Chapter 5 – "The First Look"
The music in the club throbbed like a pulse beneath Xander's feet. Heavy bass. Slow rhythm. It didn't match the quick pace of his thoughts or the numbness riding just beneath his skin. The sharp scent of cologne and the sweeter sting of alcohol filled the air like smoke. Bodies moved on the dance floor—glittering, reckless, and unaware.
He sat in a private booth, leaning back against the plush leather, two fingers wrapped around a lowball glass of something dark. Expensive, probably. He hadn't asked. He rarely cared.
Adrian was still talking, something about new renovations to the west wing of his family's estate or maybe the latest security leak at a rival company. Xander wasn't listening. His eyes were half-lidded, jaw tense, posture loose with exhaustion more than ease. His tie was undone, shirt collar open, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms. Still immaculate. Still calculated.
But he was bored. Bored as fuck.
He swirled the drink in his glass. Took another sip. Didn't taste it. The world had become muted noise over the past few weeks, blurred by the fruitless investigation he was running. So many dead ends, false leads, bribed witnesses. Every file he opened seemed to say the same thing: You're looking in the wrong place.
"You look like you'd rather be dead," Adrian said casually, sipping his whiskey. "Relax a little. You need this."
"Do I?" Xander muttered.
"Yes, you do," Adrian said, tilting his glass toward him in mock salute. "You're no use to anyone if you burn out completely."
Xander said nothing. His fingers tapped once against the glass. He didn't want to be here. He didn't want to be anywhere. But staying cooped up in his office for another night would've made him snap. Adrian had known that. Had used it.
"At least pretend you have a pulse," Adrian said, scanning the dance floor. "Plenty of pretty things out tonight."
Xander didn't look.
Adrian sighed. "Fine. Want to play a game?"
Xander lifted an eyebrow.
"Pick the most interesting person in the room."
He exhaled a tired breath. "Everyone looks the same."
"Come on. You used to be good at this. Just pick someone. Anyone."
He finally let his eyes drift over the crowd. Women in glittery dresses. Men in tailored suits. Laughing. Drinking. Whispering into each other's ears. Nothing new.
Until he saw her.
She wasn't dressed to catch attention. No glitter. No sequins. She wore a fitted black dress with a high neckline, her hair pinned up, a single silver pin glinting like a blade in the dark. Her heels were modest. Her posture straight. Her eyes – he couldn't see their color from here, but they were fixed on the bartender, not on the room.
She didn't scan for attention.
She commanded it.
He didn't move, didn't react, but something shifted beneath his skin. A whisper of intrigue. A flicker of finally.
Adrian followed his line of sight. "Ah. There we go."
Xander leaned back again, but his gaze stayed locked. "She doesn't belong here."
"Which makes her more interesting, doesn't it?"
Xander didn't answer.
Adrian grinned. "Go talk to her."
Xander gave him a look. "What am I, sixteen?"
"Fine, be sixteen. Flirt awkwardly. You could use the exercise."
Xander snorted softly, but the sound was dry.
Adrian leaned in, his tone dropping just enough to be persuasive. "Think of it as field research. Observe. Engage. Maybe she surprises you."
He wasn't wrong. Xander needed a distraction. And the woman at the bar? She was still sipping her drink, eyes now slowly drifting across the room. They hadn't landed on him yet.
"You going or not?" Adrian prompted.
Xander stood.
"There's the man I remember," Adrian said.
He didn't look back as he walked toward the bar, dodging servers and drunk limbs with effortless grace. As he got closer, he let his steps slow. He didn't rush. He let the atmosphere settle around him, allowed himself to observe her more closely.
She was more striking up close.
Not flashy. But precise. Her eyes were blue—icy. Her cheekbones sharp, lips soft but unsmiling. Her hands were delicate, yet she held her glass like someone who'd been through enough not to fumble it.
He stood a few feet away, then casually leaned against the bar beside her.
"You look like you're waiting for someone," he said, voice low, edged with that lazy drawl only half-meant to charm.
She glanced at him.
No smile.
"I could say the same to you," she replied.
He smiled faintly. "Touché."
She turned back to her drink. He didn't move.
"Can I buy you another, or would that be too predictable?"
She gave him a sideways glance. "Very."
"Then I won't."
A pause.
He motioned to the bartender anyway. "Water. For me."
That got her attention. "Water? In a club?"
He shrugged. "I'm trying something new."
She looked amused. Just slightly. "What's the experiment?"
"Seeing if I can enjoy the night without making it worse tomorrow."
She tilted her head. "Sounds like you're expecting a bad tomorrow."
"Aren't you?"
Another pause. She stared at him. And then, very softly:
"Every day."
For the first time all evening, Xander felt something tug inside him.
Not interest. Not lust. But recognition.
He leaned his elbow on the bar. "We haven't been properly introduced."
"We don't need to be."
"Why not?"
"Because this…" she gestured to the space between them, "…is temporary."
"You sound very sure of that."
"I am."
He studied her. "But not opposed."
She said nothing.
"So," he said slowly, "you're someone who doesn't want to be seen, but lets themselves be noticed."
Her lips curved faintly. "And you're someone who pretends to be happy but suck at it so bad."
His smile grew. "Guilty."
She turned to face him more directly now. Her gaze was sharper. Less playful.
"You don't know me."
"I'd like to."
"Why?"
He held her gaze. "Because I don't know how you managed to make a room this loud feel quiet."
For the first time, her breath hitched just slightly.
But she recovered fast. "Careful. That almost sounded sincere."
"That was me being careful."
A silence settled.
Not awkward. But weighted.
She finished her drink. Stood. He straightened too, instinctively.
"Enjoy your water," she said.
"Will I see you again?"
She met his gaze, unflinching.
"You already have."
Then she walked away.
Xander stayed frozen for a beat, eyes tracking her retreat. There was no sway in her step, no coy glance back. Just quiet confidence.
But Xander wasn't smiling anymore. Not quite.
Because something about her stayed with him—the sharpness behind the softness, the armor beneath her poise.
And somewhere, deep down, his instincts whispered:
She's not just a distraction.
She is something else.
Something dangerous.
And he was already too curious to walk away.