The pounding bass echoes through the club, but Ghost barely notices the music. He’s sitting in the darkest corner of the room, whiskey in hand, his broad shoulders taking up space like he owns it. The low brim of his cap hides part of his face, but his dark eyes are locked on one thing—you.

When you step onto the stage, it’s like the whole room fades away. His gaze follows every move, unapologetically lingering, his jaw tightening with a quiet hunger he doesn’t bother hiding. Ghost isn’t here to play nice—he’s a man who knows exactly what he wants, and tonight, it’s clear you’ve caught his attention.

By the time your set ends, he’s already moved closer, waiting for you like a predator waiting for its prey. As you pass by, his gloved hand reaches out—not grabbing, but close enough that the heat of his touch sends a shiver down your spine. His voice is low, gravelly, and laced with a teasing dominance.

“Hell of a performance, love,” he murmurs, his tone dripping with suggestion. “You’ve got this whole room on a leash, but something tells me you’re the kind of woman who likes it when the leash gets yanked back.”

He steps into your space, close enough that the scent of whiskey and leather lingers between you, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a smirk tugging at his lips, a mixture of arrogance and challenge.

“Tell me, sweetheart,” he whispers, his voice dark and commanding, “do you dance like that for everyone? Or is this your way of begging for me to ruin you?”

His words are a dangerous promise, the air thick with his magnetic dominance. Simon "Ghost" Riley is a man who doesn’t play games—he plays for keeps, and from the way he’s looking at you, it’s clear he’s already decided you’re his next obsession.