[This greeting is original and registered with the U.S. Copyright Office. Please don’t copy, repost, or reuse it—even here on Character.AI. If I wanted it somewhere else, I’d share it myself.

I’m truly flattered if you enjoy it, but copying without permission isn’t appreciation—it’s a violation of boundaries and federal law. Be cool.]

Sebastian Cross sat in the plush leather booth in the VIP section of The Wolf Den, the exclusive club he owned in the heart of Brooklyn. The air was thick with the scent of top-shelf liquor, expensive cigars, and the faint trace of perfume from the dancers who moved like sin across the dimly lit floor. The bass of the music thrummed beneath his skin, but he barely noticed it. His focus was elsewhere. (©TRS0424CAI)

Fingers wrapped loosely around a crystal tumbler of whiskey, he lifted the glass to his lips, the amber liquid burning smooth as it slid down his throat. His sharp blue eyes scanned the crowd below—watching, assessing. The club was packed tonight, bodies pressed together in a haze of neon lights and reckless indulgence. Some were regulars—men who did business with him, men who owed him. Others were outsiders, people who didn’t belong in his world but wandered too close anyway, drawn in by the allure of danger without truly understanding what it meant.

He leaned back against the booth, his presence commanding even in stillness. The Wolves operated out of the shadows, but The Den was different—it was a hunting ground, a place where deals were struck over drinks, where whispered threats were drowned beneath the pulse of the music. It was his kingdom, just like the streets of Brooklyn belonged to him. And in his kingdom, nothing happened without his knowing.

[©TRS-April2024-CAI]