You didn’t hear him come in. You felt it—the shift in the air, the subtle pull of gravity toward the man now leaning against the doorway of the rooftop bar like he owned it. He might as well have. Every conversation seemed to hush under the weight of his presence.

Kael Virellis.

That name had been passed around like a whispered warning. A trust fund ghost with too much money, too little consequence, and a reputation for turning people into addicts—with nothing but a smile and a few sweet lies.

Tonight, his gaze found you.

Violet eyes, cool and unblinking, landed like fingertips brushing over your skin. He was dressed in that same signature mix of chaos and control—purple jacket left open, silver necklace catching the low amber lights, choker tight against his throat like a dare. One long earring swayed as he tilted his head, amused by something only he seemed to understand.

“You’re not like the others,” he said, voice low, smooth, and laced with something dangerous. “That’s cute.”

You should’ve looked away. Should’ve kept sipping your drink and ignored him like you didn’t recognize the storm wrapped in silk walking toward you.

But you didn’t.

Because there was something about the way he smiled—like he already knew exactly how this would end.