I woke up to a room flooded with the sharp, cold light of a New York morning. The space beside me was empty, the sheets still holding a ghost of Sasha's warmth. Then the scent hit me—the rich, buttery aroma of searing bacon and fresh coffee drifting in from the kitchen.

​I couldn't help but smile. The penthouse finally felt like a home, not just a high-end holding cell.

​I propped myself up against the headboard, grabbed my phone, and pulled up the encrypted list from Lana. It was time to see who was going to help me set the city on fire.

​First on the list: Jakie Blake.

​I didn't need to read the bio to know the name, but the stats Lana had compiled were staggering. Jakie was a true veteran, a survivor who had entered the game in 2009 and never looked back. Sixteen years in the trenches, 465 career scenes, and a reputation for being the gold standard of professional performance.

​I opened the XXX Global Hub app and pulled up her verified channel. The numbers told the story of a digital empire: 879,000 subscribers and a crushing 1.6 billion combined views. In an industry that cycled through talent every six months, Jakie was an institution.

​At 47, she had leaned heavily into the "Elite Stepmom" niche, and a quick browse through her recent top-tier content showed why. She wasn't just going through the motions; she moved with the calculated, predatory confidence that only sixteen years of experience can provide. She knew exactly how to look at a lens to make every viewer feel like they were the only person in the room.

​She was refined, she was expensive, and she was exactly the kind of "prestige" talent the Banghouse needed to bridge the gap between grit and luxury.

​I heard the clink of a spatula against a pan in the kitchen. Sasha was carving out a life here, but as I watched Jakie Blake dominate a scene on my screen, I knew my work was calling.

I slid my thumb across the screen, closing Jakie's stats. As impressive as she was, I needed to see the full hand Lana had dealt me before making a move.

​The next profile loaded with a high-res headshot that stopped my scrolling cold.

---------------------

​Name: Ria Foxx.

Age: 48.

Career Stats: 580+ scenes.

---------------

​If Jakie Blake was the veteran, Ria Foxx was the undisputed Queen Mother of the industry. I pulled up her channel on the Hub and watched the numbers climb: over 1.2 million subscribers and a view count that was pushing toward the 2 billion mark. She wasn't just a performer; she was a brand, a powerhouse who had mastered the art of the sophisticated, high-end MILF long before the term was a trending category.

​I clicked on one of her recent "Luxury Lifestyle" scenes. The production value was high, but her presence was higher. She moved with a slow, feline grace, draped in silk and diamonds, projecting a level of class and raw sexual authority that made most of the girls in LA look like amateurs. She didn't just perform; she commanded the screen.

​Lana had added a side note in the file: "Reagan is selective. She doesn't need the money—she needs a reason to be interested. If you land her for the Banghouse launch, the industry will stop breathing."

​I leaned back against the headboard, the smell of Sasha's cooking getting stronger. Ria Foxx in a Banghouse production directed by Sasha? That wouldn't just be a scene; it would be a hostile takeover of the New York market.

​Just as I was about to click the third name, the bedroom door creaked open. Sasha stood there, framed in the morning light, wearing nothing but my white button-down shirt, loosely done up.

​"Breakfast is getting cold, Mr Hart," she said, her voice playful but her eyes searching mine. "Are you working already?"

"Come here," I said, patting the edge of the mattress. "If you're going to be the one calling the shots behind the camera, you need to see the caliber of talent we're recruiting."

​Sasha set the plate of eggs and toast on the nightstand and slid onto the bed beside me. The scent of her—freshly showered and warm—mingled with the aroma of the breakfast. She leaned over my shoulder, her damp hair brushing against my cheek as we looked at the screen together.

​I tapped the third file on Lana's list.

-----------

​Name: Brianna Danger.

Age: 51.

Status: The Titan.

---------

​Sasha's breath hitched slightly as the profile loaded. "Brianna Danger? Druski, she's a force of nature. Even people who don't watch porn know who she is."

​I opened her XXX Global Hub channel. The stats were almost mythological: 1.5 million subscribers and a combined view count that eclipsed 3 billion. Brianna wasn't just a veteran; she was an institution of aggressive, high-energy performance. She had 15 years of dominance under her belt and a social media following that could rival mainstream celebrities.

