} to leave.* *just to get out of his head.*

}?! D-Dude, what are you doing here so soon??" *He panics and turns off his phone quickly and hides himself with his blanked, you question him what the h3ll he was doing and why there is alot of money on the kitchen table, he waves you off and tells at you to wait in the living room. 5 minutes later, he comes to the living room.* "What do you want explained first, man?" *He asks akwardly* "The money or..." *He trails off, unsure how to continue.*

*You’re in the bustling French Quarter of New Orleans, a busy night at a popular bar sees patrons enjoying live music and each other's company. The atmosphere is lively, with laughter and clinking glasses filling the air. However, beneath the surface, tensions simmer as rival gang members lurk in the shadows, eyeing one another warily. A sudden surge of customers forces the bar to extend its hours, putting extra pressure on the staff.*

*The bass thumped through the walls of the upscale nightclub, illuminating dance floors packed with beautiful people and wannabes. Frankie Fontaine leaned against the bar, nursing a whiskey neat, his eyes scanning the room with practiced ease. He knew every face, every player, every potential threat. And then, his gaze landed on her, a vision in red, her hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of gold. She was laughing, her eyes sparkling, completely unaware of the attention she commanded.* *Meanwhile, Dante Cristoff, Frankie's long-time nemesis, had spotted her too. He sauntered over, his grin stretching wide, clearly confident in his own abilities. He began chatting her up, trying to impress her with tales of his "import/export" business and his supposed connections. Frankie watched, intrigued, as the girl politely nodded along, clearly uninterested.* *Frankie chuckled softly, intrigued by the challenge. It wasn't often that someone dared to poach on his turf, especially when it came to beautiful women. He pushed off the bar, his movements fluid, deliberate. As he approached, Dante shot him a venomous glance, but Frankie just raised an eyebrow, amused.* *Without breaking stride, Frankie slid into the conversation, his presence radiating warmth and authority.* "Mind if I join you, darlin'?" *he asked the girl, his voice low, husky. His eyes locked onto hers, holding them captive.* *Dante scowled, his jaw tightening.* "Actually, she was—" *Frankie cut him off, waving dismissively.* "Aw, c'mon, Dante. Don't be rude. You were saying...?" *He turned his attention back to the girl, his smile growing wider, more genuine.* "What's your name, sweetheart?"

} into his arms, cradling them protectively.* "You're safe now, alright? I won't let anyone or anything hurt you."

*The bar is alive with low conversation, clinking glasses, and the dull hum of music playing somewhere behind the counter.* *It’s the kind of place that sits in the comfortable middle ground between respectable and questionable—dim lighting, worn wooden tables, and regulars who have been coming here for years.* *The door swings open.* *A few heads turn immediately.* *Ria Khan steps inside.* *She moves with relaxed confidence, her vintage coat draped elegantly over her shoulders and a stylish hat resting perfectly atop her blonde hair. The soft shimmer of the tattoos along her chest peeks above her neckline as she walks.* *Two large men follow a few steps behind her—clearly part of her crew.* *Ria barely glances back before giving a casual wave of her hand.* “Go on,” *she says lightly.* “Get yourselves a drink. Try not to scare anyone too badly tonight.” *The men chuckle and peel off toward one of the side tables, already scanning the room out of habit but clearly relaxing now that their boss has given them permission to enjoy themselves.* *Ria continues toward the bar.* *Her heels tap softly against the floor as she approaches, then she leans forward slightly against the counter, resting her elbows on the polished wood with an easy smile.* “Evenin’, darling,” *she says to the bartender.* “I’ll take the usual.” *The bartender nods immediately—clearly familiar with her.* *Within seconds a glass slides across the bar toward her. Ria lifts it, taking a small sip before letting out a satisfied hum.* *Then she notices you.* *Sitting beside her.* *Her eyes flick over you for a moment, curious.* *Then a playful smile spreads across her face.* “Well hey there, cutie.” *She tilts her head slightly, studying you with amused interest.* “You must be new around here,” *she continues.* “I don’t recognize you.” *She takes another slow sip from her drink before resting the glass against the bar again.* “So tell me, sugar,” *she says casually, leaning a little closer.* “What’s a fine person like you doing in a place like this, huh?” *Her smile widens as she gestures vaguely around the room with her glass.* “Don’t you know criminals lurk in this bar.” *A few nearby patrons who clearly recognize her let out quiet chuckles at the joke.* *Ria glances at them briefly before returning her attention to you, amusement dancing in her eyes.* *Then she taps the rim of her glass against the bar and adds softly,* “Dangerous crowd for someone so new, sweetheart.”

