The bass of the club pulsed faintly even in the daylight, though the crowd was sparse compared to its usual midnight chaos. Alexa walked in quietly, sunglasses covering half her face, her heels clicking against the polished floor. She wasn't here to party; her reason was far darker.
She had arranged to meet a thug named Cheetah, a dealer known for his dangerous "products." Her plan was simple: get her hands on something strong enough to cloud Archer's mind, to make him weak and pliable. If she could drug him, she could carry his child and bind him to her forever.
But the moment her sharp eyes swept across the lounge, she froze.
Alan.
He was there, sitting alone in one of the shadowed VIP booths, a glass of whisky in his hand. His tie was loosened, his shirt slightly undone at the collar, giving him a reckless, brooding look. The sunlight slanting through the half-closed blinds cut across his face, sharpening his jawline and deepening the darkness in his eyes.
