Roxana

The bassline crawled up Roxana’s spine like a second heartbeat.

She didn’t move immediately. She let the first few notes hang in the air before the lyrics poured through the speakers.

"Everywhere is freaks and hairies, dykes and fairies… tell me, where is sanity?"

She raised her arms above her head, swaying with lazy, feline grace. Her fingers trailed down the pole as her golden hair fell forward, veiling her face.

"Tax the rich, feed the poor… ‘til there are no rich no more..."

She pushed up from the floor in a fluid arch, back curving. Her movement held defiance, not just seduction. There was something untamed in her body language, like she danced for herself first.

The chorus hit, and she smiled.

The lights pulsed with the beat as she twisted into a slow, controlled turn.

"I’d love to change the world… but I don’t know what to do..."

She stepped toward the edge of the golden cage, curling her fingers around the bars. Her head tilted as she gazed through them at the sea of faces.

Then she turned her back on the crowd.

"Life is funny, skies are sunny, bees make honey… who needs money?"

She mouthed the words with a smile that meant nothing and everything all at once.

The performance ended. She didn’t rush. She walked offstage like she was stepping out of a dream. But just as she made it to the back hallway, she felt it—someone waiting.

A man stood near the dressing rooms. Broad-shouldered, arms crossed, posture patient but firm. Not a bouncer. Not a suit.

Trouble.

Her first thought was her young brother. He had a talent for attracting all kind of bad omens, and her gut twisted at the idea he might have done something stupid. Her eyes, ice-blue and sharp, scanned the corridor.

No sign of him. Just the well-dressed stranger.

“Follow me,” he said, barely sparing her costume a glance. She frowned.

“Who wants to see me?”

“The boss.” Impatient now, as if running late.

She raised a brow. Chaos was her second language, and this kind of demand only made her more playful.

“I don’t answer to any boss.”

“Everybody answers to this boss,” he said, stopping.

She crossed her arms and clicked her tongue.

“Well, I don’t. Tell your mighty boss if he wants to talk, he can come down here.”

He looked torn between threatening and begging.

“Trust me, you want to meet him. It’ll be worth your time. You’ll walk away with a lot of cash.”

She arched a brow, laughed dryly.

“Fuck no,” she said, planting one heel. “I’m not that kind of dancer, pal.”

“That’s not what this is,” he said too quickly.

Roxana tilted her head, golden hair falling over her shoulder.

“Oh really? A powerful man summons me, sends his trained mutt, and I’m supposed to believe it’s not about that?” She smirked. “Come on, sweetheart. Do better. It’s always about that with these old farts.”

“You’re getting me into a lot of trouble, doll. If I go back without you, I look like an idiot.”

She licked her lips slowly, savoring his panic.

“So you need me on your side,” she purred. “What do I get out of this?”

“What do you need? You already said it’s not about money.”

She grinned.

“Give me your name.”

“Matt.”

“Let’s say you owe me a favor then, Matt.”

“Let’s say I do,” he muttered.

She followed.

Matt led her away from the ground floor and up toward the VIP section. As they climbed the stairs, the lights dimmed. The music faded.

“Don’t speak unless he does first,” Matt instructed.

That was a sign. Whoever she was about to meet had real power. The VIP level was cleared. Two more hounds leaned on the railing, watching.

She entered slowly, eyes scanning the room. No rush. No fear.

When Matt stepped aside, her gaze was drawn immediately to the man seated on the couch.

Not an old man and definitely not what she expected.

She smiled.

“Not the best view from up here,” she said casually, glancing toward the stage. She was told not to speak first, but orders were rarely her thing.

The man on the couch raised an eyebrow, gaze sliding over her. Then he gestured for the others to give them privacy.

“I saw well enough,” he said.

He was fine. Roxana rarely noticed men that way. She had the kind of beauty that drew stares. So did her brother. Most people never saw past that. But the man on the couch had something more powerful: he had presence.

A Sagawa, clearly. The features, the posture. But he wasn't the old man, or the heir, Roxana had heard about them often enough in the year she'd been in town. But not enough to be familiar with the whole extended family.

“Then why am I here?” she asked. She didn’t approach yet.

“I’d like to see more. Will you dance for me?”

He said it like a gentleman but she read the steel layer under the smoothness of his voice.

“I’m not that kind of dancer,” she replied. Her gaze flicked to his drink. “But I wouldn’t say no to a drink.”

“I didn’t specify what kind of dance. Or are you not the kind of dancer who only performs for a crowd?”

He gestured, and a second glass was brought to the table immediately.

Roxana stepped closer.

“Then clarify,” she invited, watching him closely.

“Why don’t you sit first and tell me what kind of dancer you are? So I don’t insult you with my next request.”

He poured two drinks and she finally smiled, relaxing at the gesture.

“I’m the classy kind, Mister...?”

“Renji.” No surname needed.

“Then would you offer me a classy dance?”

“It will cost you, Renji,” she said, letting his name roll off her tongue.

He took a sip before answering, eyes never leaving her. “Name the price.”

“What car are you driving, Renji?”

“Maybach S-Class.” said like it was nothing.

She hated that but it didn't show on her doll face.

“That’s what it will cost you. Do we have a deal?”

“My car for a dance?” He pushed the keys forward. “I’ll let you drive it. To my place.”

The man was smug without being condescending, which was an achivement in itself.

“If I let you leave with those keys, they’d stop you before you hit the next block.”

She laughed softly, taking the drink poured for her and emptying it in one drink. “You’re right,”

She stepped between his legs. He didn’t move or blink.

“You look,” she whispered. “No touch.”

“Not until you ask me to.”

Smart man.

She stepped back, hips swaying, and danced slowly, teasingly. It might have been a song or three, she lost count, and so did he. When she fianlly leaned in again, breath ghosting the edge of his jaw, her smile was predatory.

“Enjoying your investment, Renji?”

“I think I want to see you drive my car. Now.”

The now wasn’t shouted, but it had the kind of weight that cted like a electricity down her spine and into her system. It was lust, it was impatience, it was raw. And Roxana could tell, even without knowing him, that this wasn’t a man who acted on impulse often.

She didn’t wait for another word. Her fingers slid over the table and plucked up the keys.