the unwatched side of seline

"Wake up, princess." A deep male voice cuts through the fog in my head. For a few seconds, I don't move. I just stare ahead, trying to make sense of where I am and why everything feels so wrong. Then I see them. Two men dressed in black are watching me through the rearview mirror. The one on the left has a crooked smile on his face, almost as if he finds my confusion amusing. The other doesn't smile at all. His expression is cold. Empty. "Where are we?" My voice comes out weaker than I expect. "You'll see." The words are accompanied by a quiet, almost cruel laugh. Before I can ask anything else, both men step out of the car. The taller one opens my door. He has chestnut-brown hair, a silver piercing through his eyebrow, and a look that makes every instinct in my body scream at me to stay away. He grabs my arm. "Come on. We don't have all night." I barely have time to steady myself before he pulls me out of the car. My feet hit the ground, but my mind is still somewhere else. I look around desperately, searching for something familiar. Anything. There's nothing. The bald man walks ahead without even looking back at me. He hasn't said a single word since I woke up. He doesn't need to. Something about his silence is more frightening than the other man's mocking smile. "Move." The hand around my arm tightens. I stumble forward, forced to follow them. We stop in front of a large building. I have no idea where we are. The taller man pushes open the door, and the sound hits me first. The moment I step inside, the music hits me. A deep bass pulses through the floor, vibrating beneath my feet. Red lights sweep across the darkness, catching glimpses of unfamiliar faces before swallowing them again. My eyes slowly adjust. Women dance beneath the dim lights, moving around silver poles in glittering lingerie. Their movements are slow and deliberate, almost hypnotic. I force myself to look away, but there is too much happening around me. At one of the tables, a blonde woman sits sideways on a man's lap. A heavy gold Rolex catches the light on his wrist as he casually plays cards with the men around him. She laughs at something he says. Then she leans closer, her lips brushing his ear as she whispers something I can't hear. His smile widens. At another table, two women sit between a group of men, glasses of amber liquid resting in front of them. One of them throws her head back, laughing, while the man beside her watches her with an expression that makes me instinctively look away. Everywhere I turn, there are little scenes like that. Whispers. Laughter. Hands resting where they shouldn't. Glasses clinking. Money changing hands. The smell of smoke, alcohol, and expensive perfume hangs heavily in the air. I feel my fingers tighten around the edge of my jacket. The hand around my arm doesn't loosen. I glance down at it. Then I see the man pulling me deeper into the room. My steps become slower. My heartbeat grows louder. I don't know where I'm going. I don't know what they're going to do with me. And suddenly, I think about Noah. Just a few hours ago, I was on my first date. Ever. Funny, really. After months of him asking me out, I had finally decided to give him a chance. And for once, I actually tried. I tried to be open. I tried to enjoy myself. I even let myself think that maybe going out with him hadn't been such a bad idea after all. He had offered to drive me home. I should have let him. Maybe if I had, none of this would have happened. Funny how I finally decided to go on a date... and ended up here. My stomach twists. I swallow hard, forcing myself to keep walking. All I know is that one question keeps repeating in my head. *Why am I here?* With every step deeper into the darkness, my fingers tremble a little more. We make our way deeper into the club, weaving between sweaty bodies and crowded tables. The music pounds around us, loud enough to make my chest vibrate. Voices blur together beneath the heavy beat, mixing with laughter and the clinking of glasses. I keep my eyes down, trying not to draw attention to myself. Every instinct tells me to run, but the hand gripping my arm never loosens. Then we reach another door. Large. Black. And somehow, it looks more intimidating than anything we've passed so far. Two men in dark suits stand on either side of it. As soon as they see us, they step forward and open it without a word. We walk through. The door closes behind us. And just like that, the music disappears. Not gradually. Completely. The silence is so sudden that my ears ring. I turn my head toward the door, almost expecting to hear the music on the other side. Nothing. It feels as though the club doesn't even exist anymore. I look ahead. A long, spotless white hallway stretches in front of us, lined with identical doors on either side. The walls are so clean and bare that, for a moment, the place reminds me of a hospital. Except there are no nurses. No doctors. No patients. Just silence. And the sound of our footsteps echoing against the floor. My stomach tightens. I don't know what scares me more—the chaos we just left behind, or the quiet waiting for us ahead. At the end of the hallway, an elevator waits. The taller man presses the button, and within seconds, the doors slide open. He grabs my arm and shoves me inside. I stumble forward, catching myself against the cold metal wall. Before I can turn around, he steps in behind me. His hand moves across the control panel. He presses the highest floor. 