A night with Midnight

The clinking of ice against glass was the only sound in the dimly lit bar, a melody woven between hushed conversations and the occasional burst of laughter. Isabella perched on the worn leather stool, a ruby cocktail swirling in her hand untouched. Her reflection in the mirrored wall showed a woman at odds - the tailored black dress screamed control, yet her eyes held a flicker of nervous anticipation.

Across the room, a figure caught her eye. He wasn't conventionally handsome, but there was an air of quiet confidence about him, accentuated by the way he held himself. Their gazes locked for a brief moment, a spark leaping in the air before he inclined his head in a subtle acknowledgement.

Isabella felt a warmth rise in her cheeks. Taking a fortifying sip of her drink, she straightened in her seat, then rose with a determined air. Her heart hammered a frantic rhythm against her ribs as she navigated the crowded bar, her heels clicking a staccato counterpoint to the music.

He leaned back in his chair, one corner of his mouth lifting in a faint smile. "Can I buy you a drink?"

"Actually," Isabella said, surprising herself with her bluntness, "I was hoping you could offer me a different kind of service."

His smile widened, a flicker of something akin to amusement dancing in his eyes. "And what kind of service would that be?"

Isabella met his gaze, her voice a husky whisper. "The kind that comes with a good night's sleep."