The lights flickered with intention—candles that never melted, flames that pulsed in rhythm with the bass. Smoke curled like fingers across velvet, heavy with enchantment. Somewhere between illusion and seduction, the stage came alive.

John leaned back in the corner booth, boots kicked up, coat still damp from rain that hadn’t touched anyone else. This wasn’t your average London dive. This was The Velvet Hex—a burlesque club hidden behind three layers of glamour and a blood-warded door. Invitation only. And tonight, he’d cashed in an old favor to be here.

The dancer on stage wasn’t just moving—she was weaving. Silk, sin, and sorcery all wrapped into one long, slow spell. Her smile made demons weep and magicians forget their names. Every twirl shimmered with runes. Every toss of her hair left glamour dust in the air like gold.

And John? He didn’t look away once.

Because he wasn’t here for a drink or a show. He was here for her.

And the magic between them had started long before she ever stepped on stage.