I was at Jasmine's apartment, sprawled on the couch in leggings and a loose tank, trying to let the city's noise fade for a while.
The music from her stereo thumped softly, bass vibrating through the floorboards, while she scrolled her phone and laughed at some video. I sipped my wine, cheap but enough to feel like a little escape.
"You need to go out more, you know,"
Jasmine said, tossing her hair. "All work, no life—you're turning into a ghost."
I shrugged. "I survive, that's enough for me."
She rolled her eyes, laughing. "Survive? Girl, you're alive, not living. Anyway, the club tonight—"
I didn't answer. My mind kept drifting. I couldn't shake the memory of him. Adrian Cole. The street, the look he gave me… I'd never met someone who could make me feel exposed without even touching me.
Dangerous. Cold. I hated that I remembered every detail.
Downtown, in a dimly lit VIP room of a private club, Adrian leaned back in a leather chair, his two associates around him. The room smelled of expensive alcohol and smoke, lights low, music pounding faintly from the floor below. Women had come and gone all night, some laughing, some dancing provocatively.
"One thing about these girls," one associate said, sipping his whiskey, "they move like they own the place. Confidence, curves, all of it. Makes them… interesting."
Adrian watched quietly, eyes narrowing as a woman on the dance floor spun and twirled, laughing at the attention she drew. His hand rested lightly on the arm of his chair, fingers tapping. "They know what works for them," he said finally. "They're bold. They use it. Smart enough to command eyes, even from people who think they're untouchable."
The second associate smirked. "So you like that?"
Adrian's gaze hardened, darkening. "I don't like them," he said flatly. "I respect the strategy, maybe. But that doesn't change what they are. Entitled, shallow, playing games to survive. None of them are worth more than a glance or a laugh. They're… prey dressed in confidence."
"Harsh," one of the guys muttered.
"Reality isn't soft," Adrian said, voice low, precise. "They think dancing and smiling makes them untouchable. They think attention means power. But power isn't given. It's taken. And I don't respect anyone who thinks otherwise."
He leaned back, silent, scanning the room, eyes sharp. Even in the club, surrounded by music and lustful energy, Adrian was calculating. Observing. Judging.
Back at Jasmine's apartment, I laughed at a ridiculous TikTok video, but my heart wasn't in it. Life outside of the city's chaos was temporary, fragile. I tried not to think about him, the way he made me feel like a piece on a chessboard, even though we weren't even in the same room anymore.
Still, somewhere deep down, I felt it—like the city itself held its breath, waiting for the next encounter. The kind of man who judged so harshly, who could see through bravado and confidence, wouldn't forget someone like me. And somehow, I hated the idea of being remembered.
I shook my head and sipped my wine. Survival was my priority. Always. And Adrian Cole… well, he was a dangerous storm I didn't want to face. Not yet.