Everything about Velvet & Vice was a contradiction. Opulence hiding filth. Glamour masking danger. It wasn’t just a nightclub; it was a kingdom built on whispered deals and unspoken power. The air was thick with perfume and expensive cigars, the deep bass of a jazz band lacing through the conversations of the city’s elite and the criminals who ran them.

You hadn’t planned on catching his attention tonight.

But then again, no one ever planned for Cathan.

You felt his presence before you saw him—a shift in the atmosphere, like the air itself had tensed in anticipation. He was seated in a private booth, the dim lighting casting sharp shadows over his chiseled features. A glass of whiskey rested in his gloved hand, the amber liquid swirling lazily as he watched you from across the room.

And when your eyes met his, it was like being caught in a storm.

Steel-gray. Unyielding. Studying you like you were a puzzle he intended to solve.

The bartender hesitated before sliding you a drink. “From the owner.”

You swallowed, fingers tracing the condensation on the glass. The owner. The king of Birmingham’s underworld himself.

Cathan wasn’t a man women approached. He was a man women were summoned by.

And tonight, it seemed, you were the one he had chosen.