I move toward the dance floor, seamlessly weaving through the sea of politicians, socialites, and criminals wrapped in expensive silk and tailored deception. Yet, I can still feel his gaze, sharp and deliberate, trailing my every move.
Fucking pest.
I don't dare glance back, but my mind is already calculating, piecing together the danger of this moment. He looked at me like he knew me like he saw something beyond the surface. But that's impossible. He shouldn't know me. Not this version of me.
The orchestra shifts to a slow, elegant melody. A new dance begins. And then—
"Would you care for a dance?"
His voice is smooth, effortless, but I hear the underlying edge beneath it. The weight of something unspoken.
I turn to face him, my expression crafted to perfection. Amusement flickers across my features, as if this is nothing more than a stranger's request. As if the way his presence unsettles me isn't real.
Tobi stands before me, poised and confident, his dark eyes unreadable. Up close, the resemblance is more striking—the ghost of a past I never saw coming.
The Tobi I knew had been sharp-tongued, annoyingly persistent, a calculated force that pushed Mia and me to always be better. But the Tobi in front of me now? He is something else entirely.
He stands with a quiet power, the weight of authority settled over his shoulders as if he was born into it. The reckless genius is gone-replaced by someone more refined, more controlled.
A man who has already played the game and won.
And yet, his eyes still burn with that same intensity. The same piercing gaze that once studied Mia and me in a classroom now pins me down in a room filled with men who believe themselves untouchable.
I smile. Slow. Calculated.
"I don't usually dance with strangers," I murmur, tilting my head as if I'm studying him. As if I'm trying to place him, instead of already knowing exactly who he is.
He exhales a small chuckle, the sound low, edged with something unreadable.
"Forgotten me so soon Maya?"
The name is like a blade to the ribs.
The name shouldn't mean anything to me anymore.
It doesn't.
Not to the woman I've become.
Maya
Spoken in a place where it shouldn't exist.
I hold his gaze, feigning confusion. A polite smile graces my lips, just the right amount of intrigue.
"Oh sorry, you must have mistaken me for someone else mr….?"
He takes a measured sip of his drink, then exhales, his smirk barely there, but present enough to make my skin prickle.
"We both know I didn't mistake you for someone else Maya"
Every instinct screams at me to retreat, to cut this conversation before it unravels the life I've
built. But that would be a mistake. The moment I show my hand, I lose.
So I do what I do best.
I lie.
I step closer, just enough to make it look deliberate, just enough for the scent of expensive whiskey and something distinctly him to reach me. "And if I am this Maya you speak of... what then?"
His smirk deepens, but his eyes stay cold.
Calculating. "Then I'd say you owe me a dance."
A laugh escapes me before I can stop it, soft and dangerous. "Is that all?"
"For now."
There's weight behind those words, a promise of something more. Something inevitable.
I should walk away. I should cut my losses and disappear into the crowd
But, I don't
Instead, I extend a hand, my lips curving in a slow, taunting smirk. "Then by all means, let's not keep you waiting, Pest."
His expression flickers.
For the first time, I see it--the break in his control. It lasts barely a second, a twitch of his jaw, a sharp inhale. But I see it.
And I know he remembers.
Mia and I always called him that. Because no matter how much we tried to shake him off, no matter how many times we dismissed him, Tobi was always there. Hovering. Watching.
Pushing us to be better.
Something dark flashes in his eyes, but then it's gone, replaced by a slow deliberate smirk. He takes my hand, his grip firm, unshaken.
"As you wish."
As we step onto the dance floor, the music shifts slow and deliberate, a haunting melody that winds through the air like a secret waiting to be spilled.
Tobi pulls me closer, his grip firm but not forceful, his fingers resting against the small of my back as if he has every right to touch me. I allow it, meeting his gaze with cool indifference, even as my pulse betrays me with its steady, calculated beat.
This is a game. One we both know how to play.
"You're quiet," he murmurs, leading me into the first turn of the dance. "Not like you."
I tilt my head, my smirk sharp. "You know nothing about me pest."
The dance moves us across the floor, a seamless display of practiced elegance. To anyone watching, we are nothing more than two strangers enjoying a fleeting moment.
"Why are you here, Tobi?" I murmur, barely above a whisper, my lips just shy of brushing his cheek. "You don't belong in places like this."
A soft chuckle rumbles in his chest. "Neither do
you."
I pull back just slightly, enough to see the flicker of amusement in his gaze, the knowing glint that tells me he's enjoying this.
Damn him.
"You haven't changed," I say, my tone laced with something that almost sounds like nostalgia.
He exhales, long and slow. "You have."
The way he says it -the weight behind it-sinks into my skin like a blade.
Because it's true.
I am not the girl he once knew.
Maya died seven years ago.
And yet, as I look at him now, as the song slows to its final notes and the space between us narrows, I wonder if, for the first time in years, someone has seen through the cracks in my armour.
A dangerous thing.
Too dangerous.
The music ends, but neither of us moves right away.
His fingers linger against my back, his breath a steady rhythm against my cheek.
I should walk away. I should put distance between us.
Instead, I let my hand rest just a moment longer against his shoulder. Just long enough to let him think he has a piece of me.
I lean in, my voice drops to a whisper, smooth as velvet, sharp as a blade.
"Pest, whatever you think you know about me..." My fingers tighten slightly on his shoulder, a fleeting pressure, a silent threat. Then I pull away, tilting my head just enough to let a slow, razor-sharp smile curve my lips. "Forget it."
I take a step back, my gaze locking onto his,
unyielding.
"The next time you show your face in front of me again-" My voice plunges to a deadly chill. "I'II put a bullet through your skull."
"That's cute," he murmurs, voice smooth, edged with mockery. His eyes never leave mine, drinking in every flicker of restraint I don't let show. "I wouldn't mind dying by your hands."
The bastard is enjoying this.
Damn him.
I turn, ready to disappear into the sea of powerful men and women, but I feel it—his presence lingering, his attention pressing into my back like a brand.
This isn't over.
And for the first time in years, uncertainty snakes its way into my bones.