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"Mmm… nice job, Dracula." Horace's deep, commanding voice sliced through the silence like a blade. His dark eyes glimmered with quiet authority as he leaned back against his mahogany desk, his fingers tapping rhythmically. "Xavier," he called smoothly.
Without hesitation, Xavier stepped forward, his movements crisp and confident. He set a black, steel-edged suitcase on the desk, snapped it open, and turned it toward the figure standing across the room. Bundles of crisp dollar notes filled the case to the brim — billions gleaming under the office light like treasure.
Dracula's lips curved into a sinister smile. "Thank you, Alpha Horace," he said, bowing slightly. "I'm always at your service, whenever you need me." His voice was slick as venom. And with that, he vanished into thin air — leaving behind only the faint scent of smoke and darkness.
Horace exhaled slowly, straightening his coat.
Another deal sealed.
