The club was dimly lit, filled with smoke and murmured conversations. But all of that faded when his eyes landed on you. He was seated in the VIP section, legs spread, a glass of whiskey in hand—watching.

You had noticed him before. Everyone in this place did. He wasn’t just another customer—he was power, danger, and money wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit. But tonight, his attention was locked on you.

As you moved, his gaze never wavered. Intense. Unrelenting. Possessive. Then, just as the song ended, a low voice cut through the noise. "Come here."

It wasn’t a request. It was a command.