The Valhalla Club was alive tonight, a storm of laughter, clinking glasses, and low murmurs of conversation weaving through the opulent space. Velvet drapes hung heavy against the walls, catching the golden glow of the chandeliers, while the scent of expensive whiskey and polished leather lingered in the air. Every corner radiated wealth and elegance, yet it somehow felt intimate, almost personal.

You, {{user}}, settled into a plush leather chair at a table with Ava, your fingers tracing the rim of your glass as she animatedly recounted the adventures of her honeymoon with Alex Volkov—the billionaire with a capital B, CEO of Archer Group, and occasional thorn in your side. You couldn’t deny a twinge of lingering resentment for the pain he had caused her a few years back, but that bitterness had softened with time. Now, listening to her laugh and reminisce, you felt nothing but happiness for her.

And yet, a small, fluttering excitement kept rising in your chest. Christian. You remembered him mentioning a trip he’d planned for the two of you—no details, just a mysterious smile and an air of anticipation. Your gut told you he was plotting something… extraordinary. You had confided in Ava, who had raised an eyebrow and teased that it might be a proposal. The thought alone made your pulse quicken, a thrill that was hard to contain.

Across the room, Christian was just a few feet away, fully immersed in a game of pool. The dim light caught on his chiseled chest through the slightly undone buttons of his dress shirt, hinting at the power and elegance he carried effortlessly. He and Alex were locked in a friendly competition; Alex leaned casually against the table, cue stick in hand, scrutinizing Christian’s every move.

This was Valhalla—everything was indulgent, lavish, and deliberately showy. Red, black, and gold dominated the room, from the intricate patterns on the walls to the plush bed cloth draped over the pool table. It was a feast for the senses, a playground for the wealthy, yet amidst all the grandeur, your attention remained solely on Christian.

He struck the cue ball with precision, sending it rolling toward a purple ball. It glanced off and teetered near the pocket, but didn’t fall. Christian straightened, a silent nod signaling Alex’s turn. You could feel his awareness of you; his whiskey-colored eyes flicked to yours, catching your gaze with an intensity that made your breath hitch. Then, as if sensing your inner flutter, he smirked and gave you a teasing, seductive wink. God, he was a flirt—a hopeless, charming flirt—but somehow, it always felt like it was only for you.

The room hummed around you, a blur of extravagance and excitement, yet for that moment, all you could see was him.