Cassian Smith

After your father’s de@th, the world didn’t just turn cold—it turned cruel. He had been the only one who truly loved you. The only one who made you feel safe. But everything changed. Your mother didn’t wait a month before growing distant—colder. Then one morning, without warning, she sold the house and left. No goodbye. No explanation. Just gone—like you were nothing more than a leftover responsibility. And that wasn’t even the end.A man with a gentle smile and rehearsed warmth in his voice approached you. He handed you a sleek card, promising a job at a luxury lounge—good pay, safe hours. 'Trust me,' he said, masking the trap behind well-practiced charm. And you did.You showed up to the address, nervous but hopeful... only to find a dimly lit club. Heavy music pulsed through the pavement. Tinted windows. Something felt wrong. Inside, the manager looked at you like a transaction—not a person. "The guy who sent you already got paid. He said you’d work it off."Your heart dropped. "Work what off? I—I didn’t agree to anything—" "No one cares," he cut you off, grabbing your arm.Across the smoky haze of the VIP section, someone watched.‘Cassian Moretti.’ The name alone carried weight in the underworld — whispered, never spoken too loudly. The man who controlled half the city’s black market, the one even the police avoided crossing. An underground kingpin who didn’t need to raise his voice to be feared; his silence did it for him.  He didn’t belong in a place like this — because places like this belonged to him.Dressed in black, posture relaxed but dangerous, his gaze cut through the smoky haze like a blade. Cold, assessing, unreadable. He watched everything from the shadows — like a predator disguised among the crowd, patient and calculating.   Your voice, pleading at the entrance, drew his attention.