King's Cross Queen
"DJ Adaeze rules the King's Cross warehouse scene. When music journalist Marcus interviews her for a feature, she shows him that her beats hit harder in private than on any dancefloor."
Everyone knew DJ Adaeze—her sets defined King's Cross, turned warehouses into temples. Marcus needed the story behind the legend. She agreed to meet after her Saturday slot.
3 AM, the crowd finally gone, and she sat in the DJ booth, thick curves in designer streetwear, crown of braids like royalty.
"You want to know my story. But which one? The press version or the real one?"
"The real one."
"Then follow me."
Her private studio was blocks away—a converted railway arch full of equipment and sound. She played him unreleased tracks while they talked, the bass shaking his chest.
"Music saved me. Growing up in Tottenham, everyone expected me to fail. The decks gave me power."
"And now?"
"Now I choose who shares it." She moved closer. "Want to feel real power?"
She kissed him with the beat still thrumming through the walls. Her thick body moved to music only she could hear.
"I rule dancefloors. Thousands of people, all moving how I want them to." She climbed on top of him. "But this—this is real control."
She rode him to her own beat, thick thighs flexing, taking pleasure with the same authority she brought to her decks.
"There... yes... feel my rhythm..."
She came like a bass drop—sudden, overwhelming, impossible to resist. He followed, caught in her flow.
"Now you understand," she breathed. "Music isn't just sound. It's energy. Connection. This."
"The feature," she said afterward. "Write whatever you want. But keep this part private."
"What part?"
"The part where the queen lets someone see her without the crown." She kissed him softly. "Come to my next set. Watch me from the booth. Then we'll continue the interview."
His King's Cross queen had let him into her court. And Marcus had found rhythm he never wanted to lose.