Life is so fucking cruel. You can want so many things, dream so hard, but never get any of it. It sucks. I never planned to live like this. I didn't choose this path, yet every single day I find myself stuck in it, again and again. Like a cycle I can't break. When I was little, I dreamt of being so many things. I had wild illusions about the future: freedom, love, success, hell, even peace. But this? This life I'm living now? This was never part of the dream. If someone had told me back then that this is how things would turn out, I'd have laughed in their face and called them delusional. I sigh, dragging my feet to my father's office. I don't know what he wants from me. Today was supposed to be my off day, my one day to be human, to do the things I love. Unless... No. He can't know my secret. I can't let that happen. I'm 24 years old, not some little kid he can push around anymore. But who the hell am I kidding? This man would walk through fire just to make sure I'm under his control. Always playing his twisted little mind games. That's why I never call him my father. To me, he's just a sperm donor, and he'll never be addressed as anything more. I knock twice on his office door. "Come in," he growls. Pushing the door open, I walk in. He's already staring at me with those cold, malicious eyes. "You can have a seat," he says, motioning toward the chair across from him. "I'm good standing," I reply flatly, arms folded. "Fine. Stand like the fool you are. I don't care." I scoff. This grumpy bastard... "Why am I here? Today's supposed to be my off day," I state, arms still crossed. "How is that my concern, mister?" Ugh. This son of a bitch. "What do you even do with your off days anyway?" "None of your business, Mr.," I snap, eyes narrowing. "Don't you dare talk to me like that!" he barks, slamming his hand on the desk as he stands up. He throws a file at me. "I want you to go to the BDSM club and get information on this guy." He points at a picture on his desk. "No questions. Do as I say. Now get the hell out of my office." I sigh, snatch the file, and walk out into the corridor. The moment I shut the door behind me, I pull out my phone and dial Amanda. She answers on the first ring. "Hello?" "Hey. You busy?" "Not much. Wassup?" "I need your help. My father wants me to go to a BDSM club to get information on some guy." "Oop! Are you scared of going to a BDSM club all by yourself?" she teases. I keep my face as neutral as possible. "Shut up. Don't make this harder than it already is," I say through clenched teeth. She bursts into laughter, like I just said the funniest thing ever. Sometimes I wonder how she laughs like that, so freely. Will there ever be a day I'll laugh like that? "Alright, alright. I won't tease. I promise," she says between giggles. "Just get ready. I'll pick you up in five." "Okay. Bye." "Bye." I walk to my car, throwing one last look behind me. I don't live under my father's roof anymore, and thank God for that. But somehow, he still manages to control me. Every. Single. Time.

I slow down as the familiar building comes into view. Once I get to the gate, I nod at the security man. He opens it without question. No need for explanations. They know me too well by now. I drive through, park, and get out of the car. Walking up to the front door, I ring the bell. I'm just about to press it again when the door swings open with force. Amanda stands there, glaring at me like she wants to strangle me. "Good afternoon to you too, Amanda," I say with a blank expression. She rolls her eyes, clearly annoyed. Did I piss her off? Or was she already angry before I got here? Ugh, I don't even know. "I've told you so many times to stop ringing the damn doorbell. You can literally open the door and come in. This is your home too, Ian." She gives me a sad look as she steps aside. I sigh. "Alright, it won't happen again," I mumble as I walk past her into the house. "That's what you said the last fucking time, you dickhead," she mutters behind me. I pretend not to hear that. Not my business. "Where are your parents?" I ask, looking around for any signs of them. "They went on a trip." "Aww, too bad. They'll miss seeing this handsome face today," I say, rubbing my fingers along my chin in mock arrogance. Amanda gives me an amused look. "You wish." I open my mouth to fire back something witty but stop. I remember why I came here in the first place. I drop onto the sofa, cross my legs, and take off my sunglasses. "Have a seat," I say, motioning to Amanda, who's still standing by the door. She raises a brow. "This is my house, Ian. You don't get to tell me to sit." "Ohh, I see how it is," I say with a smirk. She walks over and sits down anyway. "So, what's your plan?" I scratch the back of my neck. "Umm... first of all, what exactly is a BDSM club? I've never heard of that before." Amanda's playful demeanor fades. She gives me a look, one of pity, and something else I can't quite name. She takes a deep breath before answering. "Well... a BDSM club is kind of a sex club," she starts cautiously. "There's stripping... shows... and, uh, some kinky stuff." "Kinky stuff?" I blink. "Can you elaborate a little more on that part?" "No," she says firmly, face hardening. "That's all you need to know." "Okay, chill. Relax, jeez." "I'm sorry, Ian," she says, softer this time. "It's just... I don't know how to explain it properly. The details are kind of... complicated." "Oh. Alright. I get it." That's a lie. I have no idea what she's talking about. If it isn't obvious already, I'm an illiterate when it comes to stuff like this. Growing up, my father only taught me about Mafia shit, nothing useful or normal. It's Amanda who's been teaching me little things over time. She's my lifeline whenever I need to understand the world beyond guns and threats. "So, what's the plan?" she asks again, clapping her hands together. I smirk. "You seduce him to get the information, while I watch to make sure you're safe." She glares. "You're unbelievable. Are you using me as bait?" "No! I'm just saying... you're a woman, he likes women, and you're, well, you're pretty." "Fine, fine. I'll do it," she groans. "No need to keep convincing me." "Alright then," I say with a small victorious grin. She jumps up. "Now, let's get dressed, so we don't look suspicious." The way she's smiling... it's almost evil. Like she's got something wicked planned.

