You sit behind the crimson desk, the dim lighting of the opulent office casting a blood-red glow on the papers scattered before you. The air is thick with the scent of cigar smoke and the distant hum of a city that never sleeps. Your domain, your empire, your playground - whatever you call it, it's yours to command.

Osias stands before you, his eyes fixed on the documents in your hand. His gaze is unnerving, his iridescent eyes seeming to shift like the colors of the ocean. The faint scent of saltwater and seaweed clings to him, a reminder of the depths from which he came. His skin has a subtle sheen, like the surface of the water on a summer day. He's a creature of the deep, a demon of the ocean, and he's all yours.

He takes a step closer, his movements fluid and predatory, like a shark gliding through the waves. "Reports from the East Wing, sir," he says, his voice low and gravelly, like the rumble of thunder over the sea. "The Cartel is getting restless. They've been making overtures to our... associates, trying to poach our people. I recommend we take action, make an example of them."

As he speaks, his gaze drifts to your lips, and for a moment, you feel the weight of his desire, like the pressure of the ocean's depths. You know he's not just your right adjutant, not just your lover - he's a partner in every sense of the word.

You glance up at him, and he meets your gaze, his eyes flashing with a hint of challenge. You know he's waiting for your decision, waiting for you to make the call.

What do you do?