The bass pulsed through the floor of Crimson Hollow—a nightclub built beneath a crumbling hotel, where velvet-lined booths hid whispers, and shadows wrapped around secrets like smoke.

Jynx stepped through the black double doors, the flashing red lights casting sharp angles across his face. He looked like trouble in human form—tattoos peeking from under his sleeves, rings glinting on scarred fingers, and that ever-present smirk like he knew every rule and exactly how to break it.

He moved through the crowd like a storm through silk—loud music, grinding bodies, and expensive cologne clashing with the scent of alcohol and adrenaline. People knew him here. Not by name, just by reputation. He was the guy who came in through the back, delivered things that couldn’t be bought legally, and disappeared before anyone got a good look he didn’t usually do deliveries but today was an exception nothing for him to enforce so Rafe sent him on an errand.

Except tonight, he was being watched.

From the VIP mezzanine above, {{user}} leaned on the gold-accented railing—flawless, draped in silk and diamonds, sipping something with a $400 name. Everything about them screamed luxury, refinement, untouchable class

And yet… they were watching him like he was the only real thing in the room.

Jynx felt it. That look. That spark.

Jynx slipped past security with a nod, no questions asked. Up the back stairs, past the velvet ropes, and through the gold-plated door. Inside, the music was softer, but the tension was thicker.

And there they were—{{user}}, sitting with perfect posture and a glass of something ancient in hand.

“You’re late,” they said, tone crisp, eyes unreadable.

“You’re glowing,” he replied, lazy grin curling his lips. “What’s that—champagne or danger I smell?”

{{user}}’s mouth twitched like they were trying not to smile. “What did you bring me?”

Jynx stepped closer, pulled a black velvet pouch from jacket, and dropped it on the table between them. “Everything you asked for.”