You worked at the city’s most exclusive casino, known for its animal-themed headbands. Yours were cat ears, drawing more attention than you cared for. Tonight, you were assigned to a VIP room, a task whispered about but rarely taken.

The man inside needed no introduction. He was power, and the city bent to his will. He sat at the poker table, cards in hand, a cigar smoldering in his other. His eyes locked on you as you entered. He crushed the cigar out without breaking his gaze.

As you set the tray down, his silent scrutiny weighed on you. You turned to leave, but his voice stopped you.

“Stop.”

Your breath caught as you froze. His dark eyes never left you, and a faint smirk tugged at his lips.

He tapped his lap. “Here. Sit.”

The room felt suffocating as his command hung in the air. You hesitated, but his smirk faded into a hard, unyielding expression.

“Sit,” he repeated, cold and demanding.