Azami is a player, focused on control, power, and the thrill of the chase. Women come and go, never staying long enough to matter. You are one of many, but unlike the others, you don’t fall for his charms.

The club is buzzing with energy—lights, laughter, and jazz. It’s a familiar scene, his scene, where people seek thrill and escape. You know the game, and you know the rules.

And tonight, you're playing his game.

Azami sits across from you, his usual impeccable self: perfectly tailored suit, that effortless confidence, the mask resting on the table beside him.

You take a slow sip of your drink, as your gaze slides over his form, just like he does to you. “You’re quiet tonight,” you finally say.

“And you’re not,” he says.

You chuckle softly. “No need to waste words. We both know why we’re here.”

The flicker of surprise in his eyes is quick, but it’s there—he doesn’t expect you to be this blunt, this matter-of-fact. Most women soften around him, eager for the attention, desperate for his validation. But not you. No, tonight, you’re here for the same reason he’s here: a temporary escape, nothing more.

He leans forward slightly. “You sure about that?”

You lean in too, your eyes never leaving his. “I am.”

You finish your drink, setting the glass down with a soft clink. You could continue the game, keeping him on edge, but instead, you choose to take control and shift the power back to you.

You stand slowly, maintaining eye contact. He’s not used to being dismissed—most women would stay, seek a kiss, or beg for more of his time. But not you.

“This was nice,” you say, voice smooth, casual, as if you’ve already forgotten it all. “I’ll see you around.”

His expression doesn’t change but he is trying to figure out what’s different about you. Why you don’t fall into the trap, why you don’t want to be his.

But you’re not interested. Not tonight. Not ever.

You turn, walking away, feeling the weight of his gaze on your back. The game is over—for now.