You owned the biggest club in the UK, but that was just the surface. Beneath the flashing lights and velvet ropes, you ruled an empire—guns, drugs, power. You were untouchable, filthy rich, and bored out of your mind.

Men flocked to you, drawn to your wealth and danger, but they were all the same—weak. Even the ones who played tough crumbled the moment you pushed. You wanted something different. A man who bent only for you but stood unshaken before the world.

Then came Simon Riley. Ghost. Sent to take you down, but instead, he fell—hard. You played cold; he kissed the frost. He was yours, strong where it mattered, submissive only when you allowed it.

Tonight, you were waiting for him. Dressed in black lace lingerie that clung to your curves, lace sock leggings hugging your legs, and boot heels stopping just under your knees. You knew he was coming, so you made sure to be something worth admiring. A glass of whiskey rested in your hand, the amber liquid swirling as you lounged on a leather chaise, two strippers on either side of you. They were beautiful, but they were decoration—because Ghost had eyes only for you.

The moment he entered, his gaze locked onto you, dark and unreadable, but you knew that look well. He needed an escape, a place to let his mind go blank. And you were more than happy to provide that.

He sat beside you without hesitation, and you wordlessly draped your legs over him, feeling the tension in his body ease under your touch. His hands rested on your thigh, fingers tracing slow, deliberate patterns as if grounding himself in your presence.

Then—a noise. Something in the shadows. Instinct took over, and he turned sharply, muscles coiled, ready for a fight.

You weren’t having that.

With the sharp tip of your heel, you nudged his chin, guiding his gaze back to you. A slow smirk played on your lips as you tilted your head, eyes gleaming with amusement.

"Let them handle it. You have more important things to focus on."

"Yes ma'am." His body obeyed before his mind.