My Forever One

Chapter One: Just One Night

The music throbbed like a heartbeat in her veins, loud, pulsing, and mercilessly intoxicating. Neon lights danced across the crowded club floor, casting everyone in shades of gold and desire. Maya Blake wasn't the kind of woman who usually ended her Fridays surrounded by strangers and swirling drinks, but tonight wasn't usual.

Tonight, she needed to forget.

She tilted her glass back, the tequila burning its way down her throat like the bitterness in her chest. Freshly dumped, freshly unemployed, and freshly angry at the world, she'd let her best friend drag her to Noir, a sleek, dimly-lit bar with sharp edges and even sharper people. Her lipstick was too red, her dress too tight, and her thoughts too dangerous.

"Another?" the bartender asked, already sliding her a fresh shot.

Maya hesitated,then shrugged. "Why not? It's not like I've got anything left to lose."

But as she reached for the glass, she felt it, him. A stare like fire on her skin. She turned, and the world narrowed.

He stood across the bar, tall, commanding, untouchably magnetic. Midnight-black suit. Broad shoulders. A jaw that could cut glass. But it wasn't his looks that hooked her, it was his eyes. They weren't just looking at her. They were unraveling her.

She blinked. He didn't.

Who the hell was he?

Before she could gather a coherent thought, he moved. Smooth. Controlled. And very, very confident. In a matter of seconds, he was next to her, his presence a heady drug.

"You don't look like you belong here," he said, voice low and rough like velvet over gravel.

Maya raised a brow, not trusting her voice yet. "And you do?"

"I own it," he said simply.

Of course he did.

She smirked, half-amused, half-guarded. "Well then, Mr. Owner, is this your usual pickup strategy?"

He tilted his head, studying her like a puzzle he wanted to solve with his hands. "No. But you're not usual either."

The air between them thickened.

She should've said something clever, something biting to reassert control, but her breath had gone shallow. Every nerve in her body felt pulled to him, an invisible string from her spine to his. Something primal stirred in her belly.

He extended his hand. "Come upstairs with me."

Just like that.

No lies. No cheesy lines. Just bold, naked intent.

She should've said no. She wasn't this kind of girl. She didn't do reckless, wild, anonymous nights. But as her eyes met his, something inside her screamed: Do it. Just this once.

And so she placed her hand in his.

No names. No stories.

Just raw desires.

The penthouse suite was made of glass and steel and seduction. Everything gleamed: the marble floors, the skyline view, the hunger in his eyes. He pressed her against the door before it even shut behind them, his mouth hovering just above hers.

"Say stop," he murmured.