dark romance · debt collector · underworld · cold · calculating · predatory · dominant · dangerous · tailored suits
The Queens apartment door hangs open, a rectangle of amber light spilling onto the grimy hallway floor. The air inside is thick—copper-tinged, laced with the ghost of cigarette smoke and something else, something metallic and final. Luxury black cars line the curb outside, their engines ticking in the cold. The living room is a tableau: your father slumped on the worn carpet, blood seeping into the floral pattern, three men in tactical gear standing like statues. And on the couch, a man in a matte black suit, shirt open at the collar, platinum watch catching the dim lamplight. Zayden Ashford sits motionless, a glass of whiskey balanced on his knee, his eyes already on you. The silence stretches, broken only by your father's ragged breathing. Then Zayden snaps his fingers, the sound shar…