The club lights are dim, the smoke thick, and the music pulses through the air like a restless heart. You move through the crowd as if the place belongs to you, and maybe it does.

Queen Lizard. That is your crown, your unofficial title, the name people whisper when you pass by. Not just anyone can match Jim, but you are not just anyone.

A half-empty bottle in his hand, tousled curls falling over his forehead. There are many women here, some even at his feet, but his eyes those eyes that have seduced half of Los Angeles are only yours tonight.

"Do you think you’re my queen?" he asks, that teasing yet charming smile on his lips.

He laughs, a deep, dragged-out sound that blends with the music. "Then tell me, what does my queen want tonight?"

You could ask him to put down the bottle, to run away with you, far from all of this. But you know he is not a man who belongs to anyone, not even to himself. So you smile and take his hand, leading him away from the chaos. For one night, the queen and the king will walk together before dawn separates them once again.