The bass thumped through the walls of Club Vortex, a relentless pulse that matched the heartbeat of the crowd packed inside. Neon lights sliced through the haze of smoke and sweat, casting erratic shadows on writhing bodies on the dance floor. Sarah pushed her way through the throng, her short black dress clinging to her curves like a second skin. At 22, she wasn't here for anything serious—just a night to forget the monotony of her desk job. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her heels clicked against the sticky floor as she made her way to the bar.

She ordered a vodka tonic, the cool glass sweating in her hand as she scanned the room. That's when she saw him. Tall, broad-shouldered, with tousled dark hair and a jawline that could cut glass. He leaned against the bar a few stools down, his black shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal a glimpse of toned chest. Their eyes met, and he smirked, raising his beer in a silent toast. Sarah felt a spark low in her belly. She turned away, but not before biting her lip.