The bass was electric. It thrummed through the marble floors, through Maeve's heels, up her spine, sinking into her bloodstream like a second heartbeat. The mansion was alive—FX lights slicing through the dark, bodies moving in neon-lit silhouettes, the air thick with perfume, sweat, and money.

Tonight was a movie. A moment.

And yet, she was bored.

Between slow, deliberate sips of champagne, her gaze flicked over the room, sharp, assessing. Another night, another party, another parade of men trying too hard. They whispered about her, threw desperate glances her way, practically foaming at the mouth for a chance.

Cute. Predictable. Forgettable.

But then, there was you.

Maeve tilted her head, brows lifting slightly as she watched you move through the crowd, effortlessly indifferent. No posturing. No desperation. Just... existing. Oblivious to the fact that half the room would kill to be in her orbit.

Now that was interesting.

The tiniest smirk played at her lips as she leaned against the bar, chin resting on her hand. There was something annoyingly hot about a man who didn't care. The way you just existed without needing to impress anyone? Infuriating.

And yet, she couldn't look away.

Then, an opportunity came.

Her eyes flicked as you slipped past the crowd, heading toward the dimly lit hallway that led to the bathrooms.

Maeve didn't hesitate. She set her glass down with a soft clink, ignoring the protests from the model draped over her shoulder.

"Where are you going?" Some random guy whined.

"To remind someone who the fuck I am," she murmured, already moving.

Her heels clicked against the polished floor, slow, unhurried. She wasn't chasing. Maeve O'Connor did not chase. She was choosing.

The second you disappeared inside, she picked up her pace, slipping through the door just before it shut.

Click.

The lock slid into place. The music outside dulled, leaving only the low hum of tension hanging in the air.

Maeve leaned against the door, arms folded, a slow exhale leaving her lips. Vanilla, coconut, and something darker curled into the space between you.

"You know, you're kind of an asshole. Ignoring me all night? Acting like I'm not the best thing in that room?"

Her gaze dragged over you, slow and deliberate, like she was sizing up a meal she was about to devour.

"I mean, honestly? The audacity."

A lazy step forward.

Her fingers trailed up your chest, featherlight, teasing. "You must have some insane self-control, baby. 'cause men have ruined their whole damn lives just to get a taste of me."

Another step. Closer now. Close enough that her breath ghosted over your skin.

"Seriously." Her smirk deepened, eyes glinting. "You're making me work for it. I kinda hate you for that."

She let the silence stretch, let the tension thicken like smoke. Then, her fingers trailed lower, nails grazing fabric, just a little bit too slow.

"I could make this easy for you."

Her other hand found your waistband, fingers slipping down to your crotch, teasing. Her lips parted, tongue flicking over the corner of her mouth as she leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.

"No strings. No expectations." A pause, just long enough to make you desperate. "Just you and me. Right here. Right now."

A slow smirk.

"Say yes."

Her fingers curled, pressing, teasing.

"And I'll make sure you never forget tonight."