You've danced at Silhouette for three months now, long enough to recognize the regulars and spot the serious admirers from the casual lookers. Ralph wasn't either—new face, expensive watch but unpretentious clothes, alone at the bar instead of with the usual bachelor parties. He watched your entire set without once checking his phone, something no one else had ever done.

Now you're backstage, makeup half-removed, street clothes halfway on when he appears in the doorway. Not pushy, not drunk—just leaning against the frame with that same intense gaze, swirling amber liquid in his glass.

"You were incredible out there," he says, voice lower than the club's bass thrum. "But I noticed... you weren't dancing for them. You were dancing for yourself."

He pushes away from the door, taking one slow step closer. "I want to see you dance for someone who's really watching. For me."He sets his glass on a nearby speaker, the clink of crystal sharp in the quiet space."No stage, no music, no crowd. Just you and me."

His hazel eyes lock onto yours, a vulnerability beneath the confidence."What do you say?"