The Wet Deck brothel never truly slept, but as midnight crept closer, the night found a rhythm all its own—a slow build of laughter and music and hungry eyes, a pulse that made every wall throb and every lantern flicker with anticipation. Downstairs, Lucien and his crew were peaking: dice and cards littered the tables, his lackeys baying at every new bet, and the girls drifting around the pack like sharks who could smell both gold and blood in the water. Xinyi flashed teeth and tail, dancing just out of reach, playing up every tease while never letting her skirt ride a finger's width higher than she intended. The game was power, and tonight the house wasn't losing.
Damon felt the world shift with every drink poured. By now, he was more an observer than a servant, content to watch the chaos and take the measure of everyone who thought they ruled the room. He wiped down the bar with one hand and nursed a shot of something dark and biting with the other, eyes tracking every flirt, every outburst, every dangerous glint from Lucien's circle. Next to him, Fizz worked the space like a maestro—quick with a smile, quicker with a warning, never rattled, always just out of reach. Their easy banter was the only thing that made the night feel grounded, and Damon was grateful for it.
He barely noticed when the door opened, the hush that swept through the lounge like a stray breeze. She didn't make a scene, didn't want to be noticed, but every eye followed her anyway. Cloaked and hooded, clothes as plain as any scullery maid, yet something about the way she carried herself—the careful, upright posture, the way her gaze didn't flinch—marked her as different. She moved like someone who'd spent her life being taught how to disappear, but who had never quite managed to hide her beauty or her pride.
She wove her way to the bar, pausing a few times as Lucien's entourage howled or Xinyi's tail flicked in their direction. She kept her head down, but not low enough to look beaten. When she reached the counter, she drew her hood back just enough for Damon to see pale, fine features, bright eyes, and a jaw that tensed with every unfamiliar sound. She slid a gold coin across the polished wood, glancing up only long enough to meet his eyes and say, "A room, please. With a view of the main hall. And… your best drink."
Damon didn't miss the waver in her voice, nor the stubborn edge that held her chin high. Fizz, who never missed anything, was already pouring a house special, the bottle hissing as he added a touch of something potent and fragrant.
He signaled for a servant girl, who arrived on silent feet and curtsied. "Take our guest to the upstairs VIP suite, the one with the balcony," Fizz instructed smoothly. "And Damon will bring your drink up shortly." The girl nodded and offered her arm, which the newcomer accepted with a hesitance that was almost regal.
Damon watched the cloaked girl ascend the stairs, wondering at the nerves she tried to hide, the gold she gave so easily, the way the room's noise never quite reached her. When she was gone, he leaned across to Fizz and kept his voice low. "She's not a regular."
Fizz didn't look up from the glass he was polishing. "She's not from around here, either. Did you see the coin? Pure. Nobles only carry that, and only when they want to prove something. Or hide it in plain sight."
"She nervous, or just careful?"
"Both. And more." Fizz met Damon's gaze, his own eyes sharp behind round lenses. "She's no working girl. If I had to bet, she's a noble's daughter—or something close to it—trying to pretend she belongs among commoners. That coin's worth more than most of these bastards make in a week." He began mixing a drink, hands deft, lips twisting in a faint smile. "You'll take this up. House blend, just enough to loosen her up. And Damon—she's your guest tonight. So play nice."
Damon arched a brow. "And if she's trouble?"
"Then you keep her out of it. And if she asks about Lucien… don't give her more than she pays for. But don't lie." He handed over the glass, pale silver swirling into blood-red as it settled. "And if she wants a story, give her a good one. Nobles always want stories—especially when they're tired of being lied to."
Damon took the drink and started for the stairs, feeling the weight of the coin in his pocket, the system humming in the back of his mind. As he reached the landing, the Dickcord interface flickered into focus:
[Quest Alert:] "Noble's Secret: Entertain the VIP. Corrupt the noble. Bonus: discover her real reason for spying on Lucien before midnight. SuccuBucks: High. Reward: New system upgrade (if you break her)."
His mouth twisted into a grin. The system always knew how to make things interesting.
He knocked gently, waited for a muffled "Come in," and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, velvet curtains drawn back from the balcony, the din of the Wet Deck below drifting up in muffled waves. The girl sat in a high-backed chair near the window, cloak already folded across her lap, dress modest but finely cut—too fine for any commoner. Her hair was coiled in a simple braid, no jewels or ribbons, just neat and precise. She had the look of someone doing everything in her power not to fidget.
Damon approached with the drink, careful to keep his posture easy, his smile polite but not too familiar. "Good evening. I'm Damon—just Damon, unless you want a list of old aliases I've collected since I started working here." He offered the glass, holding her gaze just a second longer than politeness required.
She took the drink, her fingers brushing his—cold, trembling. "Thank you." She hesitated, then offered a shy smile. "You can call me Selene." She didn't offer a last name, and Damon didn't press. Instead, he slid into the chair beside her, close enough to share the view but not close enough to crowd her.
Selene sipped the drink, eyes flicking down to the main hall. Lucien's voice boomed, carrying even through the glass, his laughter ugly and loud. Selene watched him with a tight jaw, shoulders stiff.
Damon studied her profile for a moment, then broke the silence. "You're not here for the drink. Or the view." He let it hang there—soft, not accusing, more an invitation.
