The world outside their small circle of heat seemed to fade away.
The music thumped in the distance, blurred voices and laughter mixing like smoke. But Zara didn't hear any of it anymore. She only heard his voice, low and certain.
> "Tell me your name, and I'll make tonight unforgettable."
It should have sounded like a pickup line. But it didn't. It sounded like a promise.
Her lips parted, but no words came. Her heart was beating too fast. The air between them felt electric—every breath, every glance, every second dragging her closer to something she couldn't stop.
Finally, she said softly, "Zara."
He smiled faintly, as if he'd known all along. "Zara," he repeated, tasting the name like it was a secret he wasn't supposed to know.
She drew in a breath. "Now it's your turn."
His eyes held hers for a long time. "No names tonight," he said. "Just you and me."
Zara froze. "No names?"
He nodded. "No questions. No past. No tomorrow. Just one night."
It was insane. Absolutely insane.
And yet, a strange calm washed over her. Maybe it was the way he said it, steady and deliberate, like he'd done this before. Maybe it was the way she suddenly wanted to stop thinking for once.
"Why me?" she asked quietly.
"Because you said yes," he murmured.
She looked at him for a long time, trying to read his eyes. But they gave away nothing—only shadows and quiet hunger.
Something inside her broke loose. The part that had always played safe, worked hard, hoped quietly. The part that was tired of being ignored by life.
"Fine," she said, almost a whisper. "One night."
His hand found hers again—warm, grounding, dangerous.
He led her away from the dance floor, through the dim corridors of The Velvet Room. People turned to look, but no one said anything. His presence commanded space, and Zara felt small and untouchable beside him.
They passed velvet curtains, mirrored walls, and the scent of champagne and desire.
At the back of the club, he stopped. His private suite was hidden behind a heavy black door.
He turned to her. "You can still walk away."
Zara's heart was hammering. She could. She should.
But instead, she stepped closer. "Open the door."
He smiled, slow and deliberate, and did as she asked.
Inside, the room was dim, lit by golden lamps and city lights spilling through the window. A bar stood on one side, untouched. The city glowed beyond the glass—New York in motion, rain painting neon streaks down the skyline.
Zara stepped in, her breath catching. "You live like this?"
He poured a drink. "I work like this. Living is… different."
The words felt heavier than they should have. She didn't ask.
He handed her a glass. She took it with trembling fingers.
Their hands brushed—lightly, but enough to set her nerves on fire.
"I don't usually do this," she said quickly, needing the air between them to feel less charged.
He smirked. "That's what everyone says."
Zara frowned. "Do you?"
"Do I what?"
"Usually do this?"
He looked at her then, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "Not like this."
She didn't know what that meant, but her chest tightened anyway.
They talked for a while, though neither could later remember what about. It was like every word they said was just an excuse not to admit what they wanted.
Then the silence came—heavy, electric.
Zara felt his gaze slide over her like a touch. She put down her drink, turning toward the window to breathe. Rain streaked down the glass, glowing under the city lights.
She felt him step behind her.
Not close enough to touch—just near enough for her to feel the pull.
"Zara," he said softly.
Her breath hitched.
"You don't have to be afraid."
She turned slowly to face him. "I'm not afraid."
His eyes searched hers. "Then tell me to stop."
She didn't.
He stepped closer, lifting a hand to trace the side of her face with his thumb. The touch was careful, almost reverent. It broke her.
"I should go," she whispered.
"You won't," he said.
And she didn't.
The distance between them disappeared. The world outside ceased to exist. Every wall she'd built crumbled with his kiss—slow, deep, consuming.
Time blurred. The rain outside became a rhythm, steady and endless.
For one night, she forgot the unpaid bills, the broken dreams, the ache of being unseen.
For one night, she let herself feel.
He didn't ask for more, and she didn't offer. There were no promises, no names. Just the language of two lonely souls pretending the world wasn't waiting outside that door.
Later, when the room had gone quiet again, Zara lay awake beside him. His face was turned away, lost in shadows.
She studied the lines of his shoulders, the faint scars she could barely see, and wondered what kind of life left marks like that.
He was beautiful, but in the kind of way that hurt to look at—like something you could want but never keep.
When his breathing deepened, she slipped out of bed and went to the window. The rain hadn't stopped. The streets below glimmered with color, red and gold and green. She pressed her forehead to the glass and let herself smile, just once.
"Just one night," she whispered. "That's all."
She didn't see the way he opened his eyes behind her, watching her reflection in the window.
He whispered something too—something she didn't hear.
> "If only you knew who I am."
The storm outside deepened. The city kept moving. And when they finally left the suite together, the rain poured harder than before.
He took her hand as they stepped outside, both of them half-drenched in neon and night. The cab lights reflected on the wet pavement, blurring like paint.
Neither spoke.
Neither needed to.
Because in that moment, under the electric rain of Brooklyn, they were two strangers who had chosen to forget everything—except each other.
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End Hook:
> They leave together under the neon rain.
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