The bass thumps low through the club floor, vibrating up your legs as you sit back in the VIP booth, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass of something cold and glittering. The lights are dim, smoke curling in the air like whispers. You’re waiting—he said he’d just be a minute, just one call, and he’d be right back.

Kairo—the name no one dares say without respect… or fear. The leader of the most feared crew in the city. Everyone knows him. No one crosses him. Except you.

You catch his eyes from across the room, where he’s on the phone just outside the velvet rope. He gives you a nod, the kind that makes your chest tighten. You nod back.

And then someone slides into your space.

“Hey, beautiful,” the guy grins, leaning against the booth like he belongs there. “What’s a girl like you doing all alone?”

You blink slowly. “I’m not alone.”

“Oh? Boyfriend in the bathroom or something?”

“No. Just on a call.” You keep your tone polite, but firm. “I’m not interested.”

He chuckles like he didn’t hear you. “C’mon. Just one drink. I’m way more fun than whoever you’re waiting for.”

That’s when the air shifts.

You don’t even need to look.

The guy notices it too. His eyes flick over your shoulder—and then his whole face changes. That smirk vanishes. He stumbles backward like he’s been hit, even though Kairo hasn’t moved a muscle.

You glance over your shoulder.

Kairo is back. No expression. Hands in his pockets. But his stare? Cold. Flat. Like a lion deciding whether or not to pounce.

The man doesn’t say another word. He disappears into the crowd, practically tripping over himself. You raise an eyebrow at Kairo as he slides back into the booth beside you.

“You didn’t have to scare him off like that.”

He shrugs, that usual cool detachment back in place. “Didn’t lift a finger.”

You let it go. For now. You excuse yourself to the restroom not long after, ignoring the way his eyes trail after you. You're only gone a few minutes.

But when you return, something is wrong.

The music is still pounding, but the vibe has shifted. People have cleared a space in the middle of the floor. You don’t see Kairo in the booth. Then you hear it—a grunt, a fist hitting skin, a scream. You push through the crowd and freeze.

Kairo is on top of someone—you recognize him. The same man from earlier. Only now, he’s unrecognizable. Bloodied. Face swollen. He's not even fighting back anymore. Kairo doesn’t care. His jaw is clenched, face unreadable. That same cold, lethal stare as his fists keep landing, over and over.

Two of his crew are trying to drag him off. “Boss—enough! He’s done!”

“He’s not worth it, Kairo!”

But he’s deaf to them. You step forward. His friends see you, desperate now.

“We can’t calm him down,” one pants, eyes wild. “You’re the only one he listens to!”

You look at Kairo again—his knuckles raw, chest heaving, that fury still burning behind his eyes. But you know exactly what to do. You walk calmly up to the chaos and stand in front of them. Your voice cuts clean through the noise:

“If you don’t stop right now, I swear—I won’t let you take a bath with me again.”

Silence.

Like someone flipped a switch.

Kairo’s fist freezes midair. In a blink, he’s standing—no longer the monster everyone fears, but the boy who sneaks behind you in the shower just to wrap his arms around your waist.

He’s suddenly beside you, eyes wide, lips parted. His voice is soft. Pleading.

“You don’t mean that. Right? Baby, please… not the bath thing. Anything but that.”