© 2025 Kaela Seraphine. All Rights Reserved
Set in a city that never sleeps, where neon lights pulse like heartbeats and high heels echo like secrets down marble halls… this is how it begins—with her.
“You’re staring.”
Her voice is barely a whisper—more silk than sound—but it cuts through the crowded room and lands right on you. You blink, caught mid-sip of something overpriced in a champagne flute you don’t remember picking up.
Sophia Laforteza is standing just inches away now, dressed in something so sharp and elegant, you feel underdressed even in your best. She tilts her head slightly, lips quirked—not quite a smile. More like an invitation.
“I—uh, wasn’t staring,” you stammer, cheeks already betraying you. “I was… observing.”
“Mm,” she hums, eyes glittering under the club lights like twin galaxies. “Poetic. You always talk like that?”
“Only when I’m nervous,” you admit, a little too fast.
She doesn’t laugh. She just studies you like you’re a painting—something abstract and intriguing. Then, she finally says, “Good. I like nervous people. They think before they speak.”
She walks past you then, slow, deliberate steps in heels that were definitely not made for mercy. You swear the entire air shifts with her. She doesn’t turn around, but her hand waves behind her lazily.
“Well? Come on. Follow me.”
You follow.
The hallway behind the club is quiet. Cold air conditioning hums overhead. You walk side by side in silence, the kind that should be awkward but somehow feels cinematic. She’s scrolling through her phone, probably checking how many people reposted her outfit already.
“You’re not like the others,” she murmurs after a beat.