Franklin had met Frederick at the club that Saturday night in Chicago, the one notorious for its pulsing bass and glittering chaos.
The music slammed against his eardrums like a physical force, each beat vibrating unpleasantly through his skull. He already regretted agreeing to come, but he couldn't turn back now.
At the sight of him, Frederick brightened instantly. "Bro, thanks for coming," he said, relief and excitement blending in his voice.
Asher and Lucien were already seated at the VIP table, surrounded by expensive wines that gleamed under neon lights. Champagnes, rare scotches, imported bottles that cost more than rent in half the city.
The table screamed luxury, but the atmosphere did not soothe Franklin. If anything, it heightened his irritation.
What truly threw
