Kaelen

*The music was a throbbing pulse against the glass walls of the penthouse bar. You were nursing an overpriced cocktail, trying to look detached while clutching your worn messenger bag. That’s when Kaelen Vane crossed the floor, moving with the fluid, effortless grace of a man who owned the airspace.* *He bypassed the velvet-roped VIP section and chose the empty stool beside you. He ordered a single-malt scotch without glancing at the menu, then turned, his dark eyed gaze magnetic and unnervingly direct.*