I was sitting on Amanda's bed, half-slouched, playing Subway Surfers on my phone. I still don't understand how this damn game has no ending. I've been playing it for, what, five years now? Amanda introduced it to me back when things were a little less... intense. "Hey, how do I look?" I glanced up and nearly dropped my phone. Amanda stood there dressed in tight black leather, an outfit that left little to the imagination. It hugged her curves perfectly and gave her boobs a kind of dangerous attention. She reminded me of one of those cringe cartoon characters she always forces me to watch. "You look like one of those girls that dances on poles," I said, deadpan. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You know," I added, "like the ones from that last party we went to." "Ohh," she said, then burst into laughter, throwing her head back like I was the funniest person alive. "You mean strippers, Ian." "Yeah, them. So they're called strippers, noted." Still giggling, she stepped forward. "Okay, but seriously, how do I look?" I scoffed, keeping my expression neutral. "Good enough to seduce him." "Urrgh, you scumbag." --- We got to the club and made our way to the entrance. The bouncer was bulky, like he was going for a war, arms crossed and expression blank. We showed him our IDs. No words were exchanged, just a nod, and he let us in. Inside, the place was already pulsing with bass. Neon lights. Heavy scents of alcohol and expensive perfume. It smelled like sweat and something I couldn't put a name on. Amanda made a beeline for the VIP section in the corner, where our target was sitting. I went to the counter and took a seat. "What can I offer you, sir?" the bartender asked. He looked young, like, barely-legal young. Maybe 18, 19 tops. "Some soda will do." He handed me a glass. I took a sip. God. If this is what soda tastes like, then it'll be good sticking to my coffee. I turned my head slightly toward the VIP area and spotted Amanda already on the guy's lap. Gross. But hey, at least the plan was working. That ridiculous outfit might have actually done the trick. Just then, something caught my eye. A guy two seats away from me. Sunglasses on. Indoors. Who the hell wears sunglasses to a club? He was downing glass after glass. Eventually, he gave up entirely and started drinking straight from the bottle. His vibe was all kinds of chaotic. Still... I couldn't look away. He looked a little taller than me. I'm 6'3", but he had me by maybe an inch. Though I definitely had more muscle, well, not that I had much. He had long black hair tied into a low ponytail, but strands fell across his face. From the looks of it, he was already drunk. Or on his way there. That's when I noticed Amanda walking quickly toward me. "We have to go. Right now," she said, her voice low and urgent. She looked tense, like someone had just pulled a gun out behind her. I turned my eyes toward the guy in sunglasses again. He was slumped over, half-passed out. "I'm not leaving him here," I said. "What? Ian, we don't even know him! And shit is about to go down. We need to get the fuck out of here!" "We're not going without him," I snapped. Amanda looked at me, studying my face. Searching for a reason. Probably realizing I wasn't going to back down. "Fine. But he's your responsibility. Not mine." We grabbed him, he was heavier than he looked, and dragged him out to the car. We drove off, the club getting smaller in the rearview mirror. We weren't even a mile away when we heard it. Gunshots. Screams. Chaos. I tightened my grip on the steering wheel. Thank God I didn't have to pull a trigger tonight.