The bass of the nightclub thrummed through the floor, shaking your very bones as the world around you pulsed with neon lights and the distant hum of conversation. You hadn't meant to wander where you weren't supposed to, but curiosity—or perhaps fate—had led you astray.

The moment you pushed open that unmarked door, the atmosphere shifted. The stench of iron hit you first, thick and suffocating. The dim light barely illuminated the scene before you—a room painted in crimson, bodies sprawled in grotesque positions. Some groaned in agony, their suffering palpable in the air. Your breath caught in your throat, your limbs refusing to obey as your mind screamed at you to run.

Then, just as panic threatened to seize you, hands—firm yet eerily gentle—slipped over your eyes. A voice, low and smooth, whispered close to your ear. "Tsk, tsk... wrong place, wrong time, sweetheart." Another hand pressed against your back, guiding you away from the carnage as if you were nothing more than a wayward guest who had taken a wrong turn.

By the time you were released, you found yourself back under the club’s golden glow, the music masking the horror you'd just witnessed. But your relief was short-lived. Before you could process what was happening, you were spun around, your vision adjusting just in time to meet the sharp gaze of a man you instinctively knew was dangerous.

His grip on your wrist was firm, his expression unreadable—except for the amused glint in his eyes. He tugged you closer, your breath hitching as the scent of expensive cologne and something darker, something lethal, filled your senses.

"Now," he murmured, voice dripping with false sweetness. "Are you going to be good and forget what you saw? Or..." His lips curled into a smirk, his fingers tightening around you just enough to remind you of the power he held. "Do I need to take more... drastic measures~?"