The car's engine cut with a quiet purr as Shan Wolf arrived at the address Gon Jun San had given. He didn't need to rely on directions. He already knew the place.
A sleek, underground pub tucked into the bones of the city, where darkness danced with power behind every glass and whispered conversation.
Sliding out of the driver's seat, Shan took a moment to adjust his black blazer, smoothing down his shirt.
The city's late-night breeze tousled his hair as he caught sight of Gon Jun San waiting at the entrance under the dull glow of a flickering neon sign.
"I see you had time to dress to impress," Gon Jun San remarked, eyeing Shan's clean, stylish appearance.
Shan adjusted his cuffs and smirked faintly. "If I'm meeting the Vice President for the first time, I gotta make myself extra neat, right?"
Gon gave a simple nod and turned, leading him through a discreet door and into the same elevator that descended to -3. The ride down was steeped in silence, echoing with memories of what had transpired before.
"Same elevator, same vibe," Shan thought to himself, his eyes scanning the numbers descending. But in his mind, he wasn't just descending floors—he was descending into another layer of a game he had no intention of losing. He thought about death. His death. Not the fear of it—but how to outplay it.
The elevator doors hissed open.
There she stood.
"Mr. Wolf. So glad you could make it," came the now-familiar purr of Vice President Jen Heo Won. She lounged by the bar like a serpent draped in silk, poised and predatory.
"Honestly, I was surprised to get an invite from you, ma'am," Shan said coolly, switching tactics from the last time. A different approach. More charm. Less distance.
"Care for a drink?" she asked with that same half-lidded gaze.
"No thanks. I'm driving. Plus, I just passed by a police checkpoint on the way here."
He lied smoothly.
"Suit yourself," Jen replied, motioning for him to follow as she swirled her drink with lazy elegance.
They sat in a private lounge where the air was heavy with cologne, dim light, and unsaid intentions.
"Anyway, the reason I called you here is to—"
"Has to do with Eva Kim, right?" Shan cut her off smoothly, his eyes narrowing with perceptive sharpness.
"My, you catch on quick, Mr. Wolf. And I must say, you look rather... ravishing in that black suit," Jen purred with amusement.
"Are you a man of dark tastes?" she added, teasing.
Shan leaned back casually. "Only if the night sky counts as casual wear."
A soft laugh escaped her lips. "Hehe... I like a man with dominance. But what really excites me is this—can you handle the heat?"
She swirled her whiskey again, the clinking of ice echoing like a ticking clock.
"But do tell... are you really the kind of man who takes what he wants?" she asked, her tone mocking yet inviting.
With a snap of her fingers, a door opened. A woman entered—barely dressed—and lay provocatively on the table. A bottle of chilled whiskey followed, poured slowly over her naked body, tracing curves with liquid glint.
Shan's brow lifted. He didn't flinch. Didn't shift.
"Men like you are always desperate... for bonuses, promotions, a better life," Jen said, her voice slick like oil. "Can you show me how desperate you are, Mr. Wolf? Try licking her... if you can."
The prostitute's body gleamed under the overhead light, droplets forming around her breasts, whiskey scent thick in the air. Jen leaned back, watching with cruel interest.
"It's hard, isn't it?" she mocked, letting the woman straddle Shan's lap.
"To do it in front of me. Most men can't get hard with me watching."
But Shan wasn't most men.
He kissed the prostitute without hesitation, hands gripping her firmly. His fingers ran down her spine before slipping lower. Her breath hitched.
Jen's smirk faltered.
Without warning, Shan inserted two fingers into the woman's rear, making her cry out in unexpected pleasure. He bit her neck lightly, made her writhe, and then lifted her with both arms, slamming her down on the table.
Jen's eyes widened. "Oi! I didn't tell you to—"
"You wanted to see desperation?" Shan snapped, voice laced with ice. "Then here's your fucking answer."
He took her in his arms again, plunging into the prostitute with raw strength. Her legs wrapped around him, nails digging into his shoulders.
"Ah! So good! You're making me crazy, sir!" she moaned.
Jen, despite herself, found her thighs shifting under the table. Her lips parted. Her breath was quick.
"How is he doing that?" she muttered, enthralled.
When it was done, Shan stepped back. The woman lay limp, blissed and broken.
He turned to Jen.
She froze.
He marched up to her, eyes dark and unwavering. With a loud SLAM, his hand hit the wall beside her face.
"I hope you enjoyed the show—" he began, only to catch a fist flying toward him. Without looking, he snatched it mid-air. Gon Jun San's bald head flashed behind the fist.
"As I was saying, until your bald assistant interrupted—Don't. Fuck. With. Me."
In a flash, he yanked Gon Jun San and slammed him on the same table. Glasses shattered. Liquor sprayed. The prostitute scrambled away.
Jen stared in silence. No longer smiling but in disdain. This wasn't a game.
This was war.
Not one of just fists.
But of politics, dominance—and survival.
Shan look at Jen Heo eye to eye. Their face with disdains and showing fear at each of them.
Shan already know. This was no battlefield.
This mean's war.
Chapter 27 — End.