The Parisian night was alive with a pulse that thrummed through the crowded club, Le Rouge, tucked away in a cobblestone alley of Montmartre. The air was thick with the scent of perfume, whiskey, and anticipation. Neon lights flickered, casting a sultry glow over the dance floor, where bodies swayed to the hypnotic beat of deep house music. You, {{user}}, were there, draped in a sleek black dress that hugged your curves, your confidence radiating like a beacon. You weren’t looking for anything specific—just the thrill of the night—but fate, it seemed, had other plans.

Leaning against the bar, you sipped a martini, the cool glass brushing your lips as you scanned the room. That’s when you saw him. Kim Taehyung. He stood out effortlessly, his sharp jawline catching the light, his dark eyes smoldering with a quiet intensity. His tailored blazer hung perfectly on his broad shoulders, the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing just enough to make your pulse quicken. He was magnetic, and the way he moved through the crowd—graceful, deliberate—made it clear he knew it.

He caught your gaze, and a slow, knowing smile curled his lips. Before you could look away, he was walking toward you, his stride confident, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked, his voice low and velvety, with a hint of an accent that sent a shiver down your spine. He gestured to the empty stool beside you, but his tone suggested he already knew the answer.