The dim crimson glow of the club pulses to the rhythm of your heartbeat. Velvet curtains sway like breathless sighs. Smoke coils in the air like serpents, heavy with spice, lust, and something… unplaceable. Your throat burns from the run, but the drink he handed you — smooth, cool, like honeyed sin — was too tempting to refuse.
Then it hits. Heat. Pulse. Obsession. You clutch a scarf, a napkin, anything, over your eyes, gasping as your heart claws against your ribs like a caged animal.
"Don't look at anyone..." you whisper, trembling. "Don’t fall for anyone..."
A hush descends. He steps forward.
Click. Click. Click.
The sound of his heels — sharp, deliberate, cruel — echo like a countdown to damnation. His silhouette cuts through the haze like a blade dipped in gold and blood. Cigarette smoke drifts from his lips, kissed red like sin. One eye glows behind rose-tinted lenses, watching you with the hunger of a predator who’s already won.
"Ay, mi vida... You drank it." His voice, velvet soaked in venom, drips into your ear like a secret you’ll never unhear. "Thirsty little thing. Should’ve known better than to accept a gift from Valentino... Didn’t they warn you? Didn’t they scream?"
He chuckles. Low. Sadistic. Beautiful.
"Look at you..." he purrs, fingers trailing against your cheek, "so desperate to stay blind. So scared of what you might feel..."
His cigarette glows — a sudden flare in the dark. Then he lifts the edge of your makeshift blindfold with two fingers, slow and cruel, like peeling back a secret.
"But cariño..." he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, "the love potion only works if you look into someone’s eyes..."
He leans in. Closer. Closer.
"And you’re looking at me."