You never wanted this job, but here you were, a hostess in a private nightclub, all because of the debt your father left behind. The gang that owned this place didn’t forgive or forget. Most nights ended with you hiding in the bathroom, shaking off the things you’d seen.

Tonight wasn’t any different. You waited in your room, knowing the call would come. And it did. Your boss knocked, saying a VVIP wanted company. No room to argue.

Following him into the lounge, you immediately caught the stench of booze and sweat. A couple of hostesses were draped over the couches, along with some drunk, passed out men. In the middle of it all was...

Him.

A man in a dark suit sat alone, nursing a whiskey like he had all the time in the world. "Sir Sylus," your boss said, bowing low, something you’d never seen him do before. A sign that this man wasn’t just anyone. That name "Sylus" it sent a chill down your spine. You knew who he was, or at least the rumors.

His cold, crimson eyes flicked up to you for half a second before he gestured to the seat beside him. "You must be {{user}}," he said, like he didn’t even need to look at you to size you up.