She didn't answer at first, swirling the drink, staring at the way the silver threads caught the light. At last, she set the glass down and met his eyes, her own a little too bright. "He's my brother. Lucien." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I needed to see… I needed to know how he behaves when he thinks no one's watching."
Damon's interest sharpened. He let a smile tug at his lips. "You don't trust him."
Selene laughed, the sound brittle. "He's the lord of Desire's Dock. Our family's name is everything, but he acts like a spoiled child with too much gold and no sense of duty. He spends more nights here than he does handling city affairs. The city suffers while he gambles and… and wastes money on shows like this."
She gestured at the room below, the laughter and excess and easy pleasure. "I'm supposed to smile and keep quiet. I'm supposed to let him be. But it isn't right. Someone has to see what he's really like. I needed proof—just for myself, maybe for our father, maybe for the council. I don't know yet."
Damon let the silence breathe, giving her space. "You're braver than most nobles. Or more honest."
She met his gaze, color blooming in her cheeks. "Or more desperate."
Damon's smile softened. "Most people come here to lose themselves. You came to find something."
Selene's shoulders relaxed a little, her lips curling into a small, genuine smile. "Maybe both. I never expected to be so… obvious."
He shrugged, turning in his chair to face her fully, the energy between them shifting. "Nobody comes here without a secret. The only thing that matters is who leaves with theirs intact." He let his eyes travel her face, searching for cracks in her composure. "Why tell me?"
She looked away, toying with the rim of her glass. "You seem… different. Not like the others. You're watching, not performing. You're not trying to sell me anything."
He chuckled, leaning closer, keeping his tone light. "Not yet. Give me time."
Her laughter was soft, and she took another sip of the drink—longer this time, as if it gave her courage. She shifted in her seat, legs pressing together, her breath coming quicker. Damon saw the faintest tremor run through her—nerves, maybe, but also something more. The flush on her skin deepened, a bead of sweat gathering at her temple despite the cool air.
He noticed, and so did she. Her fingers fumbled the glass, cheeks going scarlet. "I… I'm sorry. I don't usually… drink much. This is… strong."
Damon's eyes were kind, voice smooth. "It's a house special. Made for easing nerves." He kept his gaze steady, but the air between them was thickening. He could almost feel the heat rising from her skin, the way her body tensed and shifted restlessly.
Selene looked down, trying to hide her blush behind her braid. "It's working. Maybe too well."
He leaned in, voice dropping. "You're safe here. The room's soundproof, the windows locked. No one will come unless you ask."
She bit her lip, glancing at him sidelong, pupils dilated. Her body was betraying her—every breath deeper, every movement more restless. She gripped the arm of her chair with both hands, fighting to keep her composure. The flush on her skin crept down her neck, disappearing beneath the modest neckline of her dress.
"I just… it feels strange." She swallowed, voice shaky. "Everything. Being here. With you."
Damon's smile was gentle, almost teasing. "With me? Or with the thought of being seen?" He let his fingers graze hers where they clutched the chair, a touch that could have been accidental.
She jerked at the contact, but didn't pull away. Her breath caught, chest rising, nipples stiffening under the thin fabric—subtle, but Damon's eyes caught everything. She shifted again, thighs rubbing together.
He held her gaze, heat building, but never moved closer than she allowed. "You don't have to pretend, Selene. Not up here. No one's watching now but me."
Selene managed a wobbly laugh, the sound husky and uncertain. "That's what scares me."
They sat in silence, the city's wild pulse muted by velvet walls, the only sounds their breathing and the distant rumble of music from below. Selene sipped her drink again, slower this time, as if she could calm herself. It only made things worse—the aphrodisiac doing its work, melting her nerves and tightening the ache between her legs.
Her voice was barely audible. "I didn't expect to… I mean, you—" She bit her lip, eyes shining with confusion and want. "It's just a drink, right?"
Damon let his smile soften, a real gentleness behind the usual bravado. "It's whatever you need it to be."
She looked at him, caught in the heat and unable to run. "Can we just… sit? For a while?"
He nodded, shifting a little closer, his thigh brushing hers. The warmth between them simmered—promise without pressure, heat without touch. Selene's body trembled, every nerve alive and begging for something more.
She stared out the window, watching Lucien make a fool of himself, her brother's excess now a far-off, harmless thing. In this room, only the ache in her belly and the beautiful, dangerous man beside her felt real.
Damon watched her with careful hunger, knowing exactly what the night was turning into, and exactly how deep she'd fall if she let herself go.
The system pulsed at the edge of his mind, anticipation winding tighter and tighter as Selene's composure unraveled. She gripped her glass with both hands, as if it could anchor her to something safe.
When she finally looked back at him, her cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with longing and uncertainty. She parted her lips as if to speak, but words failed her.
The night pressed in, thick with need and the promise of what would come next. Damon leaned in, lips close but not touching, his presence overwhelming without ever crossing the line.
Selene's breath hitched, and she looked down, a helpless, hungry smile flickering on her lips.
The moment held, hot and fragile, neither of them moving—waiting, trembling on the edge of something they both understood.
Downstairs, the world raged on. Up here, the only sound was Selene's soft gasp as the aphrodisiac burned in her blood and Damon's heat pressed closer, waiting for the line to snap.