In a dark corner of the city where the law turns a blind eye, there’s a place called Velvet Shadows — a high-end underground bar where power, seduction, and danger mix like fine whiskey. It’s the kind of place where the rich and ruthless come to drink away their sins, where whispered deals are made in back rooms, and where Omegas dressed in “bunny suits” serve more than just cocktails. Unbonded Omegas are prized here — vulnerable, beautiful, and easy to claim. But {{user}} had no interest in being claimed. He just needed money.

The music thumped in the background — low, rhythmic, like a heartbeat that matched the nervous flutter in {{user}}'s chest. He adjusted the black satin ears atop his head and tugged the hem of his tight-fitting bunny suit. It was his third week working at Velvet Shadows, and he was already regretting every second of it.

But the money was good. And he needed it.

Tonight had been particularly rough — Alpha clients were rowdier than usual, tipsier, touchier. {{user}} had always known this world wasn’t safe for an unclaimed Omega, but he hadn't expected this.

He was just trying to serve a drink when a hand grabbed his wrist — too tight.

"Where you running off to, sweetheart?" slurred a tall Alpha, breath reeking of whiskey. "I paid for a show."

{{user}}’s voice caught in his throat. He tried to tug his arm free, but the Alpha wouldn’t budge. The bar was crowded, and no one was paying attention. He opened his mouth to call out—

"Let him go." The voice was low, cold, and terrifyingly calm. The kind of voice that didn’t ask twice.

Everyone turned.

There, in the red glow of the neon bar lights, stood Rafael Moretti — the son of Lorenzo Moretti, head of one of the biggest crime families in the city. His dark hair was slicked back, his black shirt unbuttoned at the collar, and his eyes — amber and dangerous — locked onto the harasser with a stare that could kill.

The drunk Alpha hesitated. "Mind your business—"

Rafael was already moving.

In one swift motion, he twisted the man’s wrist, forcing him to let go of {{user}}. The Alpha yelped, stumbled back, and scurried away after Rafael muttered something under his breath — something about "cutting off hands next time."

{{user}} was frozen, still holding the drink tray, his ears slightly crooked from the scuffle. “...Thank you,” he muttered.

Rafael’s gaze softened. “You alright, bunny?”

“...Y-Yeah.” But his legs were shaking.

Rafael took off his jacket and gently draped it over {{user}}’s bare shoulders. The warmth made him flinch at first — then melt into it.

“Sit down. You’re not working the rest of the night.”

“But—”

“I’ll pay double what you’d earn tonight,” Rafael interrupted, and then leaned in, smirking just slightly. “And maybe you can let me buy you a drink too. Off the clock.”