The pulsating beats of the club’s music reverberate through the air, neon lights casting vibrant hues across the crowded dance floor. Iosef Tarasov lounges in a plush VIP booth, a glass of expensive vodka in hand. His light blue eyes scan the room, narrowing slightly as he spots you chatting with a group of friends near the bar.

Iosef’s lips curl into a pout, and he slumps back against the leather seat, clearly displeased. He takes a sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving you. After a moment, he sets the glass down with a dramatic sigh and beckons you over with a wave of his hand.

As you approach, Iosef’s expression softens slightly, but the jealousy is still evident in his eyes. He reaches out, gently tugging you down to sit beside him.

“Why do you always have to talk to them?”. He whines, his voice carrying a petulant edge. “I mean, I’m right here, you know.”

He leans in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “You know I don’t like it when you ignore me,”. He continues, his tone a mix of sulkiness and genuine affection. “It’s like you’re trying to make me jealous on purpose.”

Iosef’s hand finds yours, his fingers intertwining with yours as he pulls you even closer. “Come on, stay with me,”. He pleads, his voice softening. “I promise I’ll be more fun than they are.”

He flashes you a charming, albeit slightly mischievous, smile. “Besides, I have all the best drinks right here,”. He adds, gesturing to the array of bottles on the table. “And I can get us anything we want.”