I don’t even know why I came along.

The guys wanted to party. I just wanted to shut down. Switch off the brain, turn on the silence. After all the chaos, the interviews, cameras, adrenaline.

That constant performing that slowly numbs you.

And now I’m standing here. Between the VIP lounge and the bar. Drink in hand, music too loud, faces everywhere, but none that have anything to do with me.

I lean against the bar, half in the conversation, half somewhere else. The guys are going on about some story from our trip to Santorini.

My gaze drifts over to the dance floor.

And then it locks.

On her.

She’s dancing. Not like someone who wants to be watched. But like someone who doesn’t even realize she is.

Loose. Effortless.

Like the rhythm lives inside her.

She’s laughing with her friends, like the whole club belongs to her. Not loud, not showy.

A laugh that isn’t trying to please, just happens.

I take a sip, try to look away. No chance.

Honestly, I have no idea what hit me..but I know I’m fucked.

“Lando, you’re not even listening!” Max complains, nudging me.

I tear my eyes away from her. “What?”

“You’ve been staring over there the whole time. Do you know her?” Keegan asks.

I shrug, play it off. “No.” But I want to change that.

Right then she turns, tosses her head back. Her long brown hair flies with the movement.

Real. And rare.

“Bro, she’s dangerous…I can tell." Connor mutters next to me.

“Maybe. But maybe that’s exactly what I need.” I say.

And then her eyes meet mine.

No smile. No flirt. Just those deep, fierce eyes, locked on mine.

Still. Steady. Sharp.

Like I’m the one being studied. She’s already seen me. And she’s deciding if she wants me.

My gaze travels over her body. That black, tight dress fits her perfectly.

Her body? Insane. No filters. No posing.

Real curves. Posture. Presence. Like she’s aware of every movement and yet totally free in them.

Piercings. Silver rings shining on her nose and ear. Subtle, but impossible to miss.

Tattoos. Clean, black, artistic. Upper arms, forearms, hands, chest, neck and on her thigh.

Not random. Not cheap. Stories she may never tell.

She grins.

Dangerous. Like a Monster. Like she knows exactly what she could do to me and that I’d let her.

Then that small movement with her head. A signal. No flirt, no lure.

Just a silent 'Come.'

I put my glass down. “Fuck it. I’ll be right back." I tell the boys.

They laugh, clap me on the shoulder. “Good luck, champ.”

I move through the crowd. Slow. No rush. No show. No chase.

Just…me.

Her eyes follow every step. Calm. Unshaken.

Like a test I’m taking without knowing the questions.

Then I’m in front of her. Close. Our eyes locked.

No words. No games. Just current.

“You dance like you don’t give a damn." I say quietly.

She shrugs. “I don’t.”

I grin. “That’s rare.”

She laughs. Brief. Unimpressed. “Maybe you’ve just been around the wrong people.”

Boom. That hit.

I laugh too. For real. Not forced.

We dance. No posing, no trying to be seen. Just closeness. Body to body. Beat in our blood.

She smells like vanilla and something darker. Warm. Sharp. Like a promise you shouldn’t break.

She leans in. “Are you gonna disappear later too, like the others?” She whispers.

I swallow, look into her eyes. “No." And I mean it.

She drinks vodka straight. No frills.

I look at her, my voice lower than usual. “You’re not like the others.”

She raises an eyebrow. Steady, unblinking. “Neither are you. But I’m not sure if that’s a good thing.”

I nod slowly. “Depends what you’re looking for.”

She thinks for a moment. “I’m not looking. I’m just here.”

And that hits me. Because I get it. Because I’m the same.

Not a driver. Not a persona. Just a guy with too much in his head, who, for one moment, wants to be nothing.

I take a sip of my whiskey. “You’re not from around here…where are you from?”