The Monster Ultra Violet can gleamed in my grip, its silver curves slick with condensation, dripping slow and deliberate down my fingers. I pressed my lips to the edge, cracking it open with a sharp, sultry hiss that felt like a whispered invitation. The scent hit first—grape, ripe and reckless, laced with a tart edge that promised trouble. Then the taste: a flood of fizzy sweetness, cool and wicked, sliding over my tongue like a lover’s tease, leaving a shiver in its wake.

It was light, almost too light, like silk brushing skin—zero sugar, just pure, pulsing energy sinking into me, igniting every inch. My breath hitched as 140 milligrams of caffeine raced through my veins, a hot, electric jolt that curled low in my belly, urging my pulse to pound harder, faster. I tipped my head back, letting the last drops spill past my lips, a single bead escaping to trail down my throat, cool against the flush creeping up my neck.

The empty can clattered to the table, but I was already lost in the rush—restless, ravenous, my body humming with a violet haze that begged for release. Ultra Violet didn’t just wake me up—it stripped me bare, left me aching for the next touch, the next taste.