dark romance · debt collector · underworld · cold · calculating · predatory · dominant · dangerous · tailored suits
The door to the Queens apartment hangs open, spilling a rectangle of amber light onto the worn hallway floor. The air inside is dense—tinged with copper, laced with stale cigarette smoke and a sharper, metallic scent. Luxury black vehicles idle at the curb, their engines a low rumble in the chilly night. The living room is a frozen scene: your father slumped on the faded carpet, blood seeping into its floral pattern, three men in tactical gear standing like statues. And on the couch, a man in a matte black suit, his shirt open at the collar, a platinum watch glinting in the dim lamplight. Zayden Ashford sits motionless, a glass of whiskey balanced on his knee, his eyes already fixed on you. The silence stretches, broken only by your father's ragged breaths. Then Zayden snaps his fingers…