The city below throbbed with neon and music, but the upper level of Club Reyes was quiet and distant, a kind of inner sanctum above the madness.
Away from the thumping bass and blinking strobes, tucked above it all on a private floor reserved for just a select few. There were no bouncers at its door. No velvet ropes. The only rule was, if your name wasn't Enrique Velasquez, Gael Rodriguez and Theodore Roman, you weren't getting in.
The room was moody and decadent, was decorated in glossy black and deep red tones with the occasional light burst of white from contemporary fixtures on the walls.
The city sparkled from a private balcony similar to a treasure chest just past the glass. The room inside was packed — a pool table, arcade games, a card table, and a push U-shaped black leather couch.
The coffee table in front of the couch was half littered with tumblers, whiskey bottles and unopened cigars.
They had the place to themselves.
Gael Rodriguez, dressed in black right down to the color of his hair—a tee that fit him like a second skin, slim-fit smart jacket nipped at the waist, jeans and boots— sat leaning back with a glass of whiskey in one hand and eyes as sharp as an eagle's beneath tumbling golden waves.
Enrique Velasquez, slouching back next to him, was perfectly in style right down to the dot: black on black with a white tee printing punctuation. He had that silent, grounded magic — still in posture, deadly in silence.
And then there was Theodore Roman — blond, vivacious and unfiltered. He had a cream cardigan over a dark tee and ripped jeans, feet propped up on the table, drinks untouched, hands flailing dramatically as he spoke.
"She was there, I'm telling you! Looking down at the pitch as if she owned the damn city."
"You sure you weren't hallucinating?" Gael deadpanned, twirling the amber liquid in his glass.
Theodore rolled his eyes. "Dude. I saw her. Hair a midnight black, that posture, the freakin' heels. She had this power — like she could fire everybody in one blink."
"You sound obsessed," Enrique muttered with a smirk, not even looking up.
"Not obsessed. But, Curious." Theodore wagged a finger. "There's a difference."
"There's a distinction," Gael mocked seriously, and Enrique chuckled.
With Theodore continuing to prattle on about the VIP bitch, Enrique's eyes drifted down to his drink. He ran his fingers languidly around the edge of the glass, slowly, deep in thought.
Gael noticed.
"So … about the game yesterday," Gael transitioned the conversation easily.
Enrique nodded. "One hell of a rush."
"Your goal entirely made the crowd lose it. I mean, I nearly cried myself, and I'm not even a crier," Theodore smirks.
They chuckled.
And then, almost casually, Enrique added: "Something weird happened after."
Gael raised a brow. "What do you mean?"
"In the locker room. After the game. I.... met someone." Enrique said his thoughts going back in that certain time, sipping his drink.
"Someone?" And Gael repeated, and this time his voice became a little edged.
"A woman," Enrique replied. "She come in, said she was one of the owners — well, a half-partner of the club.
Gael's brows lifted. "Wait, wait. A lady comes into the players' locker room?"
Enrique nodded, his expression unreadable. "She didn't seem like the kind who waits for permission."
"Describe her," Theodore piped up. "We might be talking of the same goddess."
Enrique paused, remembering.
"Black dress. Diamond necklace. Jet-black hair, perfectly straight. Dark eyes … eyes that could undo you with a glance," he said as he thought of her whole self.
"She had this presence. As if she belonged in every room she walked into before anyone else got there. She wasn't just beautiful—she was…"
He stopped himself.
"Whoa." Gael, who had been looking more and more interested, leant forward. "You don't talk about women that way. Ever."
Enrique lifted a brow. "What are you implying?"
"I mean," Gael said slowly, grinning into his whiskey in amusement as he took a sip, "that you are well off your stride.
Enrique made a derisive noise, the fingers round his glass twitching slightly. "You're freaking kidding me."
Gael chuckled. "I'm not. Come on, you barely even look at women when we go out. But now you're here, spewing poetry about cheekbones and glances and goddess energy?"
Theodore raised a hand. "Okay, I agree with Gael on this. That is not the typical way Enrique would react."
Enrique didn't respond. His eyes went down to the floor, and then up on the balcony beyond the glass.
His mind went back to her sound. The whisper by his ear. She had leant in close like that; she'd invaded his air, and even in those brief moments taken over his space and overthrown his mind.
And then she left just as quickly, leaving him there wondering in confusion and curiosity behind.
"She was interesting." Enrique said at last.
A long pause followed.
Gael glanced up, nearly struck by how tender that word had sounded in his voice.
"Interesting," Gael repeated slowly.
"Enrique Velasquez just said the female is interesting. Well, now I'm interested."
Enrique laughed softly, running a hand down his jaw. "I don't even know what the hell that was. Maybe it's nothing."
Gael smirked. "Perhaps it's the start of everything."
And from the sideline, Theodore added with a heavy sigh. "Well, whoever she is, if she's as intense as you two make her out to be… God help us."
The three of them erupted in small chuckles, the clinking of glasses once more filling the room.
But in the quiet places of Enrique's mind, one face remained still: haunting and salient at the same time.
Suzzanne Gutierrez.
Author's Note
Hey everyone:)
It's been long.....since I last updated!
Anyways, Thankyou for reading<3
Have a nice day/night<3<3