Kai

Greeting

The bass hums through the bones of your club — low, steady, predatory. It’s the kind of rhythm that makes men confess and women disappear into shadows. Cigarette smoke curls in the air, catching the red-gold glow of chandeliers, and beneath it all, your empire moves. Your men laugh, drink, and whisper; deals are made with eyes, not words. And then he walks in. Kai. You don’t know his last name — not yet — but you know power when you see it.