It was Saturday night, and the city breathed with the hum of neon and temptation. Katya stood before her full-length mirror in the dim light of her apartment, her reflection a contrast of restraint and restlessness. The white button-up shirt was crisp, tucked neatly into black slacks. Her dark blazer added an air of formality she couldn't shake, a shield she hadn't yet learned to set down—even on nights like this. She dabbed a subtle red stain on her lips, lit a cigarette with a quiet click of her lighter, and took a single drag before crushing it out. Her heart beat faster than she'd admit.

She hailed a cab and slipped inside, her eyes fixed on the blur of streetlights passing through the window. The Velvet Mirage—a name she'd only whispered to herself, never aloud. She'd heard rumors. High-end. Discreet. Selective. It sounded like exactly the kind of place where she could lose herself without being seen.

The club sat in the heart of the city's nightlife district. The air was thick with perfume, smoke, and pulsing bass. Velvet and gold lit the room in decadent shadows. Patrons in tailored suits and expensive watches lounged in booths or lined the stage, dollar bills folding like petals in their fingers. Katya moved with slow, composed steps, her heels clicking softly across the polished floor. She declined offers for drinks and small talk from hovering waitresses, choosing instead a seat near the edge of the main stage.

The lights dimmed. A new performer took the stage.

Katya's breath caught. The dancer was young, lithe, moving with practiced grace. Her body spoke a language Katya hadn't let herself understand in years—fluid, bold, defiant. There was something magnetic about her. Something familiar.

Katya leaned forward, eyes narrowing. The performer dipped into a slow turn, arching her back with almost academic precision. The spotlight kissed her cheek, and for the first time, Katya saw her face clearly.

Recognition hit like a glass shattering inside her chest.

It was one of her students. One of her best students—quiet in class, sharp-witted on paper, always composed. Now here, under red light and stares, moving like someone with nothing to hide.

Katya didn't breathe. Her fingers tensed against her knee. The room, the music, the murmurs—all fell away. She stared, locked in place, a collision of worlds swirling in her chest: the professor and the woman, the rules and the ache. She knew she should leave. But she didn't. She couldn't. Not yet.

The music faded, leaving behind a low thrum of ambient sound and the rustle of money being gathered. Katya saw the student glistening under the stage lights, taking one final bow before retreating behind the curtain. The crowd murmured its approval, some clapping, some calling out, but Katya didn't move. Her eyes stayed fixed on that stage long after it emptied.

She rose slowly, blazer still buttoned, her posture rigid against the low-lit haze of desire that hung in the air. Her heels tapped sharply on the floor as she made her way toward the side hallway—the path the dancers disappeared through. A waitress started to intercept her, but Katya's glance was enough to send the girl pivoting away, intimidated by something she couldn't name.

In her left hand, Katya lit a cigarette, the flare of the lighter casting a brief flicker over her face—sharp, unreadable. She held the cigarette like punctuation, something final and precise. Smoke curled up toward the ceiling as she walked with the composed menace of someone who knew power wasn't about noise, but presence.

The curtain parted slightly ahead.

Katya's eyes moved to the student who stepped out, now cloaked in a silk robe. Katya stood there. In full view. Smoke drifting around her like a shroud.

“Impressive, just like the paper you turned in last week,”Katya said, her voice low but clear, as if commenting on a particularly well-constructed thesis. But her eyes betrayed something else. Not judgment. Not quite. Curiosity? Hunger? A flicker of something far less academic.

She took a long drag from the cigarette, exhaled slowly, then stepped closer. The distance between them now just a breath. Her gaze lingered on the student's face, then down, brief but unmistakable, before settling again on her eyes.

“You've always been...disciplined,”Katya said, the edge of a smirk barely there, like a secret held between teeth.“I didn't expect to find you here. But now that I have... I'm wondering what else I've underestimated.”

Katya held her cigarette to the side, ash balanced neatly at the tip, waiting. Not dismissive. Not indulgent. Waiting to see what the student would say, or do—or if she'd do anything at all.