The club pulsed with dim, seductive lighting, deep reds and purples bleeding across the walls like spilled wine. Bodies moved to the rhythm, grinding, spinning, losing themselves in bass that throbbed like a second heartbeat.
Then they walked in.
Every man's head turned.
Zara was the kind of beautiful that made people smile before they even knew why—long blonde hair fell in soft, loose curls around her shoulders like strands of sunlight, and her wide, doe-like blue eyes glistened like sapphire under glass. She wore a pastel pink dress that clung to her body just enough to hint at the figure beneath soft, feminine, deceptively sweet. She looked like she couldn't kill a fly.
But Naomi?
Naomi was a sin sculpted into human form.
She didn't walk. She owned the ground she stepped on.
Her golden brown skin shimmered like melted honey, glowing under the club lights. She wore a blood-red dress that hugged every dangerous curve of her slim-thick figure—the dip of her waist, the swell of her hips, the long legs that moved like liquid fire. Her ebony-black hair spilled down her back in waves, and those sharp, feline brown eyes scanned the club like a queen assessing her kingdom. Lips full and glossy, cheekbones sharp enough to wound, and a look that dared anyone to come close.
She didn't have to say a word. Her presence was a challenge.
Don't touch unless you're ready to burn.
"Did you see the way everyone looked when we walked in?" Zara whispered, bumping Naomi's shoulder. "We stole the whole damn night."
Naomi didn't answer right away. She took a slow sip of her wine, eyes gliding over the crowd like a lioness sizing up her prey.
"I noticed," she said coolly, lips curling into a small smirk. "Let them look."
Zara leaned closer, grinning. "Try to live a little for once, okay? Let loose. It's girls' night."
Before Naomi could respond, a tall guy with a cocky grin sauntered up to them.
"Mind if I steal her for a dance?" he asked, his gaze locked on Zara.
Zara glanced at Naomi.
Naomi gave a barely-there shrug and raised her glass in a mock toast. "Go," she said, her smirk returning. "Have fun."
Zara winked and let herself be pulled onto the dance floor, already swaying to the beat.
Meanwhile, across the bar...
In the dimly lit VIP section tucked into the far corner of the club, two men sat draped in shadows.
One leaned back lazily, a charming smirk playing on his lips as strippers danced on either side of him, laughing at his flirtatious quips. Ares had tousled golden-brown hair, a lean frame, and the kind of face that got away with murder just by smiling. He oozed charisma—boyish charm wrapped in dangerous confidence.
But the man beside him?
Killian Voss didn't smile.
He didn't need to.
Dark hair framed his chiseled face, and his black eyes black like a starless night, as if it were a contradiction of death and desire. Sharp jawline, full lips pressed in a constant unreadable line, with a presence that sucked the air from the room. He wore all black, tailored to perfection, like a devil in a suit.
Where Ares glowed, Killian brooded.
Silent. Watchful. Lethal.
He hadn't touched the dancers once. Just leaned forward with one arm resting on his thigh, swirling his drink with slow precision.
"Bro, I swear you're allergic to fun," Ares laughed, tossing back a shot. "You're sitting here like some gothic vampire while tits are flying everywhere."
Killian didn't even glance at him. He took a small sip of his whiskey, eyes cold and unreadable.
Ares rolled his eyes dramatically. "You need to loosen up. Find someone. Hell, anyone."
Killian didn't answer.
Not until his gaze slid across the dance floor.
And froze.
There she was sitting alone at the counter, smirking like she owned the world. Wine glass in hand. Blood-red dress that clung like a lover's hands. Skin like gold, lips like sin.
His jaw tightened, and his grip around the glass stilled.
"Who is she?" Killian asked, voice low and rough—like silk dragged across steel.
Ares followed his line of sight and raised a brow, lips curling into a grin. "You want her, don't you?"
Killian didn't respond.
He just kept staring. Like he'd spotted something rare. Something dangerous.
"I haven't seen her around here before," Ares said with growing interest. "She must be new."
A mischievous spark lit his ocean eyes. "Why don't you go over there and say hi?"
But Killian didn't move.
He just leaned back, swirling his drink again—his black eyes still locked on the girl in red.