Remiri didn't chase attention—it chased her.
She stepped into the lounge like she had somewhere better to be, curls tumbling over her shoulders, almond eyes sharp but unreadable. Her heels clicked against the floor, steady, unhurried, and every head turned without her asking. It wasn't the dress—though it hugged her figure perfectly. It wasn't the smile—though the dimples had a way of making people forget their own names. It was something else, something untouchable.
Women watched her the most. They studied the way she moved, the way she ordered her drink without glancing at the menu, the way her silence spoke louder than small talk. Some wanted to be her, others wanted to know her, and a few wanted to break her.
But Remiri had learned early: people's intentions were louder than their words. And she always listened.
On the outside, she was every bit the quiet, classy woman they imagined—self-possessed, graceful, impossible to fluster. Behind closed doors, though? That was a different story. The Remiri no one got to see was sharper, bolder, and far less forgiving.
She kept her mask in place even with her closest friends.
Except that one night.
It was late, the kind of late when conversations fall into half-whispers and the world outside your window forgets you exist. She had let her friend crash in her bed after too many drinks and too much laughter. The room was warm, heavy with stillness. Remiri lay still, half-curled into the pillow, eyes closed. That's when she felt it—soft, hesitant, the brush of lips against hers.
Her friend thought she was asleep.
Remiri wasn't.
She didn't move. Didn't gasp, didn't open her eyes. She just let the kiss happen, let the secret fold itself into her silence. When her friend pulled back, breath shaky, Remiri's lips still tingled.
In the morning, she rose the same way she always did—curled hair falling neatly into place, smile flawless, dimples deep enough to hide the truth. She never spoke of it, never let it slip.
Because if the world thought she was a rabbit, she would let them believe it.
But sooner or later, they would learn—Remiri wasn't prey.
She was the danger.