NIGHT PREDATOR

♡ELIRA CRUZ♡

Los Angeles looks better when you're half-drunk on champagne that costs more than your rent and standing on a balcony that isn't yours.

I learned that tonight.

The city stretched below me like it was showing off-golden lights, slow traffic, music thumped through glass walls, expensive, the kind of party where everyone pretends they're not checking who's richer than them.

I leaned against the balcony rail, heels kicked off, toes cold against marble, and thought, Yeah. I made it.

Not in a movie way. Not in a dramatic,

I-was-discovered-by-someone-important way. Just... here. In LA.

Twenty-one. Living alone. Breathing air that smelled like money, perfume, and bad decisions.

"Don't romanticize it too much," Clare said, appearing beside me with a drink I hadn't asked for.

"This is the same party where that guy tried to explain crypto to me like it was foreplay."

I snorted. "Was it at least working?"

"No. I wanted to push him off the balcony."

Nina slid in on my other side, lipstick slightly smudged, eyes glittering like she'd already won the night.

"You should've let him talk. Free drinks taste better when men are boring."

That's us. Clare, Nina, and me.

The holy trinity of we look harmless but absolutely are not.

I smiled, soft and lazy, the way I always do when I'm happy without trying.

"You two are terrible influences."

Nina laughed. "You moved to LA. You did that to yourself."

She wasn't wrong.

Two years ago, I was still sharing a room, folding clothes on a bed that wasn't mine, dreaming about fashion shows and sketchbooks filled with ideas no one had asked to see.

Now I was an assistant fashion designer at a mid-level but rising label, running on caffeine, creativity, and deadlines-but I loved it.

Loved the chaos. Loved the fact that my hands smelled like fabric and ink instead of fear.

I didn't design entire collections. Not yet.

But I belonged there. I knew it in my bones.

"Did you see the dress on the girl near the bar?" Clare asked. "The black one with the open back?"

I nodded. "Bad tailoring. Looks expensive, though."

"That's LA," Nina said. "Pretty on the outside, falling apart if you look too close."

I took a sip of my drink and watched the party swirl behind the glass. Models, producers, stylists, men in suits pretending they weren't staring. I fit in, which still surprised me sometimes.

I had the body for it-long legs, narrow waist, soft curves in the right places-but I'd never let that be the only thing people saw.

Cute didn't mean stupid.

My phone buzzed.

I didn't even have to look to know what it was.

Another gift.

Another reminder that somewhere in this city, a man old enough to have opinions about wine regions thought he could buy access to me.

I sighed and checked anyway.

Unknown Sender: Hope you enjoyed tonight. The flowers should be waiting when you get home.

I showed the screen to Nina.

She groaned. "Him again? Jesus, does he sleep?"

"Probably on a pile of money," Clare said. "With a portrait of himself."

This had been going on for weeks now.

First, it was flowers. White roses. Too many. Delivered to my apartment like clockwork.

Then came gifts-bracelets, a silk scarf, once even a dress that fit me a little too perfectly for comfort.

Always expensive. Always anonymous.

Until the notes started.

Dinner?I can take care of you.

You'd look beautiful in my bed.

Straight to the point. Grossly confident. Zero shame.

I never replied. Never acknowledged it. I didn't feel flattered, exactly-but I wasn't scared either. In LA, men like him existed the way traffic did. Loud. Annoying. Easy to ignore if you knew where you were going.

"He's not even original," I said, slipping my phone back into my clutch. "At least stalk me creatively."

Nina raised her glass. "To rich men with zero game."

We clinked.

Later-after too much music and not enough sense-we ended up at a club in West Hollywood, the kind with a line outside and mirrors everywhere so you couldn't forget how you looked.

I changed in the backseat of Nina's car, slipping into a red dress that hugged me like it knew my secrets. Simple. Clean. Dangerous if you stared too long.

Clare whistled. "You're going to get us murdered."

I laughed. "Relax. I'm hot, not reckless."

The club was chaos in the best way. Lights flashing. Bodies moving. Sweat and bass and laughter colliding.

I danced between my friends, hair loose, heart light, the city wrapping itself around me like I was exactly where I was meant to be.

Men tried. Of course they did.

One bought us drinks and talked too much. Another danced too close and got politely shut down. A third smiled like he thought confidence was enough.

It wasn't.

I liked flirting. I liked attention. I just didn't like being owned by it.

At the bar, Nina leaned in. "Guy at three o'clock. Cute. You want him?"

I glanced over. He was handsome. Safe-looking. The kind of guy you forget the name of by morning.

I shook my head. "Nah. I'm tired."

She grinned. "Liar."

"Selective," I corrected.

By the time we stumbled back into the cool LA night, my feet hurt, my head buzzed, and my heart felt... full. The good kind.

The kind that comes from knowing you're building something-even if you don't know how it ends yet.

When I got home, the flowers were there.

White roses. Again. Fresh. Perfect. Waiting by my door like they belonged.

I stared at them for a long moment.

Beautiful things could still be wrong.

I knew that.

I stepped over them, kicked off my shoes, and locked the door behind me. Tomorrow, I'd sketch. Work. Live. Dream.

Los Angeles hadn't eaten me alive yet.

And I had no idea that somewhere in this city, someone was already watching-quietly, patiently-waiting for the exact moment my perfect life would collide with his darkness.

But that?

That's not tonight's story.

Tonight, I was just Elira Cruz.

Hello my pretty little readers 🖤

Welcome to my second story and to a world that's dark, messy, and definitely dangerous.

I hope you fall a little too hard... because this story won't be gentle with you.

Read responsibly. Or don't. 😌