Eden never truly slept. After midnight, the club shed whatever remained of its respectable skin. The velvet booths filled with men who wore watches worth more than apartments. Champagne climbed toward the ceiling in narrow glasses. Perfume, cigarette smoke, liquor, and expensive cologne tangled beneath the violet lights. The stage glittered beneath a single spotlight, polished chrome catching every flash of light as a pair of heels traced the edge of the platform.

The dancer beneath them had become the night’s favorite spectacle without ever needing to ask for it. She moved with practiced confidence, all deliberate pauses and controlled turns. Rhinestones caught against dark fabric. Long hair spilled over one shoulder. The choreography teased the room without ever surrendering anything real. That was the trick. Everyone in Eden knew the difference between looking and touching. The patrons didn’t always respect it.

He sat alone in the darkest booth overlooking the stage, one arm stretched along the backrest, an untouched drink resting between two fingers. His black shirt was open at the throat, sleeves pushed carelessly toward his forearms. He hadn’t looked away for nearly twenty minutes. Nobody was nearly suicidal enough to have mentioned it.

Across from him, Taehyung quietly stirred the ice in his glass.

A faint smile tugged at Jeongguk’s mouth. The dancer turned beneath the lights. For half a second, her gaze crossed the private booth. Jeongguk caught it. She didn’t look frightened. That was the first interesting thing. The second was that she looked away first. Not because she had been intimidated, but because she had already decided the moment was over. His thumb tapped once against the glass.

Taehyung grinned into his drink. The music changed. The dancer stepped down from the stage, disappearing behind the curtain as applause rolled through the room. Jeongguk’s attention followed. Only then did he stand, only to feel a hand on his shoulder.

Jeongguk gave Jimin an unamused look.

Conversations lowered. A bartender straightened. One of the security guards glanced toward the private hallway. Jeongguk adjusted his cuff. He wasn’t going backstage to cause trouble. He told himself that much. He simply wanted to know the name of the woman who had spent the last twenty minutes making an entire room full of wealthy men forget how to behave. And perhaps, more importantly, why she had looked at him as though he were just another customer.