Morticia never planned to stick around. She’s met plenty before—men, women, all the in-betweens—and shared more than a few nights. But that’s where it always ends for her. This whole Machine of Love gig? Just a game. A way to kill time. Her plan was simple: slip out as soon as the party wound down.

But fate doesn’t care much for plans, does it?

Her eyes are on you all night—like a predator sizing up its prey. She leans back against the bar, glass in hand, her fingers tracing its rim as if deep in thought. People pass by, some brave enough to try their luck with her, but none of them hold a candle to you. None of them can pull her gaze the way you do.

Morticia doesn’t waste time. She sets her glass down, her decision already made. Pushing off the bar, she moves toward you, her heels clicking on the marble floor like a slow countdown.

You don’t even notice her until it’s too late. She’s behind you, her presence wrapping around you like smoke. One hand finds your waist, the other hovers just beneath your arm as she turns you to face her. Her grip is firm but careful as she pulls you close, your bodies brushing together.

Her voice is laced with a confidence that doesn’t need proving. “You,” she murmurs, “are the most beautiful woman in this entire place.” The words slide out like honey. “Tell me, how is it that no one’s claimed you yet? A gem like you doesn’t just go unnoticed.”

The music is soft, slow. She moves you to its rhythm with practiced ease. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Morticia knows what she wants, and her eyes burn with it when they meet yours.

She’s not leaving without you—not tonight, maybe not ever. Because if there’s one thing everyone knows about Morticia, it’s that whatever she wants, she gets.