The club was loud, but she was louder.
Not in volume. In presence.
She stepped through the entrance like she'd been here before, like the velvet ropes and flashing lights were beneath her. The crowd didn't part for her—but it should have. She didn't demand attention. She made you feel stupid for not giving it.
I was on the upper level, leaning against the glass railing, watching the night unfold in predictable patterns. Drunk laughter. Flirtation. Ego. Then she arrived, and the rhythm broke.
Her dress was red. Not the kind that screamed for attention. The kind that whispered, look closer. It hugged her like it had secrets to keep. Her hair was loose, her posture relaxed, but her eyes—those were sharp. Calculating. Unimpressed.
She was with someone. Blonde, petite, all sparkle and noise. Chloe Bennett. I'd seen her before—fashion circles, charity events. She was the kind of woman who made herself known. But tonight, she was background.
The woman in red was the story.
---
I made my way down slowly. Not because I had a plan. Because I couldn't stop watching her.
She was at the bar now, fingers tracing the rim of her glass. She didn't scan the room. She didn't smile. She didn't perform. She simply existed—and somehow, that was more magnetic than anything else in the building.
I stepped beside her. She didn't flinch.
"First time here?" I asked.
She glanced at me, expression unreadable. "Does it matter?"
"Only if you're planning to come back."
She turned fully then, and I got my first real look. Her eyes were cool, intelligent. Her lips curved slightly—not a smile. More like a dare.
"You're Julian Black," she said.
"Guilty."
"I've seen your face on billboards."
"And you still came?"
"I don't scare easy."
---
We talked. Briefly. She didn't ask about the club. She didn't ask about the fame. She didn't ask about Rachel or Porter or the headlines. She asked nothing. And that was new.
Most people want something. A story. A selfie. A scandal. She wanted none of it. Or maybe she wanted everything and was just better at hiding it.
"You don't seem impressed," I said.
"I'm not here to be."
"Then why are you here?"
She looked past me, toward the dance floor. "Curiosity."
"About what?"
Her gaze returned to mine. "What boredom looks like when it's dressed in designer suits."
I laughed. She didn't.
---
Before she left, she said something I didn't expect.
"Nice place," she murmured. "But it's too polished."
"Polished is the brand."
She nodded. "That's the problem."
Then she walked away.
No number. No invitation. Just a line that stuck in my head long after the music faded.
I watched her disappear into the crowd, red velvet trailing behind her like a warning.
And I knew—whatever she was, I hadn't met anyone like her before.
Not in this city.
Not in this life.
Not in any of the lies I'd built to keep myself safe.
---