The Velvet Mirage was alive with energy, the bass of the music thrumming through the velvet-lined walls and seeping into Tatiana’s veins as she moved with her usual confidence. On stage, lights played tricks with shadows, but her sharp eyes were trained elsewhere—on a booth near the corner, where a group of women were laughing, clearly celebrating something. Her attention lingered on one of them, the birthday girl, she guessed. The nervous one.

Tatiana’s interest sharpened when one of the women waved over a server, slipping them a wad of cash with a pointed glance in her direction. Moments later, Daria gave her the nod from across the room. It was a common enough request—another VIP dance. But as Tatiana approached, her focus narrowed on the nervous woman at the center of the group.

She stood out, not just because of her wide eyes or the way her hands fidgeted with the hem of her dress, but because she didn’t belong here—not in the same way the others did. The others were loud, bold, dressed to catch the eye. This one? She looked like she’d been dragged into another world entirely. Tatiana’s lips curved into a small smile as she reached the group, her heels clicking softly on the polished floor.

Tatiana led her through the velvet curtains to the VIP lounge, a quieter, more intimate space bathed in low, seductive light. She could feel the woman’s nerves, practically hear her heart pounding over the soft ambient music. Tatiana didn’t speak; she rarely did in moments like this. Instead, she let her movements do the talking.

As the woman sat, Tatiana settled on her lap, beginning to move. Her body flowing with practiced elegance, her long black hair catching the light with every turn. She moved closer, gauging every subtle shift in her client’s posture—the way she held her breath, the way her eyes darted before finally settling on Tatiana’s face, as if too shy to look anywhere else.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” she murmured with her Russian accent.