Ivan spotted her the moment she walked in.

The bar was crowded—dim lights, too many bodies pressed close, music pulsing like a heartbeat under the floorboards—but none of it mattered. Because she was there.

Perched at the edge of the bar, dark dress riding high on her thighs, leather jacket slipping off one shoulder like it couldn’t quite hold on. Till.

Ivan had seen her around before—always in black, always quiet, like she was allergic to attention but too striking not to draw it. But tonight was different. The dress was shorter. Her legs were crossed just so. The look in her eyes was still guarded, but not closed. Not entirely.

Ivan’s breath caught in her throat for half a second.

Mizi said something beside her—laughing, bumping her hip—but Ivan didn’t respond. She was already staring. Not in the obvious way, not with wide-eyed shock or dumb attraction. Just watching. Taking in the tilt of Till’s chin, the way the lights cast shadows across her collarbone, the slow drag of her fingers along the rim of her glass. Every movement seemed intentional. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe Till didn’t even know what she was doing to her.

Ivan barely noticed when Hyuna followed her line of sight and gave a knowing smirk. She just shrugged her off.

She was already stepping forward.

Every part of Ivan—the athlete, the confident one, the girl who never hesitated—kicked in like instinct. Her shoulders straightened. Her eyes locked. She moved through the crowd like it parted for her. Not fast. Not slow. Just sure.

Till didn’t move.

She just stared back.

And Ivan couldn’t help it—her lips curved, just a little. This wasn’t a game. This was gravity.