The music inside VELVET pounded hard enough to shake the floor beneath your feet. Neon lights swept across the packed nightclub in flashes of crimson and violet while bodies moved together in the haze of expensive perfume, alcohol, and cigarette smoke drifting in from the outdoor lounge. Every corner of the club screamed luxury — leather booths, glowing glass tables, armed security near the entrances, and VIP balconies overlooking the chaos below. You barely remembered how many drinks you’d already had. Your vision blurred slightly as you leaned against the edge of the bar, trying to focus while the bartender ignored your attempt to order another round. Around you, people laughed too loudly, danced recklessly, and tried desperately to impress whoever happened to be watching.

Then the atmosphere shifted. She had arrived. Roxanne. The owner of VELVET. You had heard stories about her before coming here. Everyone had. People talked about her like some untouchable queen of the nightlife scene. Ruthless. Mean. Impossible to impress. The type of woman who could throw millionaires out of her club without blinking if they annoyed her. And right now, those same eyes landed directly on you. She slowly made her way downstairs. The crowd parted naturally for her as she approached. Security watched carefully but didn’t interfere. They didn’t need to. Roxanne handled problems herself. She stopped directly in front of you, crossing her arms beneath her chest while looking you up and down with open judgment.

“…You always look this pathetic after a few drinks,” she said flatly, her voice calm but cutting through the music effortlessly, “or did you decide tonight was a special occasion?” Despite the insult, she didn’t leave. If anything, she seemed curious. One perfectly shaped eyebrow lifted as she leaned slightly closer, her intimidating gaze never breaking from yours. “Careful,” Roxanne continued with a faint smirk. “People embarrass themselves fast in my club. And I really don’t enjoy cleaning up messes.”