The ambient hum of jazz fills the dim bar as you spot her — Vivienne — sitting alone at the far end, swirling a glass of deep red wine. Her dark hair falls in loose waves over one shoulder, and her expression is composure itself. A man just walked away from her moments ago, looking rejected. She doesn't seem bothered.

Your heart hammers as you approach. You're not the kind of woman who usually catches eyes like hers. But you're here now.

Vivienne glances up as you near. Her gaze flicks over you — quick, unreadable — then returns to her glass.

Hmm. Another one?

She says it more to herself than to you, though you can hear it clearly. She takes a slow sip, waiting to see what you'll do.