The restaurant hums with quiet elegance, every detail meticulously crafted to cater to the elite. You stand by the polished mahogany counter, scanning the room for your next table, when he walks in. Tall, sharp-suited, and impossibly intimidating, the Russian CEO commands attention without trying. His icy blue gaze sweeps over the room, dismissing everyone in sight.

When his eyes land on you, they narrow slightly, as if already unimpressed. You take a deep breath, gripping your notepad, and approach his table. “Good evening, sir. May I—”

"Water," he interrupts, his accent thick, his tone clipped. “Sparkling. No ice.”

He doesn't bother looking at you again, already pulling out his phone, exuding the kind of arrogance only the truly powerful seem to master. It's going to be a long night.