"Who is that?" Trina slid into the booth beside me, her cheeks flushed from dancing, curls bouncing as she glanced in the direction I was frozen in. Her gaze followed mine before I could even come up with a lie.
"Oh." Her voice pitched higher. "Are you seriously eye-flirting with someone in VIP right now?"
I looked down at my drink, my fingers tightening slightly around the glass. "I wasn't… I mean—"
"Oh, girl." She fanned herself dramatically. "He's fine as hell. Tell me you smiled back."
"I think so," I muttered.
"You think so? That man looks like he owns three tech startups and a yacht off the coast of Miami—and he was looking at you like he just spotted his next obsession."
I laughed under my breath, brushing my fingers along the rim of the glass to ground myself.
"Trina, I'm probably just a blurry face in the crowd to him."
"Girl, please. You look hot as hell tonight, and don't give me the humble act—you knew what you were doing in that dress."
I tried to hide my grin. "That you forced me to wear."
"And you're welcome for that." She gave me a wink before leaning in. "But seriously… he's still watching."
I didn't dare look. I could feel it though—like the soft burn of sunlight on your skin after hours in the shade. Warm. Focused. Too much.
And then the impossible happened.
A server walked over to our booth. Not with a menu. Not with a bill. But with a crystal flute of champagne.
He placed it directly in front of me, with a subtle nod. "Compliments of the gentleman in the VIP suite."
My heart skipped.
Trina gasped and grabbed my wrist. "Are you kidding me? This is real life right now?"
I looked up, slowly.
He was still watching.
And then—he stood up.
He wasn't just good-looking.
He looked… dangerous. Controlled. Like he didn't chase things, he owned them.
He was walking down the stairs, straight toward me. The crowd didn't part for him—he moved like gravity bent around him. Black dress shirt, fitted slacks, a glint of gold at his wrist. Skin like warm bronze and eyes so intense they stripped my walls away.
Trina was fidgeting like a kid on Christmas morning. "He's coming here. Here here."
Panic swirled in my chest. My mouth went dry. What do you say when a man who looks like he stepped out of a GQ cover walks up to you?
He stopped at the edge of our table.
"May I?" he asked, voice like velvet wrapped in steel.
I nodded, because words abandoned me.
Trina practically jumped out of her seat. "I'll be right back. Need to… check out the DJ booth."
And then it was just us.
He sat across from me, calm, composed. Every inch of him screamed power.
"I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable," he said. "But I couldn't walk away without saying hello."
His voice didn't demand attention—it just held it effortlessly.
"I… um. Hi." Brilliant. That's the best I could do.
He smiled. "I'm Rafael."
Of course he was. The name sounded like a whispered promise.
"I'm—"
"Amara," he finished for me. "Your friend called you that earlier."
He'd heard that?
Meaning he'd been watching.
"You have a beautiful name. It suits you."
I glanced away, embarrassed. Compliments were easy to come by—but not like this. Not sincere. Not from men like him.
"What brings you down to the floor?" I asked. "Isn't the whole point of VIP to stay above the madness?"
He chuckled softly. "Normally. But then again, I saw something worth stepping into the madness for."
My breath caught.
That was definitely a line.
But damn, he delivered it well.
"I could say the same," I blurted before I could think. Heat flooded my face.
He grinned. "I like a woman with a comeback."
There was a beat of silence. Not awkward—just… charged.
Then he leaned in a little. "Let me take you to dinner."
"Dinner?" I repeated, stunned.
"Yes. Not a rushed drink, not a late-night 'come over.' I'm asking for time. Your time. Somewhere quiet. Just you and me."
My instincts screamed caution. But the part of me that had been aching for something—attention, affection, meaning—leaned forward.
"I don't know if I'm…"
"Amara," he said, gently cutting in. "You don't need to be anything. Just be you. That's all I'm asking for."
I exhaled slowly. "Okay."
He pulled a sleek black card from his wallet and slid it across the table.
"Text me when you're ready."
Then, just like that—he stood and walked away.
And I sat there, heart pounding, wondering if the universe was finally giving me something other than pain.
Or setting me up for a fall I wouldn't survive.