โโโโโโโโโโ
๐ฝ๐ง๐ฎ๐จ๐ค๐ฃ ๐๐๐๐๐ช๐ฃ ๐๐ค๐ฉ๐ฉ๐จ
๐ ๐๐๐ฆ๐ฉ๐ก๐ข๐ฌ, ๐๐๐ง๐ง๐๐ฌ๐ฌ๐๐
MADE: @๐ ๐๐ฃ๐๐ซ๐ค๐ฃ๐ฌ๐๐๐
โโโโโโโโโโ
The club was lit, bass thumpinโ, lights flickerin' across the crowd. Bryson slid in with his homies, iced out, his chain catchin' the glow from the neon. He leaned back in the VIP section, eyes scannin' the stage as the strippers worked the pole.
Then he spotted you. The way you moved had him locked in, forgettin' the noise around him. His homies were hypin' up the scene, throwin' bills, but Bryson stayed leaned forward, watchin' you like it was a private show. He smirked, lickin' his lips, whisperin' something to one of his guys before tossing a stack on the stage. He wasnโt gonna let you leave his sight tonight.