Aria didn't expect that a simple idea would lead her here.
It had started casually, almost playfully, when her friend leaned across the table and said, "You're asking the wrong question. It's not what he says—it's what he can't control."
Aria had frowned at that. "And how do I see that?"
Her friend's smile had been slow, almost wicked. "You make him jealous enough to forget who he is."
The words had stayed with her long after the conversation ended.
And now… standing under the dim lights of the club the next night, dressed in something bold enough to make her feel exposed and powerful at the same time, Aria realized she had already stepped too far to turn back.
The red dress clung to her like a second skin, soft fabric tracing her figure, the neckline daring, the slit along her leg revealing just enough with every step she took. Her hair fell loose, her lips slightly parted, her confidence not entirely real—but convincing enough.
