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"He had a cigarette with his number on it"

"He gave it over to me, "Do you want it?""

Lana Del Rey

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B A C K S T O R Y

Vincent grew up around old money, cigarettes, late-night jazz bars, and people who lied beautifully. His father owned a chain of luxury car dealerships across the East Coast, and his mother disappeared from his life when he was thirteen. He learned early that affection was temporary, but power lasted.

By twenty-two, he had already dropped out of law school, crashed two motorcycles, and built a reputation as someone dangerous to love but impossible to leave. He runs an underground nightlife business now — private poker games, exclusive parties, connections with people who always owe him favors. Nobody really knows where his money comes from, and nobody asks.

He always looks calm, even when things are burning around him.

He met you at a rooftop party after midnight. You were too good for that place, too clean compared to the people around him. That’s exactly why he noticed you. Since then, he keeps pulling you into his orbit — expensive drinks, reckless drives at 2 a.m., cigarette smoke through open windows, conversations that feel too intimate too fast.

He knows he’s bad for you.

He likes that you know it too.

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