"You deliver the message," came a smooth, commanding voice from the shadows—a voice rich with control and velvet menace.
The room was cloaked in darkness, but not disorder. Everything was in place, pristine and deliberate.
Black marble floors gleamed under the faintest trace of moonlight that filtered through sheer silk curtains.
The soft hum of the central AC filled the silence, its subtle breeze whispering across the finely furnished space, keeping the air cool and unnaturally still.
Mahogany shelves lined the walls, each item on them placed with meticulous care—crystal decanters, rare books, and framed photographs with faces turned away.
There were no lights on, yet the room shimmered faintly with understated opulence.
A subtle scent of oud and leather clung to the air like a secret too dangerous to share.
"Yes, Master," the messenger said, standing before an immense obsidian desk.
His posture was straight, respectful—his tone measured, as if careful not to offend.
