The VIP room overlooked the grand floor of the brothel like a private balcony, its ornate railings framed with gold filigree and velvet curtains drawn back to reveal the lively scene below. Inside, five men sat around a polished mahogany table, their features sharp and unnervingly flawless. The room was illuminated by a subdued glow, the flickering light reflecting in their red eyes.
The men were deep in conversation, their voices low and deliberate, carrying the weight of centuries-old negotiations.
"Trade routes are stable," one of the men, a tall vampire with silver hair, remarked. "But the werewolves at the eastern border are growing restless. They've been targeting our supply lines."
Another, with short, dark hair and an air of commanding presence, smirked. "They'll come to heel once their alpha remembers whose bloodlines hold the balance of power."
The third, a lean figure with golden eyes and a sharp jawline, leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the table. "Your parents still pulling strings for you, Markus?" he asked the silver-haired vampire with a sly grin.
Markus opened his mouth to retort, but his words died on his lips. A palpable shift in the air stilled the room, a ripple of energy that drew their attention to the floor below. Their crimson eyes flickered toward the grand entrance, where the double doors opened to reveal a vision in red.
Darla and her girls stepped into the hall with an elegance that turned heads and hushed conversations.
"She's here," the golden-eyed man murmured, a hint of intrigue lacing his tone.
Markus tilted his head, watching as Darla moved through the room. Her confidence was palpable, her presence commanding. The way she served her table—calm, professional, and yet undeniably captivating—set her apart.
"She's grown," said the dark-haired man, a note of admiration in his voice. "I remember her first night here. She was composed then, but now… she's something else entirely."
One of the others, a silent figure with piercing green eyes, finally spoke. "Pay for her."
The others turned toward him, their expressions ranging from amusement to curiosity.
"She's busy," Markus noted, gesturing toward the table Darla was serving.
"She'll come," the green-eyed man replied, his voice steady and unyielding. He signaled to a servant waiting by the door, handing over a pouch heavy with gold coins. "And pay for her group as well. Let's see what she's made of."
Darla had just finished placing a tray of glasses on the table of her current clients, her movements precise and graceful, when a soft tap on her shoulder startled her. She turned to find one of the staff gesturing discreetly toward a corner of the room.
"You're needed at a booth," the staff member said, his tone respectful yet firm.
Darla frowned slightly but nodded. It wasn't unusual for high-profile clients to request her specifically, though the timing made her curious. As she followed the servant through the room, she noticed her girls being similarly approached, each directed to different VIP sections. The unease in her chest eased slightly knowing she wasn't alone.
When Darla reached the booth, her curiosity deepened. The door was unlike the others she had encountered, framed in dark wood with an emerald gem embedded at the center. The jewel shimmered faintly, a sign of the room's exclusivity. She had heard whispers about the gemstone hierarchy—rooms marked with emerald were rare, denoting guests of considerable power and wealth.
She adjusted her posture, smoothing the fabric of her dress before knocking lightly. A voice from within called for her to enter.
As Darla stepped inside, her presence seemed to ripple through the air, drawing the attention of the five men seated at the table. They were dressed impeccably in black and red tuxedos, their appearances striking and otherworldly. For a brief moment, she felt their gazes, sharp and assessing, taking in every detail of her.
The room was lavishly decorated, the furniture upholstered in deep reds and blacks that complemented the men's attire. A faint, intoxicating scent lingered in the air—a mix of aged wine, expensive cologne, and something darker, more primal.
The golden-eyed man was the first to break the silence. "Ah, so the rumors are true," he said, his lips curving into a faint smile. "You are as exquisite as they say."
Darla met his gaze, her expression neutral but polite. "Thank you, sir. How may I serve you tonight?"
"Let's start with a drink," the dark-haired man said, gesturing toward the sideboard laden with crystal decanters. "Choose for us, won't you?"
Darla moved to the sideboard, her steps measured and deliberate. She selected a deep red wine, its aroma rich and inviting, and poured it into five glasses with practiced ease. As she served each man, she couldn't help but notice how their gazes lingered on her, their interest palpable but restrained.
"Tell me," Markus began as she placed the last glass before him, "how does someone like you end up here? You don't belong among the ordinary."
Darla straightened, her gaze meeting his without hesitation. "I belong where I am needed, sir. Nothing more, nothing less."
Her response seemed to amuse them. The green-eyed man leaned forward slightly, studying her with a thoughtful expression. "And yet, you've made quite an impression. Even we have heard of you."
Darla's heart skipped a beat at his words, but she kept her composure. "I'm grateful for the recognition," she replied smoothly, stepping back. "If there's anything else you require, please let me know."
As she moved to leave, the golden-eyed man raised a hand. "Not so fast," he said, his tone light but commanding. "We'd like you to stay for a while."
Darla hesitated but nodded. "As you wish, sir.
For the next hour, Darla remained in the booth, attending to their needs while navigating the subtle tension in the room. The men's conversation shifted between business and idle chatter, their words laced with layers of meaning that she couldn't quite decipher.
Though they addressed her occasionally, asking for her opinion on trivial matters or offering veiled compliments, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being tested.
When the time came for her to leave, one of the men handed her a pouch of gold coins, far more than the standard payment. "A token of our appreciation," he said with a faint smile.
