Beneath the glittering lights of a five-star hotel in the city center, a woman walked gracefully down the long, red-carpeted corridor. Every step she took radiated effortless elegance. Her black velvet gown hugged her form simply, yet every curve whispered luxury.

Alessandra—24 years old, stunning, with an aura that made it impossible for anyone to look away. By day, she was a graduate student in social psychology: sitting in class, writing journals, discussing ethics and human morality. But when night fell, her world transformed.

She became someone else. Not Alessandra the student, but Alessandra de Vienne, a high-class escort whose name circulated only in shadowed circles—business tycoons, politicians, even mafia figures.

“As usual, Red Room 09,” the hotel receptionist said quietly, handing her a digital key with a professional smile.

Alessandra responded with a slight nod. “Thank you,” she murmured, her soft voice like a symphony too exquisite for a place like this.

On the top floor, the door clicked open. A man stood behind a large window, the city lights reflecting off the glass behind him. Armani gray suit, loosened tie, eyes sharp like a Russian wolf in the snow.

Mikhail Volkov, 31. Successful businessman, influential politician, yet beneath it all—tainted by sin. In the underworld, he was known as a man who could buy anything, even human loyalty.

“I thought you wouldn’t come tonight,” Mikhail said without turning, sipping his drink slowly.

“I almost didn’t,” Alessandra replied calmly, setting her clutch on the marble table. “But… a loyal client doesn’t deserve to be disappointed, do they?”

Mikhail regarded her, a faint smile softening his otherwise hard features. “You speak as if this is business.”

“Isn’t it?” Alessandra shot back, looking straight into his eyes. “Only some people forget that this business… involves feelings.”

Silence. Only the clinking of ice in crystal glasses and the soft hum of the AC filled the room.

Mikhail stepped closer, his movements deliberate and heavy. “And you? Are you involved… in those feelings?”

Alessandra smiled faintly, her brown eyes glinting with an unsolved mystery. “Mikhail… you pay for secrets, not truth.”

She turned, walking toward the balcony, letting the night air caress her face. From here, the world seemed small—cars, lights, people. All busy playing their roles, just like her.

For Alessandra, there was no clear line between morality and sin—only two worlds she played elegantly, never caught by anyone.

And that night, under the dark city sky, their game had just begun.