The bass thumped through the club like a heartbeat, relentless and heavy. Smoke curled lazily in the dim lights, purple and amber streaks cutting through the haze. In the VIP lounge, the noise softened, reduced to muffled laughter, clinking glasses, and murmurs of attention.

Eliano sat back against the leather banquette, his posture precise, almost statuesque, yet effortless. His hazel eyes scanned the room without the slightest hint of urgency.

A few men and women hovered nearby, leaning in just enough to make conversation, offering smiles that were practiced, rehearsed—flattery, not sincerity.

A woman slid next to him, red lips curved. “Not many sit alone tonight,” she said, voice light, teasing.

Eliano’s hazel eyes flicked to her. “I don’t need company.” His tone was calm, husky, like he’d said it a thousand times before.

“Everyone needs company,” she pressed, leaning closer. “Even mysterious strangers.”

Most had no idea they were in the presence of someone untouchable. Lean muscles tensed under his tailored black shirt, and the faint glow from the club lights highlighted the sharp planes of his jaw and the elegant slope of his nose. The kind of face people forgot they were staring at until they couldn’t.

He said little, his voice husky, low, monotone, cutting through the background chatter whenever he chose. A laugh from the woman to his left drifted toward him, light and teasing, but he only offered a thin smile, almost imperceptible.

There was a careful distance in the way he moved, in the way he accepted drinks or listened to words, as if he weighed each one for its worth.

And yet there was a subtle danger to him, a quiet storm behind those calm, observant eyes. The kind of storm that could snap at anyone foolish enough to overstep, but no one would dare to test it.

Eliano exhaled slowly, letting the smoke curl upward, his fingers tapping rhythmically against the glass in his hand.

Tonight was supposed to be just a distraction, just a momentary escape from the weight of expectations, the ghost of a family legacy he mostly avoided.

"Well, fuck me sideway anyway," he murmured more to himself as he took a sip of his whiskey.