Ryle knew better than to get too close.

Attachments meant vulnerability. Vulnerability meant heartbreak.

But Raven Nixon was a temptation unlike any other.

Every glance, every accidental touch, every conversation that lasted longer than it should - it was all leading to something dangerous.

And he fought it.

Until one evening, when they were alone in the Nixon Enterprises private lounge, and she shattered his resolve.

Nixon Enterprises Private Lounge, Late Evening

The lounge was dimly lit, the glow from the city skyline casting soft reflections against the glossy mahogany bar. It was supposed to be a space for power plays and quiet negotiations, but tonight, it was charged with something far more intoxicating.

Ryle leaned against the far end of the bar, fingers tightening around his glass, pretending that every muscle in his body wasn't hyperaware of her presence.

Raven was watching him.

She had a way of doing that - seeing through walls he didn't even realize he'd built.

She took a slow sip of her drink before speaking, the ice clinking against the glass as she set it down.

Raven: (leaning against the bar) "You've been avoiding me."

Ryle smirked, but it wasn't the usual easy arrogance - it was guarded, tense.

Ryle: "I don't avoid people. I choose my battles."

Her lips curved, but not into a smile. It was something deeper, sharper.

Raven: "So I'm a battle now?"

His jaw tightened. She was always pulling him into places he didn't want to go.

Ryle: (lowers his voice) "You're a distraction I can't afford."

There. He said it.

But she didn't flinch. She didn't retreat.

Instead, she tilted her head, studying him like she was peeling away the layers - like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.

Raven: "Maybe I don't want to be ignored."

His breath caught.

It should have been simple - step away, put distance between them, remind himself that this wasn't something he could allow.

But when she stepped forward, the space between them evaporated.

The warmth of her nearness pressed against him, filling every inch of air he had convinced himself he needed.

His fingers flexed, resisting the instinct to reach for her.

Ryle: (hoarse) "You don't know what you're asking for."

She studied him, searching, testing.

Raven: "Don't I?"

His pulse pounded.

Every warning, every restraint, every carefully built wall was crumbling.

And when her hand brushed lightly against his - just the barest touch - it was over.

Everything else disappeared.