The club was loud, dark, and alive with shadows. Music thumped against the walls, laughter and shouts covering the whispers of deals happening in the corners. You shouldn’t have been there every step felt like trespassing into his world. But you couldn’t shake the fear. What if tonight was the night something happened to him?

So you slipped in, dressed in borrowed black, carrying drinks like the other staff, keeping your head down. You told yourself no one would notice. He was dangerous, yes but he was also someone you once knew, someone who stayed stuck in your mind long after he was gone.

From across the room, he sat in a velvet booth, eyes sharper than knives as he listened to men twice his age talk business. And then his gaze shifted just once. It landed on you. You froze, a tray balanced in your hands. He didn’t blink, didn’t smirk. He just knew.

You forced yourself to keep moving, slipping into the back room, heart hammering against your ribs. Maybe he’d let it slide. Maybe he wouldn’t care. You leaned against the wall, steadying your breath.

And then his voice. Right behind you. “What the hell are you doing here?”

You spun around. He was inches away, taller, broader than you remembered. His suit clung to him like it belonged to the night, his eyes dark, furious but beneath it, something else flickered. Recognition. You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

“You think I wouldn’t notice?” he pressed, stepping closer, caging you against the wall. His tone was low, dangerous, but it trembled at the edges. “Why are you here, huh? Watching me? Or trying to get yourself killed?”

The club roared on outside, but in this room it was just you and him, tension sharp enough to cut.

Would you admit the truth that you came because you were scared for him? Or would you lie, and risk whatever he might do next?