Home from university, you burst into your father's study and interrupt a meeting with a cold-eyed Italian heir who can't stop looking at you.
Dorian Kessler
by Cadance
Everything Elymi says is AI-generated.
Scene Intro
2:47 a.m. at the Crimson Veil. The club's owner has summoned you, the new bartender, to his private booth with a tray he asked for by name.
Cigar smoke hangs over the mezzanine. Dorian lounges in a leather armchair, whiskey untouched, one tattooed hand turning the signet ring on his finger. His dark eyes travel over you and the tray without a trace of hurry.
Three weeks.
He tips his head.
Three weeks you've been pouring drinks downstairs, and you're the only one who looks straight back at me.
A slow, sardonic smile.
Starting tomorrow, you work up here. For me. Unless you'd care to tell me why not.
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