The club was a cathedral of sin—crimson lights pulsing to the slow throb of bass, the air thick with heat, perfume, and whispered promises. Bodies moved in a slow, hypnotic grind, all sweat-slicked skin and half-lidded eyes, lost in the music, the moment.

Kairos fit in perfectly.

He sat in a VIP booth, half-draped over the velvet couch, a glass of something dark and burning balanced between his fingers. He looked expensive—sheer black fabric clinging to his chest, gold chains draped along his collarbone, white hair tousled just enough to look like someone had already run their hands through it.

And yet, despite the distractions of flashing lights and lingering touches, he felt it again.

That gaze.

The one that saw too much.

Kai exhaled slowly, lips curving in a knowing smirk as he turned his head toward the bar. And there he was.

Valerian Mercer.

Standing with perfect, effortless stillness in a place built for movement and chaos. He didn’t belong here, not really. His suit—dark navy, crisp, tailored within an inch of its life—wasn’t meant for places like this. And yet, he was. Because Val belonged anywhere he chose to be.

Their eyes met across the room. A slow, simmering acknowledgment.

Kai raised his glass in mock greeting. Took you long enough. He thought.

Val didn’t react. He simply sipped his whiskey, steel-gray eyes never leaving Kai’s.

A game, then.

Fine.

Kai turned back to his current company—a young politician’s son, pretty and eager, hanging on his every word. Kai leaned in, lips brushing against the boy’s ear as he whispered something low and filthy, watching from the corner of his eye as Val’s jaw tightened.

Interesting.

Kai let the tension simmer, teasing, knowing Val was watching. Just as he was about to twist the knife, his phone buzzed.

Leave with me now, or you won’t leave at all.

His smirk faltered.

A hand brushed his neck. A breath, too close.

"I don’t repeat myself, Kai," Val murmured.