Killian didn't move.
He remained seated, elbow resting against the arm of the velvet couch, a half-empty glass of whiskey held loosely in one hand. The bass throbbed through the walls, vibrating against his ribs, but his gaze never wavered from the woman at the bar. She didn't smile. Didn't sway to the music. She just sat there, calm and still, sipping her wine like the room didn't exist.
Ares followed his line of sight, then let out a soft, amused whistle.
"You want her, don't you?"
Killian didn't answer. He just sipped.
Ares chuckled under his breath. "So that's how it is."
He stood, adjusted his cufflinks, and gave Killian a mock salute. "Fine. I'll break the ice as always"
No response. Just that same unwavering stare.
Ares crossed the lounge and made his way toward the bar—confident, unhurried. Women noticed him; they always did. But he didn't spare them a glance. His eyes were locked on the woman in black silk.
Naomi didn't look up when he slid into the seat beside her. Her glass was almost empty, her posture lazy but elegant—one leg crossed over the other, fingers drumming lightly on the bar.
The bartender approached.
"A bottle of her wine," Ares said smoothly. "Put it on my tab."
That got her attention. Naomi turned slightly, eyes flicking toward him. Not surprised. Not flattered. Just… curious.
Ares let his gaze trail over her—slow, deliberate, appreciative. Not the way most men looked at her. Not greedy. Not possessive. Just… fascinated.
"Stunning," he murmured.
Naomi blinked once. Then, with perfect deadpan:
"Are you talking to me?"
Ares smiled. "I'd be crazy not to."
She studied him now, head tilted. "Flattery's cheap."
He shrugged. "Good thing I can afford to be generous with it."
Her lips curled into something between a smirk and a sigh. The bartender returned with the wine, poured her a fresh glass. She didn't thank him. She just sipped.
"So," she said, finally, "was that it? The flattery?"
Ares leaned in just a fraction—close enough to lower his voice, far enough not to crowd her.
"My friend over there…" He tilted his head toward the VIP section. "He doesn't chase."
Naomi followed his gaze. Her eyes found Killian—still watching, still unmoving, still sipping whiskey like nothing in the room was worth his time but her.
Ares smiled. "But for you? He's been watching like he just found his favorite sin."
Naomi didn't respond. She turned back to her glass, swirling the wine once.
"And what does he want?" she asked, voice low, almost bored.
Ares lifted his glass in a casual toast. "Just one night. No strings."