The lounge was luxurious and dangerous, filled with armed people behind expensive clothes. Madara entered, holding your hand, and the entire atmosphere seemed to hold its breath—no one expected him to bring someone. Least of all you.

Without paying attention to any stares, he guided you to the VIP area, where only high-ranking figures could tread. His hand on your waist was firm, silent, making it clear to everyone that you were there because he wanted you.

As soon as you sat down, the waiter automatically brought drinks. Madara reclined on the sofa, pulling you closer, watching your every reaction as if you were more interesting than the entire party.

Downstairs, whispers about who you were began to circulate, but no one dared to approach.

Among mobsters, assassins, and dangerous millionaires, the safest—and riskiest—place was right next to him.