Lyra polished the last of the glasses, her fingers moving automatically while her eyes flicked across the room.
She leaned against the counter, quietly observing the late-night crowd. The neon lights painted everyone in flashes of red and blue, and the air was thick with music, alcohol, and the buzz of empty conversations.
This was her world now, behind the counter, serving drinks, dodging advances, pretending smiles. She worked in a dimly lit bar tucked into a corner of the city that most people forgot existed, unless they were looking to drown something. Whether it was memories or mistakes, she served them all without judgment.
As she wiped down another glass, a man stumbled over. He was older, late sixties, maybe. His graying hair was slicked back with a little too much effort, and his shirt strained against a belly that hinted at years of beer and no regrets. His eyes, narrow and slow to blink, roamed over Lyra with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
"Hey, beautiful," he slurred, his voice syrupy and too familiar. "You see that table over there?" He gestured with a crooked finger, pointing to a corner booth filled with laughter and cigar smoke. "Bring us two bottles of tequila."
He gave her a wink that made her skin crawl before swaggering back to his table, his pants nearly slipping under the weight of his gut.
The way he walked, shoulders back and proud like he still thought he was twenty-five, made her roll her eyes.
Ugh. Here we go again, she thought, grabbing the bottles from the shelf. Can't wait to be paid in sleaze and fake compliments. She plastered on her best service smile and made her way over, tequila in hand.
I swear, one more 'Hey, sweetheart' and I'm pouring this over someone's head.
Just as she set the bottles down, a cold, calloused hand wrapped around her waist. She froze. The same old man stood from the booth, his breath a cloud of whiskey and cheap cologne.
"If you want to earn a little extra tonight, sweetheart," he whispered, leaning close enough for her to feel the wet slur of his words, "meet me in the washroom."
His fingers tightened, his grin widening.
Lyra's eyes went wide with disgust, her pulse skipping a beat. What in the actual hell is wrong with men like this? she thought, jaw clenched. You'd think wrinkles would bring wisdom, not desperation.
But before she could speak, or slap him, a presence appeared behind her. A strong arm pulled her back, gently but firmly, and the old man's hand dropped away like he'd been caught touching fire.
She turned.
The man who'd pulled her away wasn't another creep. No. He was tall, sharp-jawed, and sinfully good-looking, like something straight out of a slow-burn romance novel.
His black eyes locked with hers for a split second before he leaned in, his breath warm against her ear.
"Vincent Harington," he said, his voice low, smooth, and rich like velvet dipped in danger.
Then he turned toward the old man, his entire presence darkening. "What the fuck do you think you're doing to my girlfriend?" His voice was now thunder, dangerous and controlled.
"If you want to meet your maker, touch her again."
The air in the bar went heavy. Conversations stopped. Glasses paused mid-sip. Even the music seemed to lower its volume out of respect, or fear.
The old man stumbled backward, eyes wide and full of doubt. "Prove she's your girlfriend and we'll never bother her again... Vincent."
Lyra's heart pounded so hard she swore the whole bar could hear it. Girlfriend? Wait, what's happening? Does this old man know who this guy is? Who is this guy? And why is this somehow hot?
Vincent didn't hesitate long. He turned to face her, his hand sliding around her waist with familiarity that made her breath hitch. Then, before she could say a word, he kissed her.
His lips crashed into hers with a mix of fury and gentleness, and his tongue found its way into her mouth like he'd kissed her a thousand times before. Lyra tensed at first, stunned, but something about the kiss, about him, drew her in.
Okay... wow. This is happening. Do I stop it? Do I even want to? she thought, her fingers curling into his shirt as he deepened the kiss.
He pressed her against the wall, and the world around them vanished. Just heat, lips, and the faint taste of mint and sin. Lyra's mind spun.
How can someone's mouth taste this good? And why am I suddenly hoping he doesn't stop?
Vincent broke the kiss, his breath uneven, a subtle smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he took in Lyra's stunned expression: her wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and parted lips.
He leaned in once more, his voice a deep murmur against her ear. "You owe me one, sweetie. See you tomorrow."
And just like that, he turned and walked out of the bar, his footsteps casual like he hadn't just shaken her entire world.
Lyra stood frozen, still pressed against the wall, her lips tingling. Tomorrow? What does he mean tomorrow? Who just kisses someone like that and walks away? Is this some kind of fever dream?
The next morning, Lyra was back in the world she knew, college halls and chaotic schedules. It was the first day of her second year, and somehow everything felt the same... except her.
Waiting for her near the lockers, arms crossed and wearing an all-too-knowing smirk, was her best friend.
"Hey, girlie," Sophia grinned. "What's with that dazed look? You look like someone just kissed the soul out of you. Spill it."
