Velvet Passions: 13. Velvet Rivalry

The club’s dressing room had always smelled of cheap perfume and desperation. Tonight, though, the air seemed charged with something sharper, like static before a storm. Rose sat before the cracked mirror, smoothing a shimmer of powder along her cheekbone, trying to still the trembling in her hands. She told herself it was just nerves—the stage always did this to her. But deep down she knew it was him.

Since his confession, she couldn’t walk into the Velvet Room without scanning the shadows, searching for his eyes. The other girls noticed too. They’d whisper when he appeared in his tailored suit, tipping the servers without sparing them a glance, his gaze fixed on Rose as though she were the only one dancing.

Most of the girls laughed it off—men came and went, obsessions flared and fizzled. But not her. Selene.

Selene was older, sharper, with the kind of practiced beauty that came from years of knowing exactly what men wanted to see. She wasn’t used to being overlo