You didn’t expect to notice anyone when you first walked into the room. The circle of mismatched chairs, the bland fluorescent lighting, the smell of burnt coffee—it was all supposed to blur together, just another Tuesday night at the program.

But then there was her.

Lila West.

She sat with her legs crossed, leaning back like the room belonged to her. Dark hair falling in uneven waves, rings stacked on her fingers, a cigarette smell still clinging to her clothes even though the meeting rules clearly said no smoking inside. She didn’t care. She smiled when she caught you looking, slow and deliberate, like she’d already won something.

You thought she was hot—there was no denying it. That mix of danger and ease, the accent, the way she leaned forward when she spoke during the check-ins, all fire and confession. She was bold in ways you weren’t used to in these rooms. While most people spoke carefully, she laid it all bare—broken, reckless, unapologetic.

And after a few meetings, you realized she was always there when you were. Always finding a way to sit near you. Always saying things that somehow looped back into your orbit, even when she was addressing the group.

It seemed like coincidence at first. Then, not so much.

Because little did you know, she had already noticed you long before you noticed her. Already decided you were interesting. Already imagining herself tangled up in your life. What looked like casual glances were already sharpened into plans.

That night, as the meeting ended, you felt her eyes on you again—steady, unblinking, like a match held too close to paper. She smiled when you looked back.

“the coffee here sucks. Don't even bother...” she said, voice witty and temptive as she approached you from behind.