Naya looked at him and time exhaled.
Her breath caught. Her skin prickled like it had been touched. She stepped back slightly, searching for solid ground beneath the rush in her chest.
Cole didn't move.
He just watched her—eyes locked, calm and dangerous, like he could see through the black dress and into every thought she hadn't said out loud.
A low laugh slipped from him.
Not loud. Not bright. Just… deliberate.
Like he was already unwrapping her in his mind.
"I'm Cole," he said, voice rich and velvet-dark. "And you are?"
"Naya."
Her voice was too soft. Too exposed.
She hated how unsteady it sounded. But the way he looked at her—unblinking, unreadable—lit something reckless along her spine.
"Nice name," he said. "Suits you."
His gaze flicked toward the wine table where Dane and Jenny were then settled right back on her.
She crossed her arms, shielding the way her chest rose too fast. Her dress felt thinner. Bare.
He tilted his head, drinking her in slowly—openly—like he was memorizing her with intention.
A smirk curved his lips.
"You always snap pics of men you're into," he asked, voice teasing but edged with steel, "or am I just lucky tonight?"
Naya let out a breath—half laugh, half sigh—and looked away. Flustered. Her pulse skittered beneath her skin.
He saw it.
All of it.
And then he moved.
One slow step closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough for their scents to tangle—deep spice and clean heat. Her lips parted without meaning to.
His hand lifted near her jaw.
Not touching. Not yet.
But her knees weakened anyway.
"Tell me something, Naya," he said, low and unhurried.
"What would've happened if we hadn't caught you taking that picture?"
Her throat tightened.
"Probably nothing."
He leaned in, eyes dropping to her mouth.
"That'd be a shame."
Her body tensed.
Not in fear. In the coil of something about to snap.
She didn't move.
Couldn't.
Her body had gone quiet just to hear him.
He saw that too.
And his smirk deepened into something darker.
"You know…" His voice softened. Slowed. "Since you took my picture without asking… I think you owe me."
Naya blinked. Heat flushed behind her ribs.
"Owe you?"
He nodded. Easy.
"Yeah. A little something for the trouble."
His gaze dropped again—to her lips, the hollow of her throat.
Every glance was a fingerprint.
The air charged between them, pulsing.
Unavoidable.
Naya exhaled.
"God…"
He tilted his head, the gold at his wrist catching the light.
"Trust me?"
Quiet. Certain.
His eyes had gone darker now. Focused.
And she knew—
He wasn't asking for permission.
He already had it.
Then:
"Come here," he said.
Her breath stuttered. Her feet didn't move.
But her hand did.
She reached out.
He caught it—gently, but firmly. His palm warm. Sure. Possessive.
"Good girl," he murmured.
A shiver crawled down her back.
He turned, still holding her hand, leading her through the crowd without looking back.
His body moved like command, not request.
Lights flashed—violet, red, gold.
The bass thumped beneath her ribs.
His grip didn't loosen.
They stopped at the center of the floor. He turned toward her.
Close. Too close.
"You wanted something to feel?"
His breath brushed her ear.
"Let's see if we can make it last."
Then his hand slid to her waist.
Pulled her in.
And she let him.
Her body was tense—
Until it wasn't.
She moved with him. Unsure at first.
Her hands found his shoulders. Stayed.
He was warm beneath the fabric—strong. Steady.
He didn't rush her.
He just danced.
His chest brushed hers. His hips teased—just enough to make her breath hitch.
Every time he touched her, something flared low in her stomach.
Something unnamed.
She met his gaze.
He smiled. Low. Knowing.
Like he'd felt it too.
Their rhythm built—first cautious, then synced, then seamless.
Bodies in time with the beat. And something deeper.
His hand slid lower, to the small of her back.
His thumb stroked the silk—lazy, slow. Her skin burned beneath it.
The other hovered near her arm. Not quite touching.
Just a whisper. A threat of contact.
Naya's chest rose too fast. Her heart outpaced the music.
Then the song shifted.
New beat. Low. Haunting.
And the voice—
Wasn't new at all.
She turned her head.
And there she was.
Jenny.
Lit like a secret under stage lights—wine silk clinging to her frame, a smile barely held.
She moved beside Dane like the moment had been choreographed.
Naya bit her lip, suppressing a grin.
Jenny's eyes found hers across the floor. That best-friend look:
"Don't freak out. I'm freaking out."
Their whole childhood passed in one glance.
Cole leaned in.
"You good?"
"Yeah." Naya's voice trembled slightly. "Now I am."
Jenny laughed at something Dane said, then spun beneath his arm—voice melting into the music.
And suddenly, Naya realized—
That voice was Jenny's.
No...
Aria.
The anonymous girl with a million streams.
But not the one who made Naya cry in dorm rooms with unfinished lyrics and promises to never sing them out loud.
The world had fallen for Aria.
But Naya had always known Jenny.
She turned back to Cole—heart racing, but sharper now.
"You love Aria too?" he asked, curiosity flickering.
The question caught her off guard.
Naya looked down. Then up.
"In a way," she said carefully.
She didn't elaborate.
Couldn't.
But something flickered in his gaze.
Like he knew she wasn't talking about a playlist.
"She's got range," Naya murmured.
Cole smiled.
Like he heard everything she didn't say.
Then from the back of the club, over the bass and clinking glasses, came a drunken bellow:
"WHEN I MEET ARIA, I'M MARRYING THAT WOMAN!"
The crowd near the bar erupted in laughter.
"You're already married, Fred!" someone yelled.
"SO? MY WIFE DON'T SING LIKE THAT!"
He slammed his glass on the table. "That voice? That's wife material. Pain, poetry, and hips—THE TRINITY!"
Another guy hooted, "Sit your thirsty self down!"
Jenny, mid-spin, stumbled.
She caught herself quick—but her eyes flicked to Naya, wide and screaming DID HE JUST—
Naya bit her lip hard, trying not to laugh.
Jenny turned back to Dane like nothing happened, but her ears were burning.
That was Aria-level chaos.
And Jenny had just danced straight through it.
Then—
Cole's breath brushed Naya's jaw.
Warm. Quiet.
"Hey…" he whispered. "Look at me."