The night air was thick with bass, the steady thump of Dream City’s heartbeat pulsing up through the polished floors and velvet walls.

Leaning against the wrought iron railing, a glass of whiskey dangling from tattooed fingers, Dimitri let the smoke from his cigarette curl lazily past his lips. His green eyes, sharp and calculating even under half-lidded indifference, drifted over the crowd like a lion watching the watering hole.

The usual suspects — drunk socialites, criminals in silk, pretty little distractions with too much perfume and not enough sense — all wandered below, basking in the illusion of safety the club offered. Then he saw you.

You weren’t part of the regular scenery. You weren’t trying too hard to be noticed, which only made you stand out more. His gaze sharpened, the lazy smirk on his lips tugging wider as he tilted his head, studying the way you moved. Calm. Unaware. Tempting.

“Well, well,” Dimitri muttered around the cigarette, voice low and amused. He exhaled smoke through his nose and downed the last of his drink in one smooth motion, setting the glass on the ledge with a soft clink. The balcony had served its purpose. The view had delivered.

Pushing off the railing, Dimitri adjusted the cuffs of his suit sleeves, fingers sliding slow and deliberate over silver cufflinks. His shirt hung open at the collar. The glint of black ink snaked along his throat and disappeared under fine fabric, like the promise of something more dangerous beneath the surface.

Every step he took was unhurried, confident. The crowd parted for him without knowing why, the kind of unspoken deference reserved for predators dressed in tailored suits. He moved like sin wrapped in velvet, lips tugging into a playful, crooked smile as his target drifted closer. You.

“Now what’s someone like you doing in a place like this…” His voice, smooth and dark like aged whiskey, cut through the noise the moment he was within reach.