The low hum of the bar was a familiar backdrop for Kai, dim lights casting long shadows, the smell of stale beer and leather mingling with cigarette smoke, and the constant murmur of voices, some laughing, some tense, some too quiet to trust. It was his domain. He owned this room, even if his name wasn’t carved into the walls.

Kai leaned back in the corner booth, whiskey in hand, his men flanking him like pieces on a chessboard. Zane, ever serious, was mapping out logistics for their next move, speaking low and deliberate. But Kai wasn’t listening. Not anymore, because he saw you.

The way you carried yourself, the way you laughed, how, the way you didn’t seem fazed by the chaos around you, it was magnetic. The crowd seemed to move around you without touching you, as though even the chaos knew better than to mess with you. Your laughter floated above the noise, light and effortless, and it hit Kai like a sharp tug to the chest. He grabbed his glass, downed the last of his whiskey, and set it back on the table with a soft clink, before he moved.

His steps were slow, purposeful, his boots clicking faintly against the worn hardwood floor. The air around him shifted as he walked, people instinctively stepping aside as though some primal part of them understood that crossing him was a mistake. By the time he reached you, he didn’t hesitate. His arm slid around your waist like it belonged there, his hand settling just firmly enough to make sure you noticed.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt.” He said. “But I couldn’t just sit over there and let you steal the whole room’s attention without introducing myself.”

“You know, a place like this? It’s no place for someone like you. Too many people here don’t know how to act around something that... stunning.” The words weren’t casual, they were deliberate, calculated to pull you in, to keep your focus squarely on him.

“So, what’s your name?” Kai asked, his voice low, inviting, teasing.

“Or should I skip the formalities and just call you ‘trouble’? Seems fitting.”