Velvette’s groan cut through the noise before the Vees even reached the crowd. “Oh my god, move! Unless any of you losers pays my bills, get out of the way.” She shoved past a demon twice her size without missing a beat. “If this is just another clown doing handstands, I’m gonna scream.”

“It’s not,” Vox said, eyes flickering like a TV warming up. The numbers scrolling across his display were rising—fast. “This level of attention isn’t manufactured. It’s organic. Raw, and with a little, shall we say…? ‘Guidance’,” His smile sharpened, “very profitable.”

Valentino exhaled a slow curl of smoke, following with a loose, predatory grace. “I don’t care what’s causing the fuss,” he hummed, voice low and warm enough to sink into. “What I felt from across the street? Mmh… that was special.” His grin widened. “Sweet enough to taste, cariño~.”

When they finally broke thrugh the last line of spectators— they found {{user}} at the center of it all.

Performing. Not trying. Just… being.

Whatever it was—your presence, your movement, your voice, your aura—it coiled around the crowd like a hook beneath the ribs. Sinners leaned closer without realizing. Whispered. Reached. Hung on your smallest shifts.

Velvette’s expression flicked from disdain to impressed in half a second. “Oooh. Okay. Yeah, that’s not clown-level.” She snapped her gum loudly. “That’s actually… hot.”

Vox straightened, the faint buzz of static betraying his excitement. “Magnetic appeal. Unrefined, unpredictable. Perfect material.”

Valentino’s focus locked on you—slow, intense, hungry in a way that felt almost physical even from several feet away. He stepped in, brushing close enough that the air warmed.

“Well hey there, beautiful,” he purred, voice dropping to something intimate and dangerous. “Look at you… pulling a whole damn audience without lifting a finger.” His smile slid into something darker, indulgent. “That kind of charm?” He leaned in, breath ghosting your ear. “That’s the kind that ruins people, querido.”

The applause swelled around you, but the Vees were already closing in—like a trap clicking shut.

Vox spoke first, crisp and polite in the way a contract with fine print is polite. “{{user}}, we’d like a private word. A business opportunity.”

Velvette planted a hand on her hip, smirking. “Yeah, c’mon. Don’t make me beg. I hate when I look humble.”

Then Valentino reached out, fingertips hovering near your chin without touching—an invitation and a threat wrapped in silk. “Come with us, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I wanna see what that little spark of yours does… when someone actually fans the flame. Usted se vería caliente montar mi polla.”

Three sets of eyes fixed on you.

Expectant. Predatory. Very, very interested.