The apartment smelled faintly of the coffee I'd spilled earlier, mixed with the lingering perfume from the club. I kicked off my heels, letting my feet sink into the worn rug, and ran a hand through my hair. My body ached in familiar ways—shoulders tight, calves sore—but it was nothing I couldn't handle.
Survival left no room for whining.
Jasmine had called while I was leaving the club, her voice excited over the phone. "Girl, you were amazing tonight! Everyone was watching you. I swear, men don't even know what hit them!"
I smiled faintly, sliding onto the couch. "Thanks… but it's just a routine. Another night, another set of eyes."
She laughed, but I knew she didn't understand. They weren't eyes. They were calculations. Numbers. Every glance, every touch, every whispered compliment—they thought it meant something. It didn't. Not yet. I controlled what mattered. My mind, my boundaries, my secret.
I poured a glass of water and sat there for a while, thinking about the club, the men, and… him. Adrian Cole. My chest tightened at the memory of his stare from the VIP corner, his posture sharp, arms crossed, watching like he owned the room even when he wasn't participating. I could feel his gaze lingering even now, miles away.
Somewhere uptown, in a private suite overlooking the city, Adrian leaned back in his chair, the soft clink of his glass against the marble table breaking the silence. His men chatted about the night—women dancing, performing, showing off their curves and confidence. He contributed, noting which ones carried themselves with real command, which ones knew how to survive, which ones were clever, and which were shallow.
Then, as always, his expression shifted. A shadow crossed his features when he thought about the same women. "None of them matter," he said flatly, voice low, cutting. "They're all pieces, pretending they have power. Confidence isn't enough. Not one of them."
One of his men raised an eyebrow.
"Except…?"
He didn't answer. Instead, he stared out the window, eyes on the city lights, and let the words hang in the air. The one exception didn't exist yet in his eyes—but he'd noticed her. A woman who moved through the chaos without giving herself fully. A woman who commanded attention without trying.
Back in my apartment, I paced a little, feeling the exhaustion and adrenaline clash. I had survived another night, and I had done it on my terms. Not theirs. Not his. But the thought of him, of the cold precision behind that dark gaze, stayed with me. I couldn't ignore it.
I sank onto the couch, head resting on the arm, thinking about tomorrow. About clients. About bills. About survival. About Adrian Cole. He didn't know me. Not really. But he had already made me notice him. And for someone like me—someone who survived by keeping control—that was dangerous.
I drained the last of my water and leaned back, letting the quiet of the apartment take me. The city outside pulsed with life, oblivious to the tension building between us, to the storm that neither of us had named yet. I didn't want it. I didn't need it. And yet… I could feel it coming.
Tomorrow, another night. Another survival. Another glance, perhaps. And somewhere in the city, Adrian Cole was already thinking, already calculating.