6. The doors slowly slide shut, cutting off the empty hallway from view. I stare at the numbers above the doors as they begin to change. One. Two. Three. My throat tightens. Four. Five. Six. The elevator comes to a stop. The doors remain closed for a second longer than they should. Then they slide open. The hallway beyond is nothing like the one below. At the far end stands a massive door made of dark, polished wood, framed with subtle gold details. Everything about it looks expensive. Deliberate. The bald man steps forward and knocks twice. The sound echoes through the hallway, unnaturally loud in the silence. I stare at the door. For some reason, I find myself holding my breath. My pulse beats hard against my throat as I wait for whatever is on the other side. Then— "Come in." The voice is deep. Calm. The kind of voice that doesn't need to be raised to make you listen. The bald man reaches for the handle. For one stupid second, I actually think about running. Maybe I could make it down the hallway before they caught me. Maybe— I glance over my shoulder. The tall man with the eyebrow piercing is already watching me. Right. Not happening. Before I can even take a step back, his hand lands firmly between my shoulder blades and shoves me forward. "Move." I stumble through the doorway, catching myself before I fall. The room is enormous, darker than the sterile hallway behind me. Dark wood covers the walls, broken by shelves filled with books and expensive-looking bottles. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across one side of the room, the city lights glowing faintly beyond the glass. And then I see him. The man behind the desk. He sits in a large leather armchair, a cigar resting between his fingers. His hair is cut short and neat, and he's dressed in a crisp shirt with the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal dark ink covering part of his forearm. Everything about him looks controlled. Precise. Even the way he sits. His black eyes settle on me, cold and unreadable. He doesn't move. He simply looks at me. And suddenly, I become painfully aware of myself. My clothes. My hair. The fact that I'm standing in the middle of a room surrounded by strangers who seem to know exactly why I'm here. I force myself to hold his gaze. Then, from the corner of my eye, I notice someone standing by the window. A man. He stands completely still, leaning against the frame in shadow, completely detached from everything happening around him. He's dressed entirely in black, a worn leather jacket stretched across his broad shoulders. Blond hair falls slightly over his forehead, messy in a way that somehow suits him. A cigarette burns between his fingers, a thin trail of smoke curling toward the ceiling. I almost look away. Then he turns. Blue eyes meet mine. And he freezes. Only for a fraction of a second. So quick I almost miss it. The cigarette stops halfway to his lips. His eyes widen slightly, his expression changing before he seems to catch himself. Then it's gone. His face settles back into something unreadable. But his eyes stay on me. His gaze doesn't feel like a simple glance. It lingers. Uncomfortably long. As if he's trying to memorize every detail of my face. *Okay. That's... weird.* I shift my weight, suddenly far too aware of his attention. He keeps staring, and I have absolutely no idea why. For a brief moment, something in his expression almost softens. Then it changes. His jaw tightens. The softness disappears from his eyes, replaced by something sharp and cold. Anger. *At me?* I blink. Seriously? I've been in this room for less than a minute, and somehow I've already managed to piss someone off. His stare doesn't waver. There is something almost hateful in it now, and the strangest part is that I haven't even said a word to him. What exactly did I do? I glance down at myself, half-expecting to find some obvious reason for his reaction. Nothing. When I look back up, his expression has already gone blank. He turns away, taking another slow drag from his cigarette as if the entire thing never happened. I stare at him for another second. Well. That was strange. But somehow, the feeling doesn't leave with him. I can still feel his stare against my skin. Hot. Lingering. Almost as if his eyes have left a mark. And for some reason, that bothers me more than it should. The man behind the desk takes a slow drag from his cigar. His eyes remain fixed on me for a moment before shifting toward the two men standing behind me.