~4.

[NOAH]

He quickly freshened up and changed into a more formal wear. A loose shirt and a pair of jeans. He was busy choosing which cologne to use when his phone rang and a loud horn honked outside his condo.

With a groan he chose one and hurried out.

Whitaker let out a teasing whistle before letting him into his car.

“Looking sharp professor”

“Shut up”

The trio rode off with Hart blasting Electro-Pop.

The car slowed to a stop beneath a canopy of neon light.

Noah glanced up from the back seat, his expression tightening as the club’s sign flickered overhead in sultry hues of crimson and violet. The rhythmic thump of bass seeped through the tinted windows, pulsing like a heartbeat against the night.

He frowned.

“This,” he said coolly, “is your idea of a celebration?” Irritation seeping into his voice.

From the front passenger seat, Brandon turned with a grin. “Relax, Caldwell. You’ve spent six years buried in manuscripts. Consider this… cultural