Star walked in like a man who'd just directed the universe to give him a spotlight.
Natty, lounging like a bored goddess, pointed lazily to a couch beside her hanging chair, the one that looked like a basket designed for royalty and bad decisions.
The chair cradled her body perfectly, swinging slightly on four ropes that hung from the ceiling like vines holding a forbidden fruit. Between them sat a sleek, four-legged glass stool, holding a fat brown cigar and a half-filled glass of whiskey that looked expensive enough to pay rent.
Adjusting his collar with exaggerated grace, Star sank into the couch with a gentlemanly chill, that chill that carried a mix of James Bond and an overconfident peacock, then he cleared his throat, flashing his most devastating smile.
The kind of smile that, according to him, had a 98% success rate with women. He cleared his throat, smiled his most devastating smile, as he said.
"You look even more ravishing than I imagined... utterly exquisite," he said smoothly.
Natty glared at him, unimpressed. She wasn't the type to melt at flattery, though the tiny flicker in her eyes betrayed she did notice his composure. Still, she hid it well.
"Who are you?" she asked, her tone sharp and businesslike.
Star chuckled quietly. 'Well, this is harder than I thought. Did I forget to write her as approachable?'
"So… you don't like compliments?" he teased, resting an arm lazily on the couch handle.
Natty narrowed her eyes, the stare of a woman who could vaporize a man's confidence faster than a tax audit. Then, with a subtle hand gesture, she signaled two guards in black tuxes to approach.
Crap, Star muttered internally. Did I just get promoted to 'dead man walking'?
He held his composure, swearing that if things went south, he'd gracefully stand up and leave rather than be Lambo-man 2.0 , the poor soul who got tossed out earlier like bad laundry.
But the guards didn't grab him. Instead, they stopped beside Natty's hanging chair and... ever so slowly... lowered the ropes until her feet touched the ground.
For a split second, Star's heart leaped out of his chest, packed its bags, and was halfway down the hallway waiting for his body to get thrown out too. He was already rehearsing how he'd roll across the floor and pretend it was intentional.
"Oh no, officer, I wasn't thrown... I was demonstrating my acrobatic exit technique."
Thankfully, none of that happened. He kept his cool, wearing that "everything's under control" smile, pretending his inner panic didn't exist.
Now, with her feet firmly on the floor, Natty sat up straight. "You were saying?" she asked, voice flat, already sounding bored.
Star smiled again, the same one he used on female interviewers and airport security alike.
"I said, you don't like it when people compliment you," he repeated, not missing a beat.
Natty leaned forward slightly, voice dripping with ice.
"I don't like it when people kiss my ass and call it a compliment."
Star blinked, forcing a chuckle.
"Kiss your ass? Ha… why would I want to do that? I didn't come here to ask you for anything."
That, finally, pulled a faint smirk from her, quick, subtle, but real.
Star's confidence inflated like a balloon at a birthday party. 'Progress,' he thought. 'Tiny, deadly progress.'
"Who are you?" she asked again, her tone softer yet still demanding.
Star resisted the urge to dive right into his pitch. Nah, too soon. Let her stew a bit, he thought.
He leaned forward, calm and composed.
"Is that really the question you should be asking?" he replied smoothly.
"I'd say the right one would be... 'what kind of drink would you like?' Because while I know how to treat a lady, you, my dear queen, have forgotten how to treat a gentleman."
Natty's smirk vanished. "A gentleman?" she repeated, her tone sharp enough to slice bread.
Star almost wanted a mirror to double-check his face; 'was he not looking gentlemanly enough?', but he trusted himself. He was Star, after all, now perfectly synced in Steve's body.
"Of course," he nodded. "Matter of fact, you should've told one of your boys to bring me that drink and asked me to make myself comfortable." He finished with another radiant grin, one that could blind a saint.
Natty just stared at him. Her cold expression was melting, though she tried to keep it firm. Something about this man; his swagger, humor, and total disregard for fear, was oddly magnetic. Still, she forced her poker face to stay frozen.
"Why are you here, Mr…?" she asked at last.
"Star," he replied.
"Mmm... Star... cool name." She tilted her head. "So ... Star, You said you didn't come to ask for anything. So why are you here?"
Star straightened slightly, suppressing a grin. "I came to offer my services."
A brief silence followed… then Natty burst out laughing, not a sweet laugh, but that smooth, mocking, 'this man is insane' kind of laugh. It was beautiful and dangerous all at once, the kind of laugh that could make a man question his life choices.
Star held his composure. Inside, though, he was screaming. 'Yup, she thinks I'm crazy. Perfect start, Star. Bravo.'
When she finally calmed down, she said, "So, you think you can walk in here, act like you know how to treat a lady, and then offer your services to me? How cute."
He nodded, still grinning. "Man, she's hard to crack," he muttered under his breath.
"What makes you think I even have problems?" she asked with a sly smile.
"Oh, I don't think," Star replied, his grin turning wicked. "I know."
"Do tell," she said, crossing her legs like a queen ready for entertainment.
Star smirked, leaning forward, voice dropping low, charming, sly, a little devilish.
"Miss Natty Adrina. Born May 19, 1999. Lost your mom at nine, your dad at nineteen — July 19, to be precise. Lost your fiancé on the eve of your wedding, February 29, 2024. You're now an Instagram goddess, a model, and the CEO of… whatever the name of that fancy hair company is." He paused, letting that sink in.
"Should I go on, or do you think I know enough?"
Natty's eyes widened a fraction. Then she chuckled and shook her head in disbelief. "What are you? Some obsessed fan or just a stalker?"
Star's grin deepened. He didn't answer because; either option made him look bad. Answering it would make him sound like both. Even denying it would make him sound guilty. Instead, he continued, his voice low and dangerously calm.
"Well… you hate the number nine, your favorite color is red. You light your cigars with a red queen-shaped lighter. You hate pride, detest boastful men, and have a tiny mole just below your left hip. They call you the Red Queen not just because of your brand… but because..."
"Stop," Natty snapped, suddenly alarmed. Her eyes darted around.Then, in a controlled tone, she told her guards, "Leave."
The men obeyed instantly, leaving the room in silence.
Natty leaned forward, voice low but tense.
"How did you get that information about me? Those information are classified. My secrets, no one knows them. So how?"
Star smiled, a slow, devilish curl of his lips.
"Let's just say… I'm the devil that stalks darkness and secrets."
Natty's eyes narrowed, a hint of both fear and curiosity flickering in them. Her lips curved into a dangerous smirk.
"So, you like games. You like playing around, huh?"
Star chuckled softly. "No. Like I said, I'm here to offer my services. All you have to do is tell me your troubles."
Natty leaned back, folding her arms. The man was strange, charming, confident, and unreadable. She didn't like that… but she liked it.
"And who said I have any troubles?" she teased.
Star met her gaze with quiet intensity. "I told you I know how to treat a lady. Knowing when she's bothered, that's part of it."
Natty tilted her head, intrigued. "And how do you know I'm bothered, Mr. Devil?"
Star smirked. "Simple. You haven't touched your cigar, probably because you are busy thinking about something... Haven't sipped your drink. You just threw a drug lord out of your club without caring about the consequences. That's not power, that's someone who's too tired to care. Someone who's seen worse and decided nothing else can hurt her."
The words hit her harder than she expected. She hid it well, nodding faintly, her icy composure returning.
"All right," she finally said. "This is my problem…"