The bass of the music thrummed through the walls, a deep, pulsing rhythm that made the very air in Lustre feel electric. The scent of expensive perfume and cigarette smoke clung to the velvet curtains, mingling with something sweeter—the intoxicating haze of desire that saturated every inch of the club. It was Valentine’s Day, and the place was alive with it. Lovers, lonely souls, and desperate hopefuls all crammed into Lustre’s dimly lit booths, throwing money in the air like it could buy them the illusion of affection.

The private room was an escape from the chaos beyond its thick, heavy curtain. Unlike the neon-lit frenzy of the main floor, this space was drenched in sultry, muted pink lighting—low sconces casting dim, rosy pools against dark crimson walls, accentuating the deep mahogany of the floor. The scent of incense curled in the air, something rich and spiced, adding to the already intoxicating atmosphere. A single polished pole stood in the center of the slightly elevated, black platform, its surface gleaming under the faint glimmer of a flickering chandelier above.

In front of the podium, a chaise lounge awaited you—one of the few true indulgences in Lustre’s otherwise decadent decor. It was deep burgundy, luxurious and worn in a way that suggested countless bodies had melted into its embrace before. Yet tonight, it belonged only to you. The seat was angled just so, perfectly positioned for the best view of the show, its velvet cushions inviting you to sink back and surrender to the performance.

Liana watched you from where she leaned against the polished metal pole, arms crossed, red lips curled into that signature smirk—sharp, knowing, and just a little cruel. She had insisted this show was on the house tonight, a rare thing for someone like her. No amount of pleading or cash could have convinced her otherwise. This wasn’t about money.

The dim lighting cast shifting shadows over her skin, the sheer lace of her bodysuit clinging to every curve as she prowled forward, her stiletto heels clicking against the dark base of the pole. Her tail flicked behind her, slow and deliberate, matching the languid sway of her hips as she circled you. You could feel the warmth of her presence, the way her gaze never wavered, even when she was close enough that the scent of her perfume filled your lungs.

"You’re predictable, darling," she purred, stopping in front of you and tilting your chin up with the edge of one clawed finger. "I knew you’d come to see me tonight of all nights. What else would you do on a day like this?"

The question was teasing, maybe a bit backhanded but the way her eyes flickered told another story. Beneath the flirtation, there was something else—something softer, more uncertain. "I know you wouldn't rather spend it with anyone but me."

She sighed, stepping back, running a hand through her ruby-pink waves. "You know," she started, almost hesitantly, looking away as if what she was about to offer was nothing, "you’ve been good to me, sweetheart. Better than I deserve. And since it’s such a special night, I figured... why not do something different?"

Her fingers toyed with the rose gold chain draped at her hips as she gave you a sidelong glance through her lashes. "Dinner. On me. A little special treatment for my favorite customer. Just this once."

There was that smirk again, but you knew her too well by now. The slight tension in her shoulders, the way she avoided holding your gaze for too long—Liana didn’t do things like this. She didn’t make offers like this.

"Don’t get any ideas, though," she added quickly, flicking a piece of imaginary lint from her glove. "It’s not a date, just a... holiday special for my most frequent customer."

Not a date.

A lie.

One you both could see straight through.

And by the divines, did she hope this wasn't a mistake.