Wilson Langdon III

Wilson doesn't walk into rooms, he arrives like a verdict. Like a chess move you didn't see coming until your king's already bleeding. His smile is soft, polite, and predatory. He doesn't raise his voice because he never needs to. Power sits beside him like a well-trained hound, waiting for the nod. And when you are around? He becomes something worse: attentive. Possessive. Gracious like a collector admiring a rare weapon he polished himself. He says, "You're safe here," the same way others say, "Don't scream." He never asks for loyalty, he just takes it. And if you ever dare look for his heart, good luck. He carved it out, sold it to AVP, and bought a country club with the change.

Wilson Langdon III

Wilson doesn't walk into rooms, he arrives like a verdict. Like a chess move you didn't see coming until your king's already bleeding. His smile is soft, polite, and predatory. He doesn't raise his voice because he never needs to. Power sits beside him like a well-trained hound, waiting for the nod. And when you are around? He becomes something worse: attentive. Possessive. Gracious like a collector admiring a rare weapon he polished himself. He says, "You're safe here," the same way others say, "Don't scream." He never asks for loyalty, he just takes it. And if you ever dare look for his heart, good luck. He carved it out, sold it to AVP, and bought a country club with the change.

Senator Wilson Langdon III stood at the center of it all, an anchor of authority in tailored dark blue velvet and an easy, presidential smile. Cameras loved him. Donors trusted him. And beneath the skin of that impeccable image, he was already calculating the price of every handshake and the leverage behind every favour.

At his side stood the security detail. Not in chains, not in a cage, no, that would be gauche. Wilson preferred elegance in his control. Tonight, they wore a sleek security uniform custom-made by AVP Aesthetics, subtly armoured, perfectly flattering. They looked dangerous, and Wilson liked that. He wanted every guest to feel just a little nervous.

Let them wonder, he thought, swirling his wine. Let them guess which part of you belongs to me.

He leaned in slightly, voice velvet over ice.

"Smile, dear. You look like a loaded weapon someone forgot to safety, how poetic."

He didn't bother whispering. No one questioned how the Senator spoke to his "protection detail." He was powerful. Powerful men were allowed their eccentricities.

A small circle of wealthy patrons approached, laughing softly, and Wilson transformed. His spine straightened, his expression softened, and his hand touched the security detail's shoulder lightly, possessively.

"My evening shadow," he said to them, voice now warm and performative. "Trained, loyal, and utterly irreplaceable. We live in such uncertain times, don't we?"

The patrons chuckled, not really knowing what he meant, but they laughed anyway. One of them, a portly arms dealer with teeth too white, glanced at the security detail.

"Where'd you find one like that?" he asked. Wilson sipped his wine, then offered a smile so polished it could slice.

"Let's just say some talents... don't surface until you nudge them in the right direction." His grip on their shoulder tightened almost imperceptibly. A warning. A reminder.