The woman stepped closer.

Swaying.

Moving with a practiced rhythm, a lazy, sensual confidence in each step.

Her scent hitinstantly.

Fuck.

A thick, nauseating mix of cheap cologne and alcohol, clinging to her skin like a second layer. It wasn't refined. It wasn't elegant. It was the kind of scent that triedtoo hard—an artificial, overwhelming stench that masked something rotting underneath.

But—

I had to admit.

Her skills?Not bad.

Because even as she reached for the bottle, pretending to focus on pouring, she never forgot tomove.

Wiggle.

Her hips shifted, grinding ever so slightly. Just enough to tease. Just enough topokeat the instincts of the weak.

And sure enough—

The fuckerreacted.

Ifeltit.

His heartbeat jumped—thump-thump-thump!—his breath hitched, his body responding on instinct.

And because, for some goddamn reason, I couldfeeleverything—his pulse, his senses, even the way his bloodrushed downward—

I knew.

He wasfalling for it.

"Yeah..."

A groan slipped from his lips.

Loud. Immediate. Uncontrolled.

Iwinced.

'Letting out a groan this easily?Fucking pathetic.'

SWOOSH!

A strangefeelingswept through me, like something had shifted, something unseen keeping track of his failure—

'-1 CHARISMA'

[System Error: Unable to connect.]

'What the fuck is this?!'

But before I could process it—

He wasn't done.

Because this spineless idiot wasn't satisfied withjustreacting.

No.

His handsmoved.

Sliding up, reaching for her waist, desperate to makecontact.

I felt my disgust spike.

And yet—

I still couldn't move.

Still couldn't stop him.

I was trapped.

Forced towatch.

Forced tofeel.

And something about that?

Made my skin crawl.

The guy's hand landed on her waist.

Eager.

Desperate.

Ifeltit.

That small, pathetic excitement rushing through his fingertips, that hunger forcontact, for validation, foranything.

And yet—

The girlstopped.

Her head snapped toward him, her eyes narrowing into a glare.

She grabbed his wrist.

Firm. Cold.

"No touching."

Her voice was soft, but there was no warmth in it. No seduction. No playfulness.

Just command.

And this pathetic sack of meat?

Heinstantlycomplied.

His hand recoiled, slinking away like a dog that had been scolded.

But—

She stillwiggled.

Just a little. Just enough to compensate. Just enough to keep the leash tight.

Fuckingtextbook.

'Jesus Christ, this is painful to watch.'

And then—

"Hey... Damien! Come, let's toast."

The girl handed him a drink, her lips curling into a smile—polished, trained,fake.

'Damien?'

The guy took the glass, his voice light with amusement.

"Bring it on, Kaine."

Ifroze.

'Kaine? Damien?'

A sharp, creeping chill curled through my mind.

Those names. That voice.

This fucking scene.

'Don't tell me—'

And then—

"Let's toast to your fiancée."

"To Celia?"

"Yeah."

"Okay."

BOOM.

The realizationslammedinto me.

Like a gunshot to the brain.

Like a car crash, a head-on collision of memories, of connections Ishould'vemade earlier.

'What the hell?!'

Celia.

This wasn't just any random guy.

This wasn't just any fucking night at the club.

Iknewthis.

Iknewthis fucking scene.

Because I hadplayedit.

Watched it unfold.

Hated every second of it.

And just as they raised their glasses—

BANG!

The doorslammedopen.

The airfroze.

Andsheentered.

Long, flowing blue hair.

Cold, piercing emerald-green eyes.

Porcelain, jade-like skin.

The moment Celia stepped into the room, everything shifted.

The air, thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat, suddenly felt colder. The booming bass of the club music, once deafening, seemed distant—muted, like the world itself was holding its breath.

And the idiot whose body I was trapped in?

His heartbeatspiked.

Ifeltit—every erratic thump hammering against his ribs, his pulse racing as if his very existence depended on the woman standing before him. It wasn't just attraction. No, there was something deeper, something crawling beneath his skin—anxiety. The kind that gripped his gut and twisted it into knots, the kind that made his throat tighten and his breath shallow.

"Celia?"

The name left his lips in a hushed, uncertain breath, barely audible over the hum of the music. His body tensed, hands twitching slightly, as if caught between reaching out and staying frozen in place. His face contorted in confusion, as if his brain couldn't fully register the sight before him.

"Why are you here?"

But Celia said nothing.

She juststared.

Cold. Unyielding. Those emerald-green eyes locked onto him like a predator sizing up its prey. There was no softness, no warmth—only sharp, cutting judgment.

Then, she moved.

Slow. Deliberate. Each step measured, her heels clicking faintly against the club floor. She wasn't just walking—she wasapproaching. There was a weight in her movements, something undeniable, something that made even the air around her feel heavier.

"Are you here to see me?"

The voice came out hopeful, desperate—so full ofpatheticoptimism that I wanted to reach out and smack some sense into this dumb fuck myself.

And yet, the girl on his lap?

She already knew.

Without hesitation, she lifted herself off of him, slipping away like mist, like she was never reallythereto begin with. Her smile remained, but only for a fraction of a second before she turned and vanished into the crowd, not sparing him a second glance.

She had seen this before.

She hadexpectedthis.

And yet,hestill hadn't caught on.

'Fucking bastard... you still can't see it?! Just move your damn body!'

Iscreamedin my mind, trying to force something, anything, to break his trance. But it was useless.

Because Celia was already standing right before him.

And before he could say another word—

Her hand shot up.

SLAP!

The impact cracked through the air, louder than the music, louder than the crowd, louder than anything else in that moment. His head snapped to the side, a stinging heat spreading across his cheek.

For a second, there was nothing but silence.

Then, her voice—low, sharp, and dripping with disappointment.

"You disappointment."

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com