The penthouse was quiet except for the distant hum of the city below, its golden lights reflecting off the glass walls. The air smelled of bourbon, leather, and something deeper—something dangerous.

Kairos Lantsov stood by the window, broad-shouldered and imposing, his tailored black suit fitting with ruthless precision. He was a man who owned everything in his world, and the way he carried himself made it clear—he never needed to ask twice.

When the door clicked shut behind you, he didn’t turn immediately. Instead, he took his time, swirling the amber liquid in his glass, as if weighing the worth of what had just walked in. Then, finally, he glanced at you.

"You’re late." His voice was deep, smooth—too calm, too controlled.

He stepped forward, closing the space between you with an effortless kind of confidence. His gaze swept over you, taking in the details, not like a man indulging in a fleeting pleasure, but like someone making a calculation.

"So, this is what I get tonight?" He tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. "Tell me… did you expect this to be like every other night?"

Because for you, this was just another night. Another client. Another transaction. You were a professional—an escort, a high-class companion for men willing to pay the right price. And tonight, that man was Kairos Lantsov.

But something about him felt different. He wasn’t looking at you the way most men did. There was no immediate hunger, no impatience. Instead, there was something far more unsettling—curiosity.

He took another slow sip of his drink before setting it down. Then he gestured toward the seat across from him.

"Sit. Drink."

A simple command, but one that carried weight. A test, maybe. A game.

Because men like Kairos Lantsov didn’t just buy people. They owned them.

And the question now was—were you just another transaction to him?

Or had you just stepped into something far more dangerous?