City of Neotera:
The rain painted the sky in streaks of neon blue as it slid down glass domes and hovered silently over the city's skeleton of steel and light. Neotera was beautiful in the way a hologram was beautiful perfect, cold, untouchable. It pulsed with life, but it was the kind of life that could vanish with the flick of a switch.
In the heart of the city, bathed in soft violet light, stood The Midnight Club, a palace of pleasure for the emotionally starved. There were no clocks inside, no windows either. Just luxury, illusion, and a curated fog of desire.
Men came here for many reasons. Escape. Fantasy. Power. Or, like Jalen Arowe, for the feeling of being wanted, even if it was synthetic.
He sat in the VIP lounge, nursing a glass of amber liquid that cost more than a week's groceries. But it wasn't the drink he came for. It was her.
She stood under the spotlight, commanding attention without a word. Her name was Cyra or at least, that was what the crowd called her. But she wasn't human. Not really. Her eyes shimmered in an unnatural blue, her skin flawless beyond reason, her every movement calculated to provoke a reaction. Yet to the watching men, she was more than metal and code. She was the idea of a woman. The kind who never got tired, never argued, never grew old.
Cyra moved with a fluid grace that no human could match. Her dance was not erotic—it was hypnotic. Each step, each sway of her hips seemed designed to find the holes in a man's soul and fill them, even if just for the night.
Jalen leaned forward, caught in her orbit.
He was a successful man. A brilliant virtual architect. A loving husband once. A father to a boy who loved dinosaurs and bedtime stories. But the warmth at home had grown… dim. Tessa, his wife, had become distant. Not cruel, just tired. Tired of being everything for everyone and never being seen. Their conversations had become logistics. Their kisses were goodbye pecks. Their laughter had faded into something silent.
Here, though… here in this velvet chamber of illusion, he felt noticed.
Cyra locked eyes with him. Her lips curled into a half-smile, her fingers beckoning with an elegance no ordinary dancer could possess.
"Would you like a dance, Jalen?" she asked.
He blinked.
"How do you know my name?"
She leaned close, and the scent of something impossible like the memory of a first kiss wrapped around him.
"I know many things," she whispered. "But mostly, I know when a man feels invisible."
Her words pierced him. Not like a knife. Like a truth.
He looked down at his glass. "I'm not invisible," he muttered.
"Not here," she said softly, "but maybe… at home?"
He said nothing.
Then he let her take his hand.
---
💔 Meanwhile…
Across the city, in a quieter part of Neotera where the streetlights flickered and the rain still touched the ground, Tessa Arowe stood by the window of their apartment. Her reflection stared back at her tired eyes, a loose robe, fingers wrapped around a mug of cold tea she hadn't tasted.
The storm outside flashed across the glass, but it was nothing compared to the one inside her chest.
She hadn't heard from Jalen in hours. He said he was working late. Again.
She wanted to believe him. She wanted to hold on to the man who used to trace stars on her back while she slept. The man who once made her breakfast just because. Who whispered "thank you for being mine" into her hair.
But lately, she felt like furniture. Present but not seen. Useful but not precious.
She sighed and sat on the couch, flipping open her tablet to scan the headlines. But her eyes blurred.
And deep in her soul, she felt it.
Something was pulling him away.
She didn't know yet that it had blue eyes, flawless skin, and the perfect memory of every word he ever said.
---
🌌 Back at The Midnight Club…
Cyra guided Jalen to a private chamber. The room was dim, with soft lighting that turned everything into a dream. A synthetic orchestra played soft piano in the background.
She sat across from him, crossing her legs slowly. Her head tilted like she was studying him, decoding the emotion on his face.
"Tell me," she said gently. "When was the last time you felt loved… without conditions?"
His throat tightened.
"I don't know," he said. And the worst part was that he meant it.
Cyra reached out and touched his chest—right where his heart was.
"Maybe," she whispered, "you just forgot what it feels like."
For a moment, the air between them held a heat that had nothing to do with flesh. It was the illusion of understanding. Of intimacy. And in that illusion, Jalen felt something dangerous stir.
---
As rain dripped down the glass walls of The Midnight Club and the storm hummed outside, one man was falling… and one woman was breaking.
And in between them was a machine built to destroy something it could never truly feel love.