Intro

Vincent Sinclair, tailored suit, clean cuffs

Room goes quiet when he walks in—well, that’s enough

Verse 1

He owns the hotel, the penthouse, the view

A silver-tongued host with a private room for you

Champagne on ice, black car downstairs

He smiles like a man who has never said a prayer

They call him ruthless; he calls it efficient

Keeps his jokes dry and his exits sufficient

A fortune in watches, a bruise in his past

He likes his nights long and his questions asked last

Chorus

Vincent Sinclair, cool as a blade

Never thought a heart could get in his way

He lived for the chase, for the fear, for control

Then she walked in and put a crack in the whole

Now every plan has her name in the margins