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The bar breathed like a living thing, slow, golden, and hungry. Shadows clung to velvet walls, catching secrets in their folds, while low jazz kissed the air, smooth as sin. Every surface shimmered, not with warmth, but with promise, the kind that tasted like trouble and left lipstick on your collar. Men in sleek suits lingered like ghosts with unfinished business, sipping their drinks in silence and scanning the room for something, or someone, worth losing control over.

He arrived just after nine, alone and restless, craving something, anything, to dull the sharp edge of the day, to ease the weight of the week, and to quiet the lingering ache that had settled deep in his life.

Before stepping out of the cab, he slid his wedding ring off his finger and it left a faint pale band on his skin, a quiet reminder of promises he was not in the mood to remember. He tucked the ring into his coat pocket, his fingers brushing over the cool metal like a man who felt both guilty and free. Tonight, he did not want to be someone’s husband. Tonight, he did not want to be recognized at all.

No name was given at the door, just a nod to the doorman and the unspoken language of wealth. Liam slipped inside like a shadow with intent, the kind of man who could disappear into leather booths and re-emerge with a new story if he wanted to. And tonight, he wanted to. He wasn’t searching for companionship, not exactly. He was searching for something that might disarm him, intrigue him, maybe even tempt him enough to follow it home. Something worth remembering, or at least something that could make him forget how familiar everything else had started to feel.

He slid onto the barstool with the ease of a man used to taking up space, confident in the way men are when they are pretending not to care who watches them. The lighting caught the sharp angles of his jaw, casting shadows that moved when he did. His suit was black and sleek, the kind that whispered wealth rather than shouted it, paired with a crisp white shirt that looked freshly pressed, even at this hour. He unbuttoned the jacket with one hand and gestured to the bartender with the other.

“Bourbon. Neat,” he said, voice low and smooth, like the liquor he was about to drink.

The man seated beside him turned slightly, clad in a midnight-blue velvet suit that hugged him like a second skin. A knowing smirk played at his lips, as if he already understood how the night would unfold. His glass sat nearly empty, the rim catching the light with a glint of something dark and expensive.

“Long day?” the man asked, his tone casual but edged with curiosity.

Liam offered a tight smile, just enough to be polite. “You could say that.”

The man’s gaze lingered, studying him. “What do you do?”

“If I tell you,” Liam said, pausing just long enough to let the moment hang between them, “I would have to kill you.”

That earned a laugh, short and low, like they were already in on a joke neither had agreed to tell. “Mysterious. I like that.”

Liam felt the man lean in slightly, close enough for his cologne to mix with the scent of bourbon and polished wood. “Name?”

There was a flicker of hesitation, subtle enough to go unnoticed by most, but Liam met the man’s eyes and gave a small nod.

“Liam.”

Something shifted in the man’s expression. Not surprise, not recognition, but a flicker of interest that deepened the smirk on his lips.

“Well, I am Daniel,” the man said.

They shook hands, brief and firm, a quiet test of presence. Neither wore a ring. Liam hadn’t bothered to glance at Daniel’s fingers, whether he was married or not didn’t matter tonight. But Daniel did look. His gaze dropped briefly to Liam’s left hand, which rested on the counter, catching the faint indentation where a ring had once been. He didn’t ask. He only smiled, as if he found the absence more intriguing than the presence would have been, as if the quiet rebellion of it made Liam all the more irresistible.

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