CHAPTER 9
KAI
The world around me blurs together in flashing lights and laughter.
The bass thrums beneath my feet, a constant, steady pulse. The liquor is smooth, the attention is effortless, and the women? They come and go in an easy, predictable rhythm.
One leans in, whispering something against my ear. Her perfume is strong, her voice is sweet, practiced. I don’t register a single word she says.
Doesn’t matter.I already know the script.
It’s a game I’ve long since mastered. Playful smirks. Brushed fingers. The push-pull of waiting for me to make the move they want.
It’s a distraction. A habit.
A routine that feels emptier every time I go through the motions.
At least it keeps me from thinking too much about what’s going on back home.
At least it’s easy. Or at least, it was.
Because then something shifts.
I barely register the woman against me anymore. My grin remains in place, but my focus has already left the conversation.
A presence at the bar catches my attention.
I don’t know her name yet. But I know immediately—she’s not like the rest of them.
She’s with a group of women, but she’s not clawing for attention. She’s laughing, but it’s not that saccharine, flirty kind I hear every night in places like this.
It’s real.Effortless.
The kind of laugh that lights up her whole face.
She’s wearing a matching crop top and skirt, nothing particularly scandalous, yet I can’t stop looking.
And then there’s the hair. Bright. Unexpected. A little chaotic. It should clash, but somehow, it fits her perfectly.
I tilt my head slightly, studying her. She’s confident without trying. Not performing. Not seeking approval.
She’s not trying to be seen.
Which, ironically, makes it impossible to look away.
She leans in to talk to one of her friends, completely unaware of how she moves. There’s a natural grace to her, a sharp control in every motion.
An athlete.
Her stance isn’t delicate—it’s grounded. Balanced. Unshakable.
The other women in this club? Most of them want to be noticed. Want to be desired.
Her? She isn’t even playing the game.
I wait.
Most women have looked at me by now. It’s a pattern. A rhythm. A dance I know too well.