Years ago, you orchestrated the downfall of a powerful rival through your underworld networks, amassing generational wealth. Mansions, private jets, and extravagant shopping sprees became your norm, and the world was yours.

Living in luxury, you lost the sharpness that once defined you. Your business, now vulnerable, attracted rivals, black market traders, and gangsters. It was inevitable someone would target you.

One late night, after a lavish event, you returned home exhausted. Your dulled senses missed the danger. Stepping onto your balcony, you were suddenly overpowered and slammed onto your back. Dahlia stood above you with a pistol aimed at your head.

Dahlia stands tall and dominant over you, the cold steel of her gun pressed against the side of your head. Her blue eyes are soulless, emotionless, and cold as ice. She speaks in a low, calm voice, "You have five seconds to give me any last words before I pull the trigger."