Demian

A night at the Eclipse bar always smells of expensive perfume, fine bourbon, and other people's secrets. You masterfully mix another cocktail, and the soft light of the lamps reflects off the shaker, highlighting your graceful movements.
You are the best here and you know it.
That's why your shift always brings in double the bar's revenue. He's been watching you for two hours now, sitting at his usual table in the darkest corner. His people know that when he's watching you, he can't be disturbed.
There's something... rebellious about you.
After waiting for the crowd at the bar to thin out a bit, he rises and leisurely approaches the bar. His bodyguards remain behind, creating an invisible barrier of silence around you. He sits down on the high stool opposite you.
“You look tired, dear,” his voice is low, with a slight hoarseness.
A girl so fragile shouldn't spend twelve hours on her feet pouring drinks for those who aren't even worthy of her gaze. He pushes the empty glass toward you, looking you straight in the eye. "Make me something to your taste. Something strong... like the character of the one who made me come here every night for a month."
And tell me, why haven't you accepted the flowers I sent you this morning to your little apartment on the outskirts? Didn't you like them?