As Darla exited the booth, her mind buzzed with questions. She didn't know who they were, but one thing was certain—they weren't ordinary clients.
The evening reached its crescendo as the brothel buzzed with life, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The grand event not only attracted a plethora of esteemed guests but also showcased the undeniable charm and skill of Darla and her girls. Their presence alone seemed to elevate the atmosphere, drawing the eyes of even the most aloof patrons.
Darla wasn't the only one being summoned by high-profile clients. Throughout the grand hall, whispers of the girls' reputations had spread like wildfire.
Mia, with her floral, soft charm, was approached by a silver-haired werewolf who radiated elegance and authority. His sly grin and piercing blue eyes conveyed an air of mischief. His request was specific: he wanted her to serve him at his booth, where a small group of equally refined individuals waited.
Olivia, with her regal presence and poised demeanor, was escorted by one of the brothel staff to a separate section marked with gold trims and glittering chandeliers. Her client, a vampire lord with an icy gaze, sat in a semi-private alcove with a handful of his confidants, discussing matters that seemed far above anyone's understanding.
Emma's bright, coquettish allure caught the attention of a group of noble werewolves who appeared more playful than their brooding counterparts. Her assignment took her to a cozy booth draped in soft fabrics, where her laughter and playful banter soon had the table enthralled.
Isabella, sultry and enigmatic, was summoned by a pair of human aristocrats, who seemed out of place among the supernatural crowd. They were captivated by her seductive confidence, which only added to her air of mystery.
The madam herself oversaw these arrangements, ensuring the girls were paired with guests who would appreciate their distinct qualities. While jealousy simmered among the other brothel workers, even they couldn't deny the unique magnetism the girls brought to the establishment.
After leaving the emerald room, Darla allowed herself a moment to catch her breath. Her thoughts still lingered on the enigmatic group of men, their probing questions, and the palpable tension in the air. But before she could delve too deeply into her thoughts, another staff member approached her with a new request.
"Miss Darla, you've been requested again," the staff member said, his tone tinged with urgency.
"Another VIP?" she asked, raising a brow.
"Indeed," he replied, pointing toward a section of the hall illuminated by shimmering golden lights.
Darla exhaled softly, steeling herself once more. The night was far from over.
As the girls attended to their respective guests, their talents and adaptability shone through. Each interaction was like a performance, carefully tailored to the tastes of those they served. They weren't just servers; they were confidants, entertainers, and enchanters, each weaving a spell that left their clients captivated.
Mia's sweet, innocent demeanor softened the sharp edges of her werewolf clients, who soon began sharing stories of their packs and adventures. Her genuine interest and gentle laughter turned what could have been a formal interaction into a warm, engaging experience.
Olivia's elegance was a perfect match for the vampire lord and his entourage. She moved with the grace of a queen, her calm presence grounding the intensity of their discussions. When she spoke, her words were measured and insightful, earning her subtle nods of respect from her sharp-eyed clients.
Emma's playful energy lit up her table like a spark. Her lively banter and infectious laughter drew smiles even from the most reserved of her guests. They found themselves relaxing in her presence, their rigid postures softening as they indulged in her charm.
Isabella's sultry confidence left her human clients mesmerized. They hung on her every word, their gazes lingering on her as though she were the only person in the room. Her ability to draw them into her world of mystery and allure made her a favorite for the night.
Darla's second assignment brought her to another high-profile booth. This one was marked with a ruby emblem, signifying clients of exceptional wealth and influence. Inside, a group of nobles and merchants awaited her, their expressions shifting to admiration as she entered. Darla's poise and professionalism once again stole the spotlight as she seamlessly navigated the room, attending to each guest with a touch of grace and charm.
By the end of the night, the girls had left an indelible mark on the brothel's patrons. When the VIPs began to depart, many did so with lingering gazes and whispered words of admiration. The five men from the emerald room were among the last to leave, their sharp eyes catching Darla one final time as she tended to another table.
"She's something else," Markus remarked, his tone quiet yet filled with intrigue.
"She is," the green-eyed man agreed. "And so are her companions. It's rare to find such synergy."
As they exited, their black carriage with its ominous emblem disappeared into the night, leaving behind an air of mystery that seemed to follow them wherever they went.
When the final guests departed, the girls gathered in the back hall, their heels clicking against the polished floors. The exhaustion from the night was evident, but so was the satisfaction of a job well done.
"Can someone carry me?" Emma whined dramatically, slumping against a wall. "I think my feet have given up on life."
"You mean your heels gave up on you," Mia teased, earning a laugh from Olivia.
As they made their way back to their suite, the sound of their laughter echoed through the halls, cutting through the silence of the late hour. By the time they reached their door, they were half-dragging themselves, arms looped around each other for support.
The moment they stepped inside, their playful bickering reached new heights.
"Who dumped all these bags here?" Isabella asked, staring at the pile of their earlier purchases in mock exasperation.
"You did," Olivia shot back, throwing a pillow at her.
Despite their fatigue, they managed to unpack and freshen up, enjoying a small meal together before retreating to their rooms. As they settled in for the night, the anticipation of what the next day might bring lingered in their minds.
Tomorrow was Sunday—a day of rest. But knowing Darla and her girls, even rest would have its own rhythm and purpose.