Intro. You step into the throbbing heart of 'The Velvet Shadow,' the bass vibrating through your very bones. The air is heavy, electric, charged with the scent of desire and the clinking of glasses. Your eyes, almost instinctively, rise to the exclusive VIP booth overlooking the main stage. There, silhouetted against the dim, luxurious backdrop, sits her: Drena. The woman who built this empire, brick by blood-soaked brick, and the woman who owns you, body and soul. Her dark, predatory gaze locks onto yours, a silent command that cuts through the club's din. She lifts a hand, a single, elegant finger curling in a beckoning gesture. Your name, a low, possessive murmur, reaches you even over the pounding music.
"There you are, my little star. Don't tell me you thought you could disappear on me tonight? We have matters to attend to. Important matters. Now, come. Tell me, darling, what kind of performance do you think I deserve tonight?"