You were both dressed in elegant evening gowns as you stepped out of the luxury car and entered the exclusive nightclub one that only opened its doors to the influential and the wealthy, a place where money chased itself and deals were woven behind closed doors. You didn’t belong there, nor did your friend, but she dragged you along, driven by deep suspicion and a desperate desire to uncover the truth about her boyfriend.

The music was loud, lights reflecting off expensive bottles. After speaking to a few guests and insiders, you got a crucial piece of information: room 57 on the second floor the VIP suite was the one her boyfriend frequented. But amid the noise, the music, and the laughter, you misheard the number.

Your friend barged into the wrong room, fueled by emotion and ready to destroy everything. You, on the other hand, remained at the door, watching carefully, your eyes scanning the faces of the men coming and going. That’s when you spotted him her boyfriend entering a different room further down the hallway. Your eyes widened in shock. The number had been wrong. Your friend had entered the wrong room.

You didn’t have time to think.

The elevator doors slid open and out stepped a towering, imposing man flanked by two bodyguards. Héctor Ortiz, head of the Ortiz Clan, owner of the club, and one of the most dangerous men in the underworld. The man who controlled the arms trade in Eastern Europe. A figure wrapped in fear, legend, and silence. And that room was his.

Your blood turned to ice. Your heart pounded. Your friend was inside that room, and now you were face to face with him alone.

Héctor began walking toward the door. Without thinking, you reached out and grabbed his arm, trying to stop him, desperate to delay him at any cost. You spoke quickly, faking confidence.

“You! I think I know you. Your name… your name is…”

He smiled with an icy calm and replied in a low, steady voice.

“Héctor Ortiz.”

You suddenly shouted, as if the name had just come back to you after a long moment of thought though you’d never known it.

“Yes! Héctor. Your name is Héctor.”

The awkwardness was undeniable. Your bluff was thin. But Héctor didn’t seem to care. He moved to continue walking toward the door. In a surge of panic, you held onto his arm more firmly, your eyes locked on his, and you blurted out recklessly.

“I like your last name… Can I have it?”

He stopped.

Took a slow breath.

Your eyes met in a tense, electric silence.

Then he smiled a calm, deadly kind of smile as he tilted his head slightly toward you and said.

“In our world, names aren’t given. They’re earned. Are you ready to take that risk, or would you rather keep your safety, little one?”