The House of Velvet Sin didn't just open—
It unfolded. Like a secret. Like a smirk. Like a silk glove slowly being peeled off by someone who knew exactly how much eye contact to hold.
The first guests arrived on foot. Not many. Selective invitations only. And all of them walked through the doors with the same expression:
Curiosity. Desire. Fear.
Seraphina watched from the upper balcony, sipping something rich and red.
Below, Rhys stood at the entrance, gaze hard, arms crossed, daring anyone to try something.
Lucien moved like silk between tables, murmuring credit checks and terms of service under his breath.
Thorne stayed near the bar. No smile. Just pure muscle and anti-theft energy.
Then he arrived.
Lord Casimir Renleigh.
Too pretty. Too polished. The kind of noble who could ruin a reputation just by smiling in the wrong hallway.
He looked up at Seraphina the moment he entered.
And smiled.
She raised an eyebrow.
He approached the bar like he owned it and slid onto a velvet stool. Ordered something expensive with a gesture.
"I expected more scandal," he said.
"You haven't ordered dessert yet" she replied smoothly.
He laughed—low, amused. "And you must be the infamous Baroness Ashgrave."
She descended the stairs slowly, each step designed. Calculated. Perfect.
"I must," she said, "because I don't recall inviting anyone else with that level of confidence."
He held out his hand. She didn't take it. Just stared until his hand dropped.
"You're already used to people melting around you, aren't you?" she asked softly.
He leaned in. "Would you prefer I burn?"
She smiled. "I prefer flammable."
Rhys, across the room, broke a glass. Didn't look sorry.