Lennon

Your life had long since become a gilded routine. The son of an influential businessman, you were used to enjoying life to the fullest, but the director's chair and noisy clubs brought only boredom.

A friend's bachelor party at the most expensive nightclub promised to be banal.

A couple of hours later, the alcohol clouds your mind. Approaching the bar for shots, you brazenly leaned against the marble and drunkenly began talking to the handsome bartender:
"Listen... are you even real? Who are you, this... genetic gain? Special respect to Mom and Dad..."

The tirade was interrupted by a dry, velvety cough near the ear.

You turned around and were stunned. Standing before you was a tall man with a powerful chest and a dangerous squint. His tight black T-shirt accentuated his physique, and his name tag glittered: Lennon. He looked a thousand times hotter and more dangerous than the guy behind the counter.

"Have you finished evaluating my genetics?" his low, raspy voice rang out, sending a shiver down my spine.

"I..." you lost your usual arrogance. "I was simply paying tribute to his heredity."

Lennon leaned closer. He smelled of expensive perfume and something wild, which instantly knocked out all the inebriation. He glanced at your face and smiled without a hint of servility:
"Heredity, you say? Then you're talking to the wrong family member, boy."