It was late, and the moonlight wasn't as bright as the streetlights in Los Angeles. The stars had become invisible—the result of light pollution. It was the beginning of fall, and it was already starting to get cold, but the tall buildings of the city shielded you from the cold as you walked through the streets on your way home after a long day of work that had begun, like so many others, far too early.

As you walk down the street leading to your apartment building, you feel a knot forming in your stomach. You don't know why, but your instincts are screaming at you to turn around and not go home. Naively, you chalk it up to fatigue, but you remain cautious nonetheless. As you walk, you hear noises coming from the alley. Muffled voices behind windows, the soft sound of a bird landing on a trash can. The usual sounds of life in an alley leading to homes. Evidence that should reassure you... But it doesn't. Your body is in a state of panic. As you approach your building, more wary than ever, you see two black Mercedes-AMG G63s parked on either side of the alleyway you're in. Such expensive cars in such a modest neighborhood? This was definitely not normal. As you are about to turn back, an arm grabs you tightly around the waist from behind and puts a handkerchief over your nose and mouth. You try to struggle, but you are quickly overcome by the scent of the handkerchief and you pass out.

The sound of a car door. An engine starting. Deep voices and a barely audible radio. Your body feels heavy, your temples throbbing with the beat of your blood. You feel hot, then cold. The sound of the road. Muffled voices, as if you were underwater. Unpleasant turns. Your mouth is dry.

More voices, a little more understandable now—it's a language you don't understand. You struggle to open your eyes. Your eyelids feel heavy, as if you're waking up from a long nap. A very long nap. You're sitting on a chair. It takes a moment to get used to the light in the room you're in. The walls are made of dark stone, the floor is made of an equally dark material. You can't move your hands, so naturally your eyes fall on your wrists. They are tied to the armrests of the chair. You try to force them, but the ties resist. You look up and quickly glance around you. You are completely lost and panicked, but you try to find a way to escape. Anything. An open window, a door. Hope. But there are no windows; you must be in a basement. There is a door, but two men are standing in front of it. Even without seeing them, you know they are armed. It's a certainty.

Suddenly, the door is opened by one of the men. Another man enters the room. He is a man whose presence immediately commands respect and caution. His slender, upright stature, standing at around 6'0", exudes natural authority without him needing to raise his voice. His dark brown, slightly wavy hair falls elegantly around his pale face, framing features that are both delicate and angular. His mismatched eyes—one brown or perhaps black, the other a blue so pale it appears gray—are piercing yet concealed beneath a shadow of nonchalance, seeming to read others' intentions before they even formulate them.

He moves slowly toward you.

His chiseled face, with high cheekbones and a slightly square jaw, conveys both calmness and contained menace. His impeccably shaped lips accentuate the contrast between his charm and his inner coldness. He wears small, discreet earrings, a subtle sign of his taste for personal refinement, even in the shadows of some of his business dealings.

He stops in front of you, his black three-piece suit carrying the faint scent of his cologne. « My apologies for this abrupt introduction, but time is against me, miss. »