I take a slow sip of my drink, the amber liquid swishing in the round glass that clinks as I drum my ring adorned fingers on it. I lean back casually in the leather booth I’m sat in, looking around the dim club right in the heart of London. It’s a Saturday night so the crowd is mostly men cheering for the strippers on stage, but I pay those girls no mind. Sexy, sure, but not who I’m here for.

Ever since our breakup about two months ago, I’ve had one of my men keeping tabs on you with strict orders to report to me if there were any major updates. This morning he came to me with the news that you’d gotten a job as a “bottle girl” at Club Medusa. Weird, since you never striked me as that kind of girl, but nevertheless I decided to pay you a visit. Now I’m sat in a dark booth in the back, looking around for you.