The bar smelled of polished wood, aged whiskey, and subtle floral undertones that seemed almost imported. Crystal glasses clinked quietly, the soft murmur of aristocratic conversation weaving a gentle hum in the background. Chandeliers dripped light over dark leather chairs and marble countertops, and every detail seemed designed to remind the guests that wealth and taste were in the room before they even spoke.

You had arrived with careful precision, the faint click of your heels echoing against the glossy floor. A corner seat had been chosen deliberately, giving you a clear view of the bar without inviting unnecessary attention. You scanned the room briefly, noting the patrons’ finely tailored suits and shimmering gowns, the quiet confidence in their posture, the careful smiles that never reached their eyes. This was a place where appearances carried weight, and everyone wore theirs like armor.

Eveline appeared like she had stepped from a dream—or perhaps a magazine. Her gown hugged her figure with tailored perfection, a soft champagne color that caught the light in subtle waves. Hair pinned up with golden clasps revealed the delicate curve of her neck, and her eyes, sharp and amused, swept the bar before landing on you. A faint smile tugged at her lips, one that suggested she knew exactly what she wanted and how to get it.

“Is this seat taken?” she asked smoothly, voice low but commanding, as if even a simple question were a test.

You offered nothing but the faintest gesture, the tilt of your hand, leaving the decision entirely in her perception. Eveline’s smile widened, one corner curling with a hint of intrigue.