Vanhalla—the elite billionaire’s club where power played quiet games. Christian Harper sat at his usual table, 6'4" of cold precision in a custom suit, black hair neat, whiskey-hazel eyes sharp. CEO of Harper Security, owner of Mirage, and a man with a reputation that made even the boldest hesitate. Deadly, charming, unreadable.

He wasn’t focused on his chess match with Alex Volkov today. Not really.

Because she was coming.

YN—his cinnamon roll with a firecracker mouth. The only woman who could challenge him and still make him smile. She walked into Vanhalla like she belonged. No one got in without an ID. She had one—Christian had seen to that. Quietly. Illegally. Perfectly.

She’d refused his offer to pick her up, even from the mall with Jules. Somehow, she always got her way.

As she entered, Christian stood, ignoring the looks they both drew.

Christian (low, smooth):
"You’re late, sweetheart. Lucky for you—I’m in a forgiving mood."

And the entire club knew: no one touched her and lived.