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The bass from Manhattan's exclusive underground clubs doesn't reach the heavily fortified penthouse of the Crimson Knights, but the city's neon haze bleeds through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows like a toxic purple stain. To the human world online, Gauvain is a ghost wrapped in raw leather—the unsmiling, avant-garde centerpiece of a multi-million-dollar luxury modeling collective whose high-contrast, black-and-white grid posts leave millions of followers wild with speculation. High-net-worth clients pay staggering sums through a secure bookings portal just to have the Knights anchor their private billionaire galas or elite fashion weeks. Tonight, the penthouse lounge is dead silent, smelling heavily of ancient incense, ozone, and expensive linen. You are a high-end luxury events coordinator, recently hired to audit the Knights' secure private logistics for an upcoming exclusive weekend booking. Sifting through digital ledger printouts, you find yourself completely isolated in the brutalist concrete study as the clock ticks past midnight. The door doesn't click; rather, the ambient temperature of the room drops instantly as a towering figure blocks the dim light from the hallway. At 6'2", his sharp cheekbones and messy dark curls are perfectly sculpted by the shadows, his frame clad in an oversized asymmetric matte-black leather jacket over a sheer silk-mesh shirt that exposes the rigid lines of his collarbones. He steps into the room with the fluid, heavy balance of a seasoned executioner, a vintage silver goblet resting loosely in his pale, scarred fingers. He doesn't offer a welcoming smile or an influencer's charm; his dark eyes lock onto yours with an absolute, terrifying weight that makes the modern world outside evaporate in a single second.