​I scrolled through her latest "Corporate MILF" series. Every frame screamed authority. She had this way of looking at the camera—intense, hungry, and completely in control—that made it clear she didn't just participate in a scene; she owned it.

​"She's intense," Sasha murmured, her eyes tracking the screen. "Directing someone like her... she's going to have her own ideas. She's used to being the boss."

​"That's why I need you," I said, turning to look at her. "Lana and Holmes handle the factory girls. But for Ria, Brianna, and Jakie? They need a Director who understands the art, not just the mechanics. They need someone who can match their energy."

​Sasha looked at the screen, then back at me, a mixture of nerves and excitement dancing in her eyes. The reality of her new role was finally sinking in. We weren't just making videos anymore; we were managing icons.

​"Okay," Sasha said, her voice steadier now. "Who's the fourth? Let's see the final piece of the puzzle."

I tapped the third file, and the screen flickered to life with a profile that felt like it carried its own gravity.

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​Name: Lisa Bella.

Age: 53.

Career Stats: 500+ scenes.

-------------

​Sasha's coffee cup stopped halfway to her mouth. "Lisa Ann? Druski, you're not just looking for stars anymore. You're looking for the legend."

​I opened her official portal. The numbers were astronomical: a career spanning decades, with total views across the web comfortably sitting in the multi-billions. In 2013, she was the most searched human being in the industry. She wasn't just a veteran like Jakie or a brand like Ria—she was a cultural icon. She had parodied politicians, mentored hundreds of girls, and basically invented the modern "MILF" category.

​Lana's note at the bottom was highlighted in red: "She's officially retired from performing, but she still consults and directs. However... she's been watching the 'Banghouse' numbers. She likes the 'King' aesthetic. If you can convince her to come out of retirement for one final, elite New York production, the internet will literally break."

​"She's the final boss," I said, showing Sasha the screen. "Jakie is the experience. Ria is the class. Brianna is the power. But Lisa? Lisa is the legacy."

​Sasha leaned in, her eyes reflecting the glowing screen. "If I have to direct Lisa Bella... I'm going to need a lot more than just a camera and a script. She's seen everything. She's done everything. How do you even tell a legend what to do?"

​"You don't tell her," I said, my voice dropping. "You collaborate with her. You show her that the Banghouse isn't just another 'McDonald's' porn set. You show her it's art."

​Sasha looked at the three profiles we'd opened—the most powerful lineup in the history of adult entertainment. She seemed breathless, finally realizing that her first day as "Head Director" wasn't going to be in a studio with amateurs. She was going into the ring with titans.

​"This is insane," she whispered. "Monet is going to lose her mind when she sees the budget for these four."

​"Let her," I replied, closing the phone. "She wants a launch party that New York will never forget. I'm giving her the Four Horsewomen of the Apocalypse."

.....

​I stepped out of the bathroom, steam curling behind me, and moved into the dressing room. I bypassed the casual gear and went straight for the heavy hitters. I slid into a crisp, charcoal-gray tailored suit and a white Egyptian cotton shirt. No tie—I wanted to look like the man who owned the building, not the man who worked in it.

​I fastened my watch and walked into the kitchen.

​The morning light was pouring through the floor-to-ceiling windows, turning the stainless steel appliances into mirrors. Sasha was there, moving with a domestic grace that was a sharp contrast to the grit of the studio. She was still in my white button-down, her hair damp and messy, deftly flipping an omelet with the focus of a professional.

​"You look dangerous," she said without turning around, a smirk in her voice. "Are we going to a meeting or a funeral?"

​"In this industry? Usually both," I said, walking up behind her

My phone buzzed on the marble—a text from Two-Bit.

​"Downstairs. Engines hot. Ready when you are, boss."

​"He's here," I said, setting the phone down.

​Sasha didn't hesitate. She abandoned her coffee and rushed toward the bedroom. "Ten minutes! I just need to look like a Director and not a girl who just woke up in a billionaire's shirt."

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