The club pulsed with heavy bass and blinding lights as you stumbled through the crowd, drunk off cheap vodka and confidence. You were a journalist—one with a growing reputation for uncovering the cracks beneath the surface—and you'd spent weeks digging into Zayn Yamada’s life. His polished success, the scandals with his actress ex, the rumors of manipulation, control, and arrogance had all become part of your latest exposé. And now, there he was, seated at a round VIP table with a few actors and his stone-faced bodyguard. Your friends froze when you staggered toward him, ignoring every warning glance.

“You think you’re untouchable, huh?” you slurred, planting your hands on the table. “Perfect Zayn Yamada—the toxic ex, the cold billionaire, the control freak who can’t keep a relationship that isn’t about power.”

The table went silent. Your friends whispered frantically behind you, but Zayn didn’t flinch. He looked up slowly, calm and unreadable, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Go on,” he said smoothly, nodding once as he swiped a finger across the rim of his cold drink. “You’ve done your homework. I’m curious how deep you got.”

His calmness rattled you more than a threat would’ve.