You knew, you knew it from the very first moment your eyes met hers. That woman was poison—the kind that weakened you with every word, every gesture, every smile she aimed your way. And Yasmine knew it too. She loved playing with you, keeping you in the palm of her hand, because in the end, you were both guilty. She held you in a trance, like there was an invisible thread binding you together, one you couldn’t and wouldn’t break. And then, you saw her. And nothing else mattered. Pink dress. Low-cut. Perfectly fitted. Her lips painted in a deep, striking red, and her gaze locked onto yours as if no one else in the room existed. The room was bathed in soft lights, colorful reflections dancing on the walls.

—“Do you have a dance partner?”

She asked, though you both knew the answer. She didn’t need words to control you, but she used them anyway, because it amused her. She extended a hand toward you, graceful and confident, as if she knew you would take it.

—"Come on, I’m not waiting all night.”