The city stretched wide and golden beneath them, Barcelona's night air balmy and sweet, carrying the scent of salt and blooming jasmine up to the rooftop. The VIP area belonged to Valeria now—her friends scattered in lazy clumps across the wide, low sofas, glasses raised high, laughter carrying above the throb of bass from hidden speakers. It was a secret world, private and electric, the kind of place where the rules softened and the darkness encouraged confessions and abandon.
Valeria never let go of Joon-ho's hand as the elevator opened, pulling him into her world without a second thought. His pulse was still erratic from the fight, but now it had a new flavor—expectation, the wild edge of victory turning into something headier. She was flush with wine and triumph, her hair wild around her bare shoulders, the line of her throat gleaming in the city lights.
