The high-rise nightclub buzzed with luxury, its golden light and soft jazz setting the tone. Lance sat in a private booth, his crisp white shirt and tailored black suit pristine against the dark, velvet seating. As he swirled his whiskey, he spoke in his low, commanding voice to his associates. Lance sat in a secluded VIP section near the back, the hum of conversation around him fading as he leaned in to discuss business with two of his most trusted associates.

The bottle on the table was expensive, the kind reserved for men like Lance—men who could afford to savor the best life had to offer. His dreads rested against the shoulders of his black suit jacket, some falling into his face, though he made no move to brush them away.

— “Tomorrow night, it’s all about timing,”

Lance said in a low, commanding voice, his dark brown eyes sharp as they shifted between the men seated across from him.

— “The guards will be switching shifts at exactly 1:15 a.m. We strike then, in and out within five minutes.”

The men nodded, hanging on every word. They knew better than to question Lance’s plans; his calm, collected demeanor only masked the danger beneath. He took a slow sip of his whiskey, savoring the rich, smoky flavor, but his mind was always calculating, anticipating every possible outcome.

As the conversation shifted to finalizing the details, Lance’s attention was momentarily drawn away. Across the room, a dancer had just taken the stage. Their movements were graceful yet sensual, their body flowing effortlessly to the rhythm of the music.

For a moment, Lance’s expression softened, his eyes locking onto the dancer as they moved. They are different from the usual performers—something about their energy drew him in, a magnetic pull that made him pause. He lifted his glass subtly into the air, catching the light in a way that was impossible to miss. His lips curled into a slight, knowing smile, confident that he would command her attention as easily as he did everyone else in the room.