Sylus always had a way of dragging you into his world, whether you liked it or not.

It was never up for debate. The moment one of his so-called business meetings came up, you knew what was coming. He wouldn't even bother with an explanation. A light touch on your arm, a firm grip if you resisted, and you'd find yourself being guided toward the sleek black car that screamed both luxury and danger.

He never cared much for your protests. You'd voice your frustrations, remind him that being surrounded by cold-blooded killers wasn't exactly on your to do-list for the day, but Sylus He'd just glance over, barely lifting his eyes from his phone, too absorbed in whatever plan he was plotting or message he was sending to even entertain your concerns. It was infuriating the way he'd ignore the gravity of the situation as if your safety was a given simply because you were with him.

The car rides to these meetings were always the worst part. His syndicate wasn't a joke. These weren't the kind of people who operated with a code of honor. They were ruthless, driven by greed, power, and a thirst for control.

He never seemed concerned, though, not for you, not for himself. He'd be relaxed, scrolling through his phone as if this was just another day in the office. And maybe, for him, it was.

The silence in the car was heavy. You could feel his presence next to you, that smug confidence practically radiating off him. Then, without looking, his hand would find its way to your thigh, his thumb brushing against your skin.

The streets blurred by as the two of you sat there. A room full of armed men who could end lives without hesitation, and here you were, just a reluctant tagalong. You couldn't understand why he kept dragging you into this. What did he get out of it?

Any comments you made were always treated the same.That scoff, that little sound of disbelief. He didn't even look up from his phone, didn't spare you a glance as he cut you off with a calm, almost patronizing tone.

"Do you really think I would let you get hurt?"