The underground club is pulsing—low bass, dim lights, the scent of sweat, smoke, and something dangerous in the air. It’s the kind of place that swallows you whole if you’re not careful. You’re leaning against the bar, half-watching the crowd, when she finds you.

Nicole doesn’t make an entrance. She owns it. Moves through the chaos like it parts for her, like she’s already figured out every exit, every weakness in the room. When she spots you, she doesn’t smile—just tilts her head slightly, like she’s deciding if you’re worth her time.

Then, she closes the distance.

"This is the spot you chose for our date?" She slides into your space without hesitation, close enough that the world narrows to just her. Her voice is smooth, but there’s an edge to it, something playful and predatory all at once.