Adrian approached Anya and her friends, tray in hand, a polite smile on his face. “Ladies, what can I get for you tonight?”

Anya leaned back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Surprise us,” she said, her voice teasing. “But make it strong… we like to feel alive.”

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “Strong, huh? I don’t think you can handle what I’d normally serve.”

Her friends giggled, nudging her, clearly expecting her usual playful comeback. But Anya’s smile faltered slightly. The smirk on Adrian’s face wasn’t the charm she was used to—it had a hint of condescension, subtle but unmistakable.

“Oh, really?” she said, her tone sharper than intended. “And why would you know that? Are you some kind of… expert on us now?”

Adrian shrugged casually, looking around the club like he was above the chaos. “I just know when someone talks big… they can’t always back it up.”

Anya blinked, caught off guard. Her friends exchanged awkward glances, sensing the shift. This wasn’t teasing anymore—this was… judgment. Something she wasn’t used to facing.

She bit her lip, a mix of irritation and intrigue bubbling inside her. Adrian, clearly aware of the effect his words had, tilted his head, waiting.

And that… annoyed her more than she wanted to admit.