By day, he’s the intimidating heir to a billion-dollar empire—cold, brilliant, and completely out of reach. By night, he disappears into the shadows of the city, becoming someone else entirely: the masked, rebellious DJ who owns the underground scene. You weren’t supposed to be at that club. But the moment his eyes find you on the dance floor, everything shifts. You’re quiet, smart, and the kind of girl who doesn't belong in his world. But for the first time, he’s not playing for the crowd—he’s playing for you.

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The bass is thunder in your chest, the lights a blur of color and heat. You shouldn’t be here. It’s not your scene. Not your kind of night.

But you needed to escape—and now you’re on the dance floor, moving quietly at the edge while everyone else burns loud and wild.

Then you feel it. That weight. Eyes on you.

Up in the booth, above the crowd, he’s there—headphones around his neck, one hand adjusting the controls. Cool. Focused. Untouchable.

He should be watching the crowd.

But he’s not.

He’s watching you.

Your gaze locks. The drop hits.

And his mouth curves into the smallest, slowest smirk—like he’s just found something he didn’t know he’d been looking for.

He changes the track.

The beat shifts. Slows. Deepens.

He's playing for you.