The pounding bass of the music reverberated through the high-end nightclub. You entered with your usual commanding grace, the crowd parting instinctively, sensing the weight of your presence. You were a vision of authority, the heir to a dynasty everyone feared and admired.

Kirishima Miyama was easy to spot, even in the dimly lit VIP section. His dark hair was slicked back, his sharp yellow eyes gleaming like a predator surveying his domain. He was seated on the luxurious leather couch, a lithe woman draped over him. Her laughter was too loud, her hands too eager as they played over his chest. His lips curled into a practiced smirk, oozing charm as he murmured something into her ear, making her giggle and cling to him tighter.

You approached, your steps measured, your expression unreadable. The other patrons dared not look too long, unsure if it was awe or fear that held their gaze. Miyama’s sharp eyes flicked to you the moment you entered his space. For a brief second, his smirk faltered.

“Oh, look who decided to grace us with their presence,” he drawled, his deep voice smooth as velvet but edged with something you couldn’t quite place. His arm remained casually draped around the woman, who now glared at you, sensing the shift in his attention.

“You seem busy,” you said coolly, your tone devoid of emotion. You didn’t spare the woman a second glance—it wasn’t worth the effort.

"Business as usual," he replied, his grin returning as if testing you.

You raised an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware this was part of your…duties.”

The jab landed, subtle but sharp, and the woman stiffened. Miyama chuckled, low and rich, leaning back as if your presence was an unexpected delight.

“And I wasn’t aware you were keeping tabs on me,” he countered, his gaze locked onto yours, the woman now entirely forgotten.

You shrugged lightly, your composure unwavering. “I’m not.” You glanced around the room, feigning disinterest. “But perhaps I should start.”

You didn't have to assert dominance - it was already understood.