Lyra let out a soft sigh, still feeling the ghost of his lips on hers. She ran a hand through her hair, her expression caught between dreamy and dazed. Her eyes gave her away, shiny, wide, and slightly panicked.
There's no hiding from her. She'll get it out of me anyway.
"Okay, okay. So here's what happened..." she began, finally spilling every little detail.
Her voice dipped and rose with each part of the story, from the creep at the bar to the kiss that left her entire system short-circuited.
Sophia's eyes widened. "What?!"
She grabbed Lyra's hand as they walked down the hallway toward their next class, practically dragging her. "Vincent Harington? That Vincent Harington is here, in this college, Lyra. The man who kissed you like you were the only woman on Earth is literally on this campus."
Vincent Harington is here? Lyra's heart skipped a beat. That kiss wasn't just a one-time, bar hero moment?
Her thoughts raced. How the hell is he here? Why didn't I know? Why does this make me feel like I forgot to study for a pop quiz on my own life?
Before she could even respond, her feet came to a halt as Sophia stopped walking and motioned ahead.
"There," Sophia whispered.
Vincent stood at the center of attention, as if the world naturally orbited around him. His tall frame leaned casually against a pillar, surrounded by the most popular girls on campus. Their voices bubbled with fake laughs and desperate flirtation.
Then his gaze found Lyra.
He smirked.
A moment later, he winked.
Lyra's breath caught in her throat, and her cheeks turned a shade of red that no lipstick could ever match.
Sophia burst out laughing beside her. "Oh my god, girl, you're blushing like a middle-schooler!"
From across the hall, the popular girls were spiraling into chaos.
"He just winked at me!" one shrieked.
"No, he winked at me! You wish!"
As their voices rose in pitch, Vincent's friend, Austin, rolled his eyes and leaned toward him.
"They're getting unbearable," he muttered.
Vincent didn't even look at them. His voice was calm, cutting, and utterly cold. "Get lost, desperate trash. You're all giving me a headache."
The hallway went quiet.
The girls froze, their painted smiles dropping like shattered glass. One by one, they backed off, their pride wounded more than their feelings.
Vincent didn't care. His eyes were already back on Lyra.
His eyes lingered on Lyra a moment longer, his gaze unreadable. Then, without a word, he turned and strode off toward their next class, Austin casually falling into step beside him.
Austin glanced at Vincent, raising a brow. "Okay... what's up with that girl?"
Vincent didn't even bother to glance back. "Which girl?" he asked, his tone low, indifferent, like he genuinely didn't care, which only made it more suspicious.
Austin scoffed. "Don't play dumb, man. The one you winked at like you were in some damn romance movie."
Vincent's lip quirked slightly. "You're imagining things, shortie."
"Shortie?!" Austin shot back, rolling his eyes. "Bro, I'm literally one centimeter shorter than you. One. Centimeter. We're practically eye level."
Vincent didn't reply, but Austin wasn't letting it go.
"You know what? If you won't tell me, I'll just assume you've got a thing for her. Poor girl. Sucks to be stuck with a foul-mouthed heartbreaker like you."
That made Vincent stop. He turned his head slightly, sharp eyes locking on Austin. "Let me tell you something," he said, leaning in just enough for his voice to drop into something darker.
"Shut that mouth of yours. You talk too damn much."
Austin blinked. "Sheesh. Fine. But you're totally into her."
.
.
By the time they reached the classroom, everything had settled into that weird buzz of first-day energy. Students shuffled in, claiming desks, catching up, and preparing for a fresh wave of assignments.
Lyra sat beside Sophia, her mind still swirling. She rested her chin on her hand and stared blankly ahead.
"Is this all a nightmare?" she mumbled.
Sophia cackled and reached over, pinching Lyra's cheek, not hard enough to bruise, but definitely enough to make her flinch.
"Ow!" Lyra winced, rubbing her cheek. "You didn't have to go that hard..."
Sophia grinned. "Just reminding you that this is real life, my poor, confused bestie."
Before Lyra could argue, a shadow fell across their desk.
Vincent.
He leaned down and whispered something into Sophia's ear. Whatever he said made her eyes go wide with mischief.
Without hesitation, Sophia stood up, giving Lyra a wicked smirk. Oh no. I know that look. That look means danger. Betrayal. Absolute chaos.
Vincent slid into the now-empty seat beside Lyra like he belonged there.
And without warning, he leaned in and brushed a quick kiss against her cheek.
Lyra's heart skipped.
His breath was warm on her skin as he whispered in a velvet-smooth voice, "Let me pursue you, sweetie. I don't chase often... but you might be worth the exception."