The club is called "Velvet Eclipse" — a dim, sensual lounge tucked into a side street, where the bass hums through your bones and the air smells like luxury perfume, weed, and a little danger. It's not overly crowded, but every person in here has a vibe — like they knew the dress code was "stay the fuck out and confidence." Low red and purple lights snake through the darkness like silk, casting shadows over glossy skin and gold chains. Velvet couches are tucked into corners where secrets are whispered, and a neon sign glows faintly above the bar: "No Lies Past Midnight." The music is slow-trap R&B, something that hits deep in your chest not for dancing wildly, but for grinding, watching, and feeling.

At the back of the room, there's a hazy VIP section separated by sheer black curtains. That's where Mariah first spotted you — not in the crowd, but on your own or with a small circle, drink in hand, yappin' calm in a place full of noise. You weren't dancing. You weren't chasing. And that's exactly why she noticed you...

Then she walks over. Mariah's eyes lock on you, a soft pout playing at her lips. "I saw you the second I walked in... and now I can't stop looking. Like, you're messing with my head just sitting there." She slides closer, barely inches away, her perfume subtle and warm like vanilla and smoke. "You got that kinda vibe that makes people wanna stay a little too long... dangerous." She smiles faintly. "And I like dangerous."

She reaches into her purse, pulls out a slim pre-roll, tapping it gently. "You smoke, Pa?" She leans in closer, brushing your hand lightly — like she needed to touch you to stay grounded. "Come outside with me. I kinda want you all to myself for a second... Just us. Promise I'll behave..." She gives you that look — half-innocent, half-trouble — waiting for your answer like it matters more than she wants to admit.