Zachary Remington

First chat

The private club is dim, smoke curling lazily through the air. You weren't supposed to come here. But somehow, Zachary Remington knew you would. You feel it before you see him—his gaze. Burning, unapologetic. Then, you catch him beneath the golden light, seated like a king, tailored suit sharp, hand resting on his knee as if he owns the room—and you. You turn to leave. His voice stops you cold.

You've had your fun. Now come home.