The bass of the music vibrated through Elara's body as she stepped into the dimly lit club. The scent of expensive whiskey and forbidden intentions lingered in the air, wrapping around her like silk. She wasn't supposed to be here. Not tonight. Not ever.
Yet, here she was.
Draped in a red satin dress that clung to her curves like a whispered secret, she moved through the sea of bodies with the kind of confidence that came from knowing exactly what people thought when they looked at her. Some admired. Some envied. Others judged.
It didn't matter.
She wasn't looking for approval. She was looking for an escape.
Elara slid onto a barstool, crossing her legs as she ordered a drink. The ice in the glass clinked softly as the bartender slid it toward her. Just as she took a sip, a voice—low, smooth, and laced with something dangerous—cut through the noise.
"You shouldn't be drinking alone in a place like this."
She turned, meeting the gaze of a man who looked like trouble dressed in tailored black. His eyes were unreadable, but the way he looked at her sent a slow burn through her veins.
"And why is that?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
"Because someone might get the wrong idea." He leaned in closer, his scent—a mix of spice and expensive cologne—filling her senses. "Or the right one."
Elara smirked, taking another sip of her drink. "And which one are you?"
His lips curved into something between a smile and a warning. "Depends on how the night goes."
She should have walked away. She should have ignored the pull between them. But logic had no place in a night like this.
And Elara had never been one to play it safe.