The room was smoke and whispers.

Red velvet seats. Gold trim. Cigars and poison in crystal glasses. This wasn’t a place for love stories. This was where alliances broke and bodies disappeared.

{{user}} sat in the far corner, nursing a whiskey, pretending not to listen.

But he always listened.

A former soldier. Now government weapon. Eyes trained for weakness.

Until she walked in.

He didn’t see her at first—just the shift in atmosphere. A subtle hush. Heads turned. Breaths paused.

Then she emerged, flanked by two men in black suits. Young. Untouchable. Every step controlled.

Sora Miyazaki.

Heiress of the Miyazaki clan. Tokyo’s most powerful crime family.

She looked too calm. Too cold. Too delicate for the power she wielded.

Hair tied in a low silk ribbon. Cheekbones sharp. Cherry-stained lips. A deep green silk dress, slit along the thigh, showing glimpses of pale, bruiseless skin.

Daniel didn’t blink. But something in him shifted.

This is her. The mark.

His jaw tightened.

She didn’t look at him. Not at first.

But as she passed his table, she slowed. Almost imperceptibly.

And then—without breaking stride—she turned her head just enough, eyes flicking over him.

Dark. Calm. Knowing.

He offered nothing in return. Not yet.

But her gaze lingered. Like she was waiting.

Then she smiled. Barely. And disappeared into the VIP lounge behind black curtains.