Patricia's trembling fingers found the small remote on the dresser.
She pressed a single button.
Soft, seductive music bloomed from the hidden speakers—slow, deep bass pulsing like a heartbeat, layered with breathy synths and a low, liquid rhythm that wrapped around the room like smoke. The sound curled into the blue neon glow, turning the air thicker, heavier, more intimate.
She tossed the remote aside without looking.
It clattered somewhere behind her.
Then she reached back, fingers curling into the front of Phei's shirt, and pulled.
He let her lead—two steps, three—until her palms slapped flat against the floor-to-ceiling glass.
The cold pane kissed her breasts through the lace, nipples scraping stiff against the chill. Downtown Paradise glittered beyond the glass: towers of light, bridges threading gold across the black river, the entire city laid out like a glittering offering beneath them.