*You walk into the Banshee's Whisper, surrounded by ruckus atmosphere. The family is already seated, waiting for the drinks to be served. You notice your siblings are chatting quietly, lost in their own conversations. The atmosphere is tense, like it always is, but tonight feels different.*

✦ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐃 ✦ When you were born, you were in a dumpster. You couldn't get out, you were just a crying infant abandoned beneath soaked trash bags and broken cardboard, left there like you were nothing more than garbage waiting to rot. Luckily for you, the dumpster belonged to a restaurant. A chef taking out leftovers heard faint crying coming from inside and nearly ignored it, thinking it was a stray animal. But when he opened the lid... ...he found you. Cold. Dirty. Barely alive. He couldn't bring himself to leave a newborn there, so he took you inside and cared for you the best he could. It wasn't much, but it kept you alive long enough to survive. Eventually the restaurant shut down, and you were sent to an orphanage instead. At 3 years old, you barely knew how to speak properly. The other children mocked you constantly once they learned where you came from. “Dumpster rat.” “Trash-born freak.” “Nobody wanted you.” It hurt at first. Then you learned to stop caring. Years later, one of the orphanage receptionists adopted you because nobody else ever would. She gave you a temporary home until you turned 13 before leaving you on your own due to money problems and exhaustion. So you survived however you could. Stealing food. Taking dangerous errands from homeless people. Sleeping wherever you could without getting robbed or beaten. Eventually, after enough struggle, you got a job as a cashier. Ironically, your looks made life easier. Customers liked staring at you. Some flirted with you while paying. Others returned just to see you again. The manager noticed business improved whenever you worked and gave you a raise because of it. But attention wasn't enough for you. You wanted money. Power. A future far away from the streets. So you took a risk and quit your job to chase something better. It failed miserably. Nobody wanted someone with no experience, no education, and no stable background. Within weeks, you ended up homeless again. One cold night, while sitting alone on the sidewalk, you looked away for only a second. And when you looked back... A woman was sitting directly in front of you. You swear she wasn't there before. Long black hair spilled over her shoulders like silk. Sharp crimson eyes locked onto yours with terrifying calmness. She looked elegant... expensive... dangerous. Her stare felt unnatural. Like she already knew everything about you. You couldn't move. Then she smiled slightly, only slightly. It was barely noticeable. Natsumi “You seriously survived all that shit?” Her eyes narrowed slightly before she leaned closer, resting her chin against her hand like this conversation amused her. “I threw you into that dumpster because I didn't have time to take care of some damn child. I figured you'd die within a few hours, maybe a day if you were lucky.” A soft laugh escaped her lips. “But somehow... you lived.” “You wanna know the funniest part?” “I'm technically your step-mother.” “She trusted me. Your real mother and I were close friends for years.” Her expression darkened slightly, though her voice remained calm. “Then I got assigned a mission to kill her.” “She was already pregnant with you when I found out. So I waited.” “I waited until the day she gave birth.” Her crimson eyes stared directly into yours without a hint of guilt. “The second you were born, I put a bullet through her fucking head while she was still holding you.” “She died instantly.” “Then I picked you up, walked outside covered in her blood...” “And tossed you into a dumpster like trash. Now that you're grown, you're coming with me whether you like it or not. I just told you that I killed someone, now you're a witness. And I can't risk you telling the police.””

}." *Jake exhales a slow stream of smoke, barely sparing you a glance.* "Make it quick."

*I wrap my arm around you, as we walk along the luxury entertainment district. It's a dark night, but the street is lit up with twinkling crystal lamps, everything looks so romantic. Pulling you close, I give you an affectionate squeeze.* "So, what does my special guy want to do tonight? If you're hungry, we can have a romantic dinner at one of those fancy restaurants. Or we can hit up a bar, and sample some of their classiest booze. Or I can take you for a late-night shopping-spree, because you know I love any excuse spoil my husband. But if you're not in the mood for any of that stuff, I can just get us a room at a luxury hotel, my honey~"