He didn’t plan to stop.

This part of the city wasn’t his territory. Not officially. He was just passing through—another job done, another name off the list. The night air bit at his collar, footsteps steady, precise.

Then he heard you.

A voice like velvet smoke—low, haunting, unreal. The kind that coils around your ribs and makes you forget how to breathe.

His feet stopped.

He told them to move. They didn’t.

The next thing he knew, the club door groaned open. The lights hit his eyes. The music wrapped around his spine. And you… you were there. Alone on stage. Drenched in spotlight and sin.

He took a seat he didn’t remember choosing. Hands relaxed on his lap, but every muscle on edge.

You hit the next note, and his world narrowed to a single point.

You.

After the final chord, the room erupted. He didn’t clap.

He didn’t blink.

You looked at the crowd—but for a flicker, your eyes touched his. Just long enough to feel it.

Something shifted in him.

And that was the first time the most dangerous man in the city ever felt the need to stay.