The song changed again—something slower, deeper, the kind that filled the air with heat.
Zara felt it before she realized she was still sitting across from the stranger. His eyes held her there, calm and steady while everything around them blurred into light and rhythm.
"Dance with me," he said quietly.
Not a question. More like a command wrapped in velvet.
Zara blinked. "What?"
He extended his hand, palm open. "One song. Then you can disappear."
She hesitated. Every instinct screamed no. But curiosity whispered just one.
Her fingers brushed his, and the moment they touched, it was like static—sharp and alive. He guided her to the dance floor.
The crowd parted without effort. The man's presence carried gravity; people noticed him even if they didn't understand why.
Zara felt tiny beside him. His hand settled at the small of her back, firm and warm. Her body responded before her mind caught up.
She looked up at him. "You didn't tell me your name."
"And you didn't tell me yours," he countered.
Their bodies swayed together in rhythm. The music was slow, sensual—almost a heartbeat. His cologne was faint, masculine, something like smoke and cedar.
Zara swallowed. "You're used to getting what you want."
He smiled slightly. "Usually."
"Then this must be disappointing," she said. "Because you're not getting much from me."
His gaze lowered to her lips. "I wouldn't be so sure."
She pulled back a little, searching his face. "You think you can charm anyone, don't you?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned in close enough that his breath brushed her ear. "It's not about charm. It's about connection."
Zara's pulse jumped. "You don't even know me."
"I know enough," he said. "You're restless. You don't belong here, but you came anyway. You want something you can't name."
Her heart skipped. "You sound sure of yourself."
"I'm sure of you," he murmured.
For a moment, she forgot the world. The noise faded until there was only the warmth of his hand and the low thrum of the song wrapping around them like silk.
Zara closed her eyes. She wasn't the broke waitress anymore, not the girl counting tips to survive. She was just Zara, moving in time with a stranger who made her feel seen for the first time in years.
When the song softened, he spun her gently, his hand sliding from her waist to her fingers again. Every movement was precise, controlled. She realized that everything about him was—his stillness, his restraint, his silence.
"You move like someone who's been trained," she said quietly.
He chuckled. "Maybe I have."
"Military?" she guessed.
"Something like that."
She laughed softly. "You're not going to give me a straight answer, are you?"
He tilted his head, the hint of a smile playing at his lips. "You haven't earned one yet."
"Earned?"
He stepped closer, so close that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest. "Names are powerful things, Zara."
Her breath caught. "How do you know my—"
He smiled. "You told your friend earlier. I was listening."
She didn't know whether to be flattered or unsettled. "That's… creepy."
"Maybe," he admitted. "Or maybe I just pay attention."
They moved again, slower now, the rhythm fading to a hum. His fingers trailed down her arm, a whisper of contact that left goosebumps in its wake.
Zara felt dizzy, unmoored. "You're dangerous," she said quietly.
He leaned down, his lips close enough that she could feel the words as he spoke. "Only if you want me to be."
Her chest tightened. This was madness. She didn't even know him. But she couldn't look away.
"Why me?" she whispered. "There are dozens of women here."
He studied her, eyes dark with something she couldn't name. "Because you don't want to be here. You're real. Everyone else is pretending."
Zara's throat went dry. "And what are you pretending to be?"
His gaze softened, almost sad. "Someone you should stay away from."
She opened her mouth to respond, but the song ended, and applause rose around them as the next beat began—faster now, louder.
He didn't let go of her hand.
The lights flashed, red and gold, and Zara saw something flicker in his expression—loneliness maybe, or a memory that hurt to hold. It made her chest ache unexpectedly.
"You're not from this world either," she said before she could stop herself.
He looked at her then, really looked. "No," he said softly. "But I own it."
Zara frowned, confused. "What does that even mean?"
He only smiled, mysterious and distant. "Maybe someday I'll tell you."
She exhaled a shaky laugh. "You're infuriating."
"So I've heard."
They stood there for a beat, surrounded by strangers, connected by something neither could explain.
Then he leaned closer, his voice barely a whisper, low enough to sink straight into her skin.
> "Tell me your name," he said again, slower this time. "And I'll make tonight unforgettable."
Zara felt the world tilt. The music vanished. The lights blurred.
Her name was already on his lips—but she wasn't sure if she wanted him to say it again, or never say it at all.
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End Hook: He whispers, "Tell me your name, and I'll make tonight unforgettable."
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