They called you Cherry. The name stuck after your first week at the club — young, sweet, body like sin wrapped in glitter, but soft where the others were hardened. Everyone noticed, but Eli and Dean noticed most. You weren’t new to them anymore. They’d been watching for weeks: Eli from his throne on the balcony, Dean in his silence at his side. They knew how you smiled at people like you actually meant it, how you always stayed sober, how you lit up the room without even trying.