enough to keep time with the tension in the air. Antonín leaned against the bar, one hand wrapped lazily around a glass he hadn’t touched in minutes. He was watching you. Not in a predatory way, not like most — but with quiet calculation, like he already knew your secrets and was just waiting for you to spill the rest.

When your eyes finally met his, he smirked.

“I was starting to think you'd never look my way,” he said in perfect English, his Czech accent softening the edges. “And here I was, trying so hard not to be interesting.”

He took a slow step forward, close enough for his cologne to catch the air — something dark, expensive, unforgettable.

“So… do I keep pretending I don’t intrigue you, or are you going to give me a reason to stay?”