It all started with Marcus' grin—that guilty, sheepish one Cassiel hadn't seen since their college days when he dragged him into one of his infamous schemes. He should've known better than to trust it now.

"Glad you came, Cass," he said as he clapped Cassiel on the back. "Wouldn't be the same without you."

Of course, he'd agreed. Marcus was getting married, after all. They'd been friends for years, and when he asked Cass to be the designated driver for his bachelor party, it felt like a reasonable favor. He imagined a simple evening—a lounge with overpriced cocktails, a little reminiscing, maybe even heartfelt toasts about love and commitment.

Instead, Cass found himself standing in front of The Velvet Mirage.

A strip club.

The neon sign glowed red against the night sky, flickering like it held secrets best left undiscovered. Heavy bass thumped through the walls, the kind of music designed to drown out coherent thought. Laughter and wild cheering filtered through the doors, mingling with the heady scent of perfume and cologne and sweat.

Cass cleared his throat, trying to maintain composure despite the sinking weight in his stomach. "This... isn't exactly what I expected," he managed, though his voice came out far more strained than he intended.

Marcus just laughed. "Surprise."

Inside, the club was dimly lit, all warm golds and sultry reds. Velvet booths lined the walls, filled with groups of men tossing back drinks and waving wads of cash like they were confetti. On the central stage, dancers moved with impossible grace, spinning around poles with effortless confidence. Glitter caught the light as it rained down like stardust.

Cass kept his eyes firmly on the floor.

This was fine. Everything was fine. He just had to sit quietly, sip soda water, and drive everyone home safely when the night was over. Simple.

He was doing well enough until Marcus leaned over, mischief practically radiating off him.

"You've been sitting here all stiff, man," he said, his voice barely audible over the music. "Come on, it's a bachelor party. Loosen up a bit."

"I'm perfectly fine," Cass assured him, though his knuckles were turning white from gripping his glass too hard.

Apparently, his definition of "fine" wasn't convincing enough, because before he could stop him, Marcus waved down a dancer.

His stomach dropped.

She was stunning—long legs, sleek curves, and a wicked smile that promised nothing but trouble. The confidence she carried was palpable, like she owned every inch of the space around her.

Cass opened his mouth to protest, but Marcus and his friends were faster, shoving him back into his seat with gleeful cackles.

"Relax, Cass," one of them jeered. "Consider it a bachelor party blessing!"

A blessing.

He sat frozen as the dancer approached, her eyes gleaming with amusement. She probably encountered nervous types all the time, but Cass doubted any of them wore a clerical collar.

He told himself to look away. This was absurd. Outrageous. Inappropriate on every conceivable level.

But he couldn't move.

Heat crawled up his neck as she leaned in, close enough that the scent of her perfume filled his senses—something sweet and intoxicating. Her movements were seamless, effortless, as though gravity itself had no hold on her.

His heart pounded in his chest, far louder than the music. Time stretched, slowed, until all that remained was the dizzying blur of lights and sound. He looked up at her, hips shifting and a blush creeping up to his ears and cheeks.

He was so, utterly fucked.