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At Double Seven Club.
Double Seven Club pulsed with loud, hypnotic beats.
However, unknown to many, inside one of its VIP rooms, the atmosphere could not have been more opposite.
The room was completely soundproof and well–sealed, so not even the vibration from the loud music outside could be felt.
And it’s different from any other VIP room in the club. It is large and luxurious, styled like a private lounge for the rich.
Soft neon lights glowed along the ceiling, changing from blue to violet in slow waves.
A low black marble table sat in the center,
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surrounded by deep leather sofas that had a fragrance like an expensive cologne.
The bar counter on one side showcased imported liquor, displayed like precious jewelry. Tinted windows overlooked the beach, but the curtains were drawn, letting the dim, intimate light take
over.
Expensive drinks were lined neatly on the table. Champagne worth thousands, bottles of whisky, gin, brandy, and a bucket filled with ice and clear crystal glasses.
There were also fruit platters, macarons,
imported chocolates, and even Shine Muscat grapes glistening like jewels. Yet none of the men inside touched any of it.
Four men occupied the room.
Three of them sat quietly, listening to the music while drinking only water.
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Their posture and eyes gave away their identity. They were not here to enjoy the club. They were
here on a mission.
The fourth man, Ethan Wright, was seated at the far end of the sofa. The faint glow from his phone illuminated his sharp, calm features.
He had not touched his drink or even looked at the snacks in front of him. His expression had not shifted once since they entered.
For an entire hour, no one spoke.
Finally, one of the men cleared his throat carefully. “Boss, should we move now?”
Ethan lifted his eyes from his phone and stood. “Yes. Do it fast. I will wait in the car.”
He grabbed a Shine Muscat grape from the table, rolled it between his fingers as if testing its
quality, then popped it into his mouth before heading to the door.
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The three men immediately followed him out, but
then diverted into the VIP room next door.
The moment they entered, the atmosphere shifted completely.
Inside sat three wealthy young men, clearly the children of the city’s most affluent families.
They were laughing loudly, drinks in hand, completely unaware of the world outside their
alcohol cloud.
Bottles of tequila, vodka, and cognac were
scattered all over the table. One of the men kept insisting he was still sober while nearly falling off the couch.
On the other side of the room lay another young man, passed out on a sofa with his arms spread wide. His hair was messy, his shirt was undone, and by the smell alone, it was apparent he mixed alcohol with something he should not have: drugs.
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He was Maxime Knight—the heir of the powerful
Knight family.
There he was, drooling slightly on a velvet cushion while the others partied on.
One of Ethan’s men approached the other three drunk rich boys. “Gentlemen, sorry to interrupt. We are here to pick up our young master.”
The three young men stared at the intruders, their expressions filled with confusion.
“Our young master?” one repeated.
“Maxime Knight,” Ethan’s second man added helpfully.
“Ohhh,” the drunkest one said, pointing carelessly at the sofa. “Take him. He said he wants to fly. Said he wants snacks too. Did you bring snacks?”
Ethan’s men exchanged looks.
“What kind of snacks did he ask for?” the third
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man asked with a serious tone, as if the question mattered more than the mission.
“Chicken nuggets…” the rich boy whispered dramatically, then leaned forward as if sharing a
secret. “Also fries. And bubble tea. But he never
finished the bubble tea. His dog always bottoms it
up.”
“His dog drinks bubble tea?” another man echoed.
“Yeah. His dog, Snoopy.”
Their expressions went blank.
“…Maxime does not have a dog,” Ethan’s first man
muttered.
“He does now!” the boy insisted. “He bought it
last week. He said it looked like his brother.”
They all stared at him, unsure if he was hallucinating or just drunk.
“Anyway, take him. But be gentle,” the young man
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said, patting one of the men on the shoulder. “He is fragile. Emotionally.”
“We will keep that in mind,” the man replied with a straight face.
The three men approached the sleeping Maxime.
“Young master, time to go home,” one whispered.
Maxime did not move.
“Young master,” another tried again, poking his
cheek.
Still nothing.
The third man sighed. “Alright. Grab his legs.”
They lifted him with practiced ease. Maxime groaned softly, eyes still shut.
“Is he alive?” asked the drunk boy, leaning close
like a curious toddler.
“Yes,” the man said calmly. “He is just sleeping.”
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“Snoopy sleeps like that, too,” the boy added proudly.
They ignored him.
Dragging Maxime out of the VIP room, the three men moved swiftly down the dim hallway. The operation was silent and perfectly synchronized.
No staff noticed anything.
Even the CCTV cameras had been deactivated
twenty minutes earlier.
The back door opened quietly.
A black van sat waiting, engine running.
The sliding door opened instantly. One of the men inside reached out and pulled Maxime in with surprising strength. The three men climbed in, shut the door, and the van disappeared into the night.
It was executed so cleanly that even a trained
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observer would have thought nothing happened.
Like a textbook kidnapping; Smooth. Fast. Silent.
Inside the van, Ethan sat in the passenger seat beside the driver. He glanced behind him.
Maxime Knight is sitting in the backseat, sleeping with his mouth open. Every few seconds, he mumbled something incomprehensible.
At one point, he whispered, “Chicken nuggets… my stupid Dog!”
Ethan stared at him for three seconds, blinked once, then faced forward again.
The driver kept his eyes on the road. “Boss, we will arrive at the basement camp in one hour.”
“Make it less than one!”
“Yes, sir!”
The van accelerated.
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Ethan leaned back, pulled out his phone, and
typed a message.
“Successfully got the package. Heading to Basecamp. Arrival in less than one hour.”
After sending the update to Axel, he typed another text to Collins. He needs to make sure they are clear.
“We are Done! Make sure there are no traces left.”
He turned off his phone and rested his elbow against the window, letting the passing lights reflect against his features.
The kidnapping had gone exactly as planned.
Not a single soul would realize Maxime Knight had been taken.
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Sara Lili
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.