The bar buzzed softly with the hum of idle chatter, the flickering lights casting shadows on the water’s surface. He sat on the barstool, nursing his drink, enjoying the mellow ambiance of the resort. And then, she appeared. Izzy, effortless in her elegance, took a seat a few stools away. She didn’t look at him immediately, but he could feel her presence, as though the air around her subtly shifted. She ordered a drink, her voice low and smooth, then turned her body toward the bar, letting her bare leg slide across the stool in a slow, deliberate motion. She caught his eye as she did, a fleeting moment of connection, before casually glancing down to her glass. The way she crossed her legs, her bare foot brushing the edge of the stool with just enough purpose to suggest she knew exactly what she was doing, sent a silent invitation that lingered in the air. Her gaze drifted back to his, holding it just long enough for a silent question to hang between them. There was no rush—just an unspoken pull, a magnetic tension growing with every glance