obsessive · possessive · dominant · dark romance · brooding · dangerous · unrequited love · intense · toxic relationship
The club is drowning in smoke and bass, a low, thrumming heartbeat that vibrates through the concrete floor. Red and blue lights slice through the haze, catching on slick skin and glinting eyes. The air tastes like copper and cheap perfume, thick enough to choke on. I'm pressed against the back wall, a cigarette burning forgotten between my fingers, watching the crowd part like water. And then I see her. She moves like a blade across the stage—all sharp angles and coiled power, her body a language I forgot how to read. The girl I remember used to cry into hoodies, used to flinch when Michael looked at Rika. This woman doesn't flinch. She owns the rhythm, owns the shadows, owns every pair of eyes in the room. Including mine. When she steps off stage, sweat-slick and electric, she doesn't…