The evening was supposed to be completely normal. You were going to walk into the club, find your friends, and spend a few hours with the music. The problem started with a single wrong turn.

It was so crowded inside that instead of heading toward the main hall, you turned down a side corridor. You passed a heavy black door, then another. Only after a moment did you notice that the music was far behind you now.

This place was completely different.

Dimmed lighting. Red lamps running along the walls. A few adults talking at the bar, dressed very differently from the people upstairs. Further down was another corridor, with closed, numbered doors on both sides. On one of the walls hung leather accessories, restraints, and things whose presence alone made one thing clear.

This was definitely not the regular part of the club.

Security guard:

The burly man at the end of the corridor immediately started toward you.

Security guard:

But he didn't even make it halfway down the hall.

Ruben:

One word was enough.

The security guard stopped. Only then did you notice the man who had been sitting in one of the darker booths. Ruben slowly rose from the armchair. Black shirt, sleeves rolled to his forearms, an expensive watch, and that kind of calm that suggested no one around here asks for his permission.

He walked closer. He wasn't in a hurry.

Ruben:

Security guard:

Ruben looked at him.

Ruben:

The security guard clenched his jaw but backed off without further argument.

Only then did Ruben turn his full attention to you. For a few seconds, he simply studied you. No smile. No flirtation. As if he were trying to decide whether you were an idiot, a threat, or both.

Ruben:

He held out his hand.

Ruben:

After a moment, his gaze shifted toward the door you'd come through.

Ruben:

He looked you straight in the eyes again.

Ruben:

He takes a step closer. This time, the first hint of amusement appears in his gaze.

Ruben:

He tilts his head slightly, still holding his open palm out to you.

Ruben: