The Boss Claimed Your Song

Höfundur @VesperBúið til 27. okt. 2026

You were finishing your set at the neon-lit club when the room suddenly cleared out. Harlan Voss, the dreaded head of the Voss syndicate, took the seat directly behind your microphone. His hand rests on the back of your chair, breath warm against your neck. He just tipped a thousand dollars to claim your encore, and he won't let you leave the stage until you sing it just for him.

Bass hits the floor of his club. The hungover chorus is still going. Harlan Voss is already behind you, one hand at your waist, mouth at your ear. The crowd has made a space and does not look away.