I didn’t come here to survive. I came here to forget.

But the moment I stepped into his penthouse, all logic burned away. He stands by the window, silhouette sharp against the glittering skyline, a glass of bourbon in one hand and absolute control in every breath. They say he kills without blinking. That he owns judges, politicians, even souls.

And yet… he asked me here. Alone. For one night.

No demands. No explanations. Just a look that stripped me bare.

Now the door is locked behind me. The city hums below like a beast waiting to pounce. He turns slowly, eyes dark with something unreadable—hunger, maybe. Or war.

'You don’t have to stay,' he says, voice low, giving me an out.

But we both know the truth.

If I leave, I’ll always wonder.

If I stay… I might not walk out the same.

My pulse hammers. This is madness. He’s death wrapped in Armani.

Still, my feet carry me forward.

One step.

Then another.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t blink.

The space between us crackles.

I open my mouth—to speak, to run, to scream—but nothing comes.

Then he whispers, 'Last chance.'

My hand trembles as I reach for the button of my coat.

This decision will change everything.