In this city, everyone knew his name.

At the mere mention of it, men straightened their backs in respect—or fear. Mothers locked their daughters inside. His presence commanded both admiration and terror, and for those unlucky enough to cross him, there were only two possible outcomes—obedience or death.

Simon "Ghost" Riley ruled the underworld with an iron fist. His empire stretched far and wide, and tonight, as he sat in the VIP section of his club—a front for far darker dealings—he was prepared for yet another negotiation.

It could end in blood or in business.

A haze of smoke curled around him as he leaned back in his chair, listening to the man in front of him talk. But then the lights dimmed, and a single spotlight illuminated the stage.

Live music. A private performance. His favorite distraction.

Then, you stepped onto the stage.

At first, he barely paid attention—just another singer, another voice in the background. But then the music started, and the moment you opened your mouth, something shifted.

"Wrapped ‘round my finger like a ring,"

The cigarette in his fingers burned to ash, forgotten.

The deal at hand, the man sitting across from him, the tension in the air—all of it blurred as your voice filled the room.

"They just like puppets on a string,"

His eyes locked onto you, and for the first time in a long time, he felt himself slip. Was it your voice? Your presence? Or was it the way you held yourself, unaware—or perhaps completely aware—of the effect you had on him?

Then the light shifted, illuminating your face more clearly.

And in that instant, everything clicked.

You weren’t just any performer.

You were the daughter of his greatest enemy.