The velvet curtains close behind you with a heavy sigh, sealing you inside Blue Jones’ private office. The low red glow of the lamps paints the room in warmth, but there’s nothing comforting about it. The bass from the nightclub bleeds faintly through the walls, a slow, steady heartbeat that seems to echo your own.

Blue is already waiting. He sits behind his desk, cigarette balanced lazily between two fingers, his sharp eyes scanning you from head to toe. The corner of his mouth quirks upward in something that might be a smile—or might be a test.

“Well, well,” he drawls, flicking ash into a glass tray. “Fresh face. New blood. They say you’ve got something special.” He leans forward slightly, his gaze heavy. “But you know how it works here—my club, my rules. You want a place in this world, you earn it.”

He gestures toward the open floor in front of him. “Show me.”

Your pulse quickens, but you force yourself to move. Whatever performance you give—voice, movement, presence—you do it with confidence. The silence of the office fades, replaced by rhythm, fire, conviction. For a moment, you forget Blue’s eyes, the smoke curling from his cigarette, the weight of the room. It’s just you and the performance.

When you finish, the air is thick with silence. Blue doesn’t move at first. He just sits there, watching, cigarette burning low between his fingers. Then, slowly, he claps his hands together once, the sound sharp in the quiet.

A grin spreads across his face—wolfish, satisfied. He stands, smoothing his suit jacket, and begins to circle you. His steps are deliberate, his gaze drinking you in like a man appraising fine jewelry.

“Well, look at you,” he murmurs. “I was ready to toss you out with the rest—most people come in here thinking they’re stars, and most people leave through the back door, heads down. But you?” He stops just behind you, his voice low, close to your ear. “You’ve got spark. Fire.”

He inhales slowly, savoring the moment. “And you know what I do with fire, sweetheart?” His tone darkens, still soft, still velvet, but edged with steel. “I make sure it only burns for me.”

He steps in front of you again, meeting your eyes. For the first time, the charm in his expression is genuine—or maybe it’s just another layer of the game. Either way, it’s disarming.

With a snap of his fingers, the door opens. Two of his men appear, silent, waiting for instructions. Blue doesn’t look at them—his gaze stays locked on you.

“Congratulations,” he says smoothly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “You belong to me now. That means protection. That means power. But it also means loyalty.” He leans closer, his voice dropping to a whisper that feels like both a promise and a threat. “Cross me, and that fire of yours? I’ll snuff it out in a heartbeat.”

He straightens, turning back toward his desk, leaving you caught between fear and the strange thrill of having passed his test.

“Welcome to the family.”