Ryda ran her finger along the rim of the glass, slowly, lazily. White specks of light floated on the red drink in front of her.

From the corner of her eyes, she could see the mood of celebration around her. The blue light striking the giant silver mirror ball shattered into a million pieces, lighting up the sequins and satins on the dance floor. Delicate jewellery glittered on necks and cufflinks and bodies rocked in a graceful motion with the gentle sound of music from the violins. The atmosphere was casual. Glasses clinked against each other and conversations flowed in snitches, sometimes intercepted by female giggles and manly chuckles.

Ryda shifted lightly on her seat and angled herself to get a better glimpse of the crowd dancing beyond the glistening black rope which separated the VIP seating area from the general club floor. Her eyes fell on the two figures in black suits, who had almost blended with the black and gold wallpaper. Their pose was casual- arms crossed over each other, their legs slightly parted and leaning against the wall. But their eyes were constantly moving, scanning each person in the room. Ryda always thought of them as black panthers, silent but deadly.

Bruce and Fox shadowed her everywhere. Fox's eyes lightly grazed over the secluded space where she was sitting, while Bruce flexed his muscles once more and kept his eyes trained on the entrance.

With them constantly on the watch for danger, no harm could come to Ryda. Not that there was any threat to her security, but when you're a billionaire, you can't be too laid back with your own safety. Ryda turned her attention to the crowd. She enjoyed watching crowds, more because it gave her an insight into potential clients or even partners for her projects.

With the hands of the clock jumping from one silver line to another, the people on the dance floor were reduced by leaps and bounds. Some went home to chill and others drifted to the corners with their partners to snuggle. The only characters you'd find on the dance floor after eleven are the party revellers. Somehow they get an immense injection of energy after midnight.

Ryda got up from her place and glided to the bar. She could snap her fingers to attract the attention of the staff, but she wanted to exercise her legs. She caught a few eyes, as usual. Her coral lips lifted in a slight smile as she tossed her blonde strands in the wind. She wasn't immune to the reaction that she got from men of all ages, and she kind of liked the attention a lot.

She hopped on the barstool and clicked her heels. The bartender instantly appeared from somewhere with a big grin pasted across his face. He really knew his business, and the fact that Ryda was there that night immediately guaranteed him a handsome tip.

"Calm night, Marco," she greeted him, looking around at the empty stools.

"It's a Monday, madam," he grinned, setting down her strawberry mojito in front of her. "Not a party day for most people."

"They're still getting over Sunday night's hangover," Ryda chuckled.

"One whiskey, neat and no lime." There was a sound of wood scraping on the floor as Marco's new customer dragged the barstool beside Ryda's, successfully making a distance of five feet from her.

In any other circumstance, Ryda would not spare a glance at the newcomer, but the voice was definitely that of a man and which kind of man yanked his barstool away from a lady at the bar? When Ryda arrives at the bar, men flock like leeches after blood, asking for refills before their drinks are even over. Some of them sometimes cross the line and are dragged away by Fox.

Ryda glanced at Fox quickly. His steely grey eyes were boring into the back of the man at the bar, scanning for any bit of threat. Ryda raised her right hand in a pacifying gesture, which was a signal for him to calm down. Fox raised his eyebrows, a small smile breaking the stoic emotionless mask, but his face was back to neutral in a flip second.

Finally, Ryda turned her attention to the guy beside her. He was wearing a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to the elbows, which revealed a muscled forearm. A black tie was loosely hanging from his neck like a medal. Close cropped dark brown hair framed his face, which shone with a coppery undertone in the silver light. Marco slid his glass in front of him. The liquid was so strong that you could see oily swirls.

"Why do you never drink, madam?" Marco made a attempt at small talk, apparently extra friendliness for extra tip.

"What benefit does alcohol have, Marco?" Ryda lowered her eyelids, taking in a long sip of her Mojito.

"Madam...I..." Marco obviously wasn't used to being questioned.

"Euphoria." The man spoke up suddenly. "It gives happiness."

"Temporary euphoria, fleeting happiness," Ryda commented, taking in another sip, before swinging her legs towards him, so that she was facing him. There was a certain challenge in her posture. The man, however, didn't shift from his hunched position. He just craned his neck and gave her a slight nod.

Ryda felt irritated at being ignored.

"You don't seem to agree that alcohol does no good and rather kills you slowly." Ryda narrowed her eyes at him.

He dunked his drink in one gulp. The ice clinked as he placed the glass on the counter and turned towards her.

"Does the moth not know that the fire will kill it?"

"I don't think so." Ryda said coldly. "Because the ones that have been touched by fire, never lived to tell the tale to the others."

"So you don't believe in Phoenixes?" The man asked again, sliding the glass towards Marco, who took the opportunity to pour some more drink.

"Moths don't become Phoenixes. Moth's die," Ryda made a gesture across her throat. Marco laughed.

The man just shrugged, turning his attention back to the glass. He took it to his lips and then stopped. Putting down the glass, he grabbed the flask of iced water. His thick eyebrows frowned in concentration as he carefully poured water into his drink. And then gulped it down in one long swig again, turning back to Ryda.

"So what are you?"

"Pardon?"

"Phoenix or moth, which one are you?" he met her eyes levelly. In the dim light, it was difficult to discern the colour of his eyes.

Ryda raised her glass to show him her empty glass with traces of strawberry still lingering on the sides.

"Non-alcoholic Mojito," she added for emphasis.

"Is alcohol the only fire that kills us moths?" His eyes were boring into her.

Ryda's mind was immediately transported to one such night, ten years back. The sound of her own screams flooded her head as she closed her eyes. When she opened them, the man was still staring at her. There was no impatience in his posture, just a curious innocence in his eyes.

"A Phoenix." Ryda chortled. "The flames couldn't destroy me."

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Author's Note : A new story, something different from my usual style. Let me know what you think 😉 and enjoy