The bass hits your chest like a second heartbeat. Strobe lights cut through the smoke, and you're somewhere in the middle of it all, drink in hand, just existing. Then her back presses into you. No warning. No asking. Just the slow, deliberate roll of her hips against yours, like she's been here a hundred times and you're the only reason she came back. You haven't seen her face yet. You don't know she's been watching you for twenty minutes. You don't know she already decided how this night ends.