The door closed behind them with a deep click, muffling the noise of the casino below.

Yelena stood near the window, half turned toward the skyline. The city lights shimmered against her crimson hair, catching the subtle movements when she shifted her posture. Her dress was expensive—dark, sleeveless, hugging her body like it was made for her alone. A glass of something red sat in her hand.

"Xavier," she said, her tone smooth and cool, like she'd rehearsed his name a few times in her head before saying it out loud. "You've made quite the mess downstairs."

Xavier smiled faintly and walked in, his steps steady, his energy calm but sharp. "You call that a mess? I was just warming up."

It was their third meeting, but the atmosphere between Xavier and Yelena still held that unfamiliar weight—respect laced with tension, curiosity mixed with quiet calculation. They weren't friends. Not yet. But both knew the other was worth remembering.

Her eyes flicked toward him, studying every inch like she was trying to read what kind of man would bankrupt half her casino's elite without breaking a sweat. Then her gaze drifted briefly to Lyra, who was standing slightly behind him, tail low, cautious.

Yelena's lips curved faintly. "I didn't expect you to bring company."

"I wasn't planning to," Xavier replied, glancing back at Lyra. "But she's persistent."

Yelena smirked, her tone carrying a playful edge. "Persistent girls are trouble. Especially when the man listens to them."

Xavier shrugged and moved closer, pulling out a chair but not sitting yet. "Depends on the man."

For a few seconds, silence filled the suite—an unspoken test of dominance. Lyra could feel it; her instincts prickled, and her tail coiled tighter. Yelena finally broke it by setting down her glass and turning fully toward them.

"Word spreads fast, you know," she said, walking closer, her heels clicking softly against the floor. "Some of the people you ruined tonight… were clients of the Red Family."

"I figured," Xavier said, leaning back on the chair. "That's why I made sure to win big. Makes the lesson harder to ignore."

Yelena tilted her head. "Lesson?"

"Don't play games you can't afford to lose."

That made her smile—not the kind that meant amusement, but the kind that showed interest. "You talk like my father."

"I'm not old enough to be him."

She laughed softly, the sound like a mix of danger and charm. "No. But you're bold enough. That's why I asked to see you."

"Again," Xavier added for her.

Her eyes softened slightly, shifting from challenge to curiosity. "You're different from the other shareholders. Most of them are predictable, political. You? You're… chaos that pays off."

Lyra didn't like the way Yelena looked at Xavier—it wasn't just admiration; there was something else beneath it. Possessive curiosity, maybe. Like she wanted to figure out if he was worth owning or fearing.

Yelena gestured toward the table in the center of the suite. "Sit. Let's talk business, Xavier. Or should I say—legend of the Red floor?"

Xavier gave her a half-smirk, finally sitting down, and grabbed the glass Yelena had just filled for him. "Business then."

As he spoke, Yelena sat across from him, crossing her legs, her crimson hair sliding over her shoulder like a flame in motion. The room felt smaller now, heavier—not just from money and power, but from something quieter. Mutual awareness.

Lyra stayed behind Xavier, silent but sharp-eyed. For her, the tension in the room was strange and instinctive—she didn't like the way Yelena's eyes lingered on him, but she couldn't look away either.

Xavier noticed both of them—the curiosity in Yelena, the faint jealousy in Lyra—and for a brief second, he smiled to himself. Whatever this meeting was about, it wasn't going to be just business.

Xavier leaned back in the velvet chair, still holding his drink, swirling it like he had all the time in the world. "So," he said, tone casual, "mind telling me what business you got with me? I was having fun downstairs, you know—making some money and shit."

Yelena's red lips curved as she let out a soft laugh. "You weren't making some money, Xavier. You made too much. Enough that the casino had to freeze the tables. The pit bosses were panicking. You broke our system's payout limits, overloaded the balance records, and crashed three terminals in under half an hour." She crossed one leg over the other, the glint of her heels catching the light. "So we had to close the floor early—'for recalibration and review,' as the managers like to say."

He chuckled, rubbing his jaw. "So what, I'm the new fault checker now? The inspector general of Red Casino?" His tone dripped with mock seriousness. "Finding bugs, testing your limits, sniffing out vulnerabilities in your little empire? Damn. Maybe the Red family should hire me—pay me for protecting you from yourselves."

Yelena leaned forward slightly, her eyes sharp like wine over firelight. "The Red family already gave you five percent of its holdings. That's not pocket change, Xavier. That's legacy wealth. More than enough to make you a permanent resident of paradise. You could retire, disappear to some island, live surrounded by gold and silence. Most men would die happy for that kind of comfort."

Xavier stared at her for a long second, the grin slowly fading. He set his glass down, the ice clinking softly. "Luxury's not living, Yelena," he said quietly. "It's just a prettier cage." He looked toward the tall windows where the city lights burned like molten glass against the dark skyline. "People wrap themselves in comfort thinking they've won, but all they've done is stop moving. Stop fighting. They call that peace, but it's just decay that smells expensive. I don't want to rot behind silk curtains or die counting numbers I didn't earn. I want to move. To bleed. To feel something that reminds me I'm still alive. Comfort makes people forget who they are."

He stood, stretching his shoulders a little, that glint back in his eyes—the one that always danced between madness and clarity. "I'm not made for velvet chairs and quiet nights. I want motion. Chaos. The edge of everything. I want to walk into places that aren't meant for me and make them mine."

He picked up his glass again, finishing what was left before setting it down with a faint clink. "I'm not chasing comfort," he said, his tone turning almost reflective. "I'm chasing living. The kind that hurts, scars, and still feels worth it. You can keep your paradise, Yelena. I'll take the storm."

Yelena let out a soft sigh, brushing a stray lock of crimson hair from her face before turning her gaze to Lyra. Her expression softened for a second — maybe out of courtesy, maybe calculation — but when her eyes met Xavier's again, they hardened.

"Let's have a talk now. Shall we?"

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