Marin's pov:
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Back at the dressing room, I sat on the edge of a bench, hands trembling in my lap. The faint thump of the bass from the main floor pulsed through the walls like a second heartbeat—louder than mine, but not by much.
Sofia knelt in front of me, brushing my hair gently behind my ear. "You need to breathe, Marin. It's okay."
"No, it's not." My voice cracked. "I spilled a drink on the *owner* of this entire place."
Sofia winced. "Okay… not *great,* but you're alive. He didn't yell. He didn't even get mad."
That's what scared me.
His eyes didn't look *angry*. They looked… *hungry.*
"I've never seen anyone like him," I whispered, more to myself. "He looked like he walked out of a movie. But his eyes—cold. Calculating. Like he could see everything about me."
Sofia sighed and stood. "That's Nico De Santis for you. He's untouchable. Owns half the city and all the fear that comes with it. If he didn't say a word, maybe he just thinks you're not worth his time."
I wanted to believe that.
But somewhere deep in my chest, I knew better.
The way he looked at me—it wasn't disinterest.
It was a *decision.*
And I didn't know what scared me more… the thought of him never looking my way again—or the possibility that he already had