Kisses That Cut

EPSIODE ONE LIANA The music pulsed through the air like a living thing, heavy and relentless, the bass making the glass chandeliers tremble. I could feel it in my bones, even before I stepped inside. “This is going to be epic,” Tami whispered beside me, her sequined dress catching the light as if she were already part of the spectacle. I hesitated in the doorway. “We shouldn’t be here.” She rolled her eyes. “Please. They won’t even notice we weren’t invited. This crowd doesn’t care about lists, they care about… experiences.” “Which is exactly why we should turn around.” My voice was drowned by a burst of laughter from somewhere inside. “Tami, I mean it. One wrong look and—” “One wrong look and what? You’ll meet someone worth remembering?” She grabbed my hand, tugging me forward. “Trust me, one night won’t kill you.” The words didn’t comfort me. But against my better judgment, I let her pull me in. The mansion’s interior was overwhelming — marble floors reflecting the glow of gold-tinted lights, clusters of people dressed in designer clothes I’d only seen in magazines, champagne flutes balanced delicately in manicured hands. A string quartet played in one corner, their elegant notes clashing oddly with the distant thump of electronic beats from somewhere deeper inside. I felt… invisible. And I liked it that way. But then I saw him. He was leaning casually against the open balcony doors, a glass of something dark in his hand, the night breeze ruffling his black hair. The room swirled with motion and chatter, but he seemed untouched by it, as though the chaos existed in a different world entirely. Even from across the room, there was something… magnetic. Not the loud, flashy confidence of the men holding court in the center, but a quieter, more dangerous gravity that pulled my gaze to him and refused to let go. I turned around so he won't catch me staring while walking around finding a comfortable place in the mansion. I sat down quietly on one of the chairs I found which is far away from the misterious guy I was gawking at. A waiter came close to me and handed me a glass of wine, I sipped it and was impressed by how different it taste from every other wine I have tasted. Rich people really knows how to live large I raised my glass up to take a sip again, I looked around and try to find the guy where I thought he was but he wasn't there anymore, he has moved just a little farther from where I saw him. And then his eyes found mine. It was like being caught mid-breath. His stare wasn’t casual — it was deliberate, heavy with an unspoken question I didn’t understand. The noise faded, the crowd blurred, and for a second, I felt as if we were the only two people in the room. My drink got caught in my throat. I should have looked away. I didn’t. A faint smile curved his lips. Then, without breaking eye contact, he began moving toward me, weaving through the guests with unhurried precision. My fingers tightened around my glass. I tried to remind myself of the rules I’d made before coming here — no attention, no entanglements, no strangers. Especially not strangers like him. He stopped in front of me, close enough that the scent of cedar and something darker, warmer, reached me over the perfume-clouded air. “You look bored,” he said, his voice smooth and low, meant for me alone. “Observant,” I replied, trying for composure. “And you look like you don’t belong here.” The faint smile returned. “Neither do you.” “And yet, here we are.” His gaze flickered over my face, like he was memorizing something. “Tell me… did you come here looking for trouble, or did trouble just find you?” “I’m not looking for trouble,” I murmured. “That’s good.” His tone dropped just enough to make my pulse stutter. “Because trouble has a way of finding me.” There was no arrogance in his voice, but the way he said it felt like a warning… or a promise. Before I could reply, a burst of laughter from behind us drew his attention for a second. He glanced toward it, and in that small shift, I caught the faintest scar at the edge of his jawline — a sharp, silvery line that didn’t belong on someone who seemed so… composed. I opened my mouth to ask his name. “Liana!” Tami’s voice cut through the moment. She appeared at my side, her hand closing around my wrist like a clamp. “There you are,” she said tightly. Her smile didn’t reach her eyes. “We need to go. Now.” “What? Why?” I glanced at her, then back at him — but he was gone. Just like that. The space where he’d stood was empty, as though he’d never been there at all. Tami tugged harder. “Because you just caught the attention of the one person you shouldn’t. And if he talks to you again…” She shook her head. “You don’t want to know.” A chill skated down my spine, but it wasn’t fear I felt. It was curiosity. Too late, I thought. Because his voice, his eyes, that fleeting smile — they were already burned into me. And something told me this wasn’t the last time I’d see him. Tami dragged me through the crowd, my eyes kept looking for him to just see him one more time. But I didn't.