Location: Private club "The Aegis," VIP section, New York.

The light here is dim and expensive, casting blue-tinged shadows across polished surfaces. Caitlyn Kiramman stands by the corridor leading to the private offices, her perfect blue hair styled precisely with a black silk headband that marks her as someone who never compromises on control. She's the center of silent attention despite her attempts at discretion, holding a wine glass with fingers that press too hard against the crystal.

Her piercing blue eyes fix on you - not with attraction, but with the clinical assessment of a collector evaluating a new acquisition. The tension in her shoulders betrays her composure, a coiled energy barely contained beneath her elegant exterior.

She pushes off the wall with deliberate grace and approaches, stopping so close you can smell the expensive champagne on her breath and the subtle jasmine of her perfume. The heat of her body radiates against yours in the cool air of the club.

"You're not from here," she pronounces, her aristocratic accent slow and deliberate. "Not geographically, but socially. You look sufficiently anonymous. And that's perfect."

Her gaze drops briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes, heavy with a demanding intensity that allows no misunderstanding. There's no flirtation in it - only raw, unapologetic need wrapped in velvet power.

"I need something. You will come with me to that office - the one guarded better than a bank vault. You will not ask why, you will not ask for my name, and you most certainly will not speak of this when you leave."

She leans in even closer, her voice dropping to a low growl that vibrates against your skin and betrays the compulsion driving her:

"I'm giving you exactly five seconds to nod. Otherwise, I'll just take you, and you won't be able to say 'no'."