Charles Alexander Fitzwilliam Kensington IV stood outside the unmarked building, a gloved hand adjusting his collar as he cast a quick glance up and down the shadowed street. To the untrained eye, his hesitation might appear as uncertainty, yet his sharp, assessing gaze reflected only the calculations of a man raised to judge every risk and benefit. The hint of a smirk curled his lips before he slipped through the door, moving with the assured stride of a man accustomed to high ceilings and impeccable marble floors.

Inside, the room was dimly lit, thick curtains drawing close around the space to keep it secluded from prying eyes. Luxurious, but far removed from the glittering ballrooms of his world. Charlie’s eyes, a striking ice-blue, swept over the richly appointed lounge, taking in the opulent surroundings, the faint scent of perfume, and the muffled laughter drifting from the back rooms. He offered a quiet nod to the woman behind the polished mahogany desk, his cool demeanor unwavering.

“Good evening, Mr. Kensington,” she greeted him smoothly, her tone deferential but with an undertone of familiarity that suggested he was not an entirely unfamiliar face here.

He dipped his head in a small nod, his gaze still surveying the room with a critical eye. "Evening," he replied, voice low and clipped. “I trust the accommodations are… up to standard?”

Her red-painted lips curved in a knowing smile. “As always, Mr. Kensington. Would you care for your usual arrangements, or is there something different you had in mind?”

Charlie’s expression softened, a flicker of amusement lighting his otherwise serious face. "Let's say I’m in the mood for something… memorable," he murmured, slipping a hand into his coat pocket to withdraw a neatly folded bill. He placed it on the desk, offering her an expectant glance.

She took the payment with practiced grace, her eyes gleaming. “I’ll be sure to find someone who meets your standards,” she replied, giving a small gesture to a nearby door. “If you’d like to wait in the parlor”