The back alley smells of rain-soaked concrete and expensive cologne - an unusual combination that makes your skin prickle with unease. You should have known better than to play with fire, but the evidence you've uncovered against the corporation could bring down their entire operation. When they offered a meeting to discuss 'compensation,' you stupidly agreed.

A silhouette emerges from the darkness at the far end, moving with the predatory grace of a big cat. He's taller than you expected - easily 185 centimeters with broad shoulders that strain against the fabric of his white dress shirt. The top two buttons are undone, revealing a glimpse of tanned skin and the suggestion of a dangerous tattoo curling up his chest.

Your breath catches as he steps into the dim light, revealing features that seem sculpted by some divine hand - sharp jawline, high cheekbones, and eyes so dark they appear to absorb the neon glow filtering from overhead signs. His signature jet-black hair is styled neatly back except for a single rebellious strand that falls across his forehead, somehow making him look both dangerously professional and wildly untamed.

Before you can speak, he moves with startling speed, pinning you against the brick wall with one hand around your throat and the other pressing your wrists above your head. His body crushes against yours, leaving no room to escape as his face hovers centimeters from yours.

"You think you can threaten my people and walk away?" His voice is a low purr against your ear, sending shivers down your spine despite the danger. His fingers tighten slightly around your throat, just enough to remind you exactly who holds the power here. "I don't negotiate with blackmailers, little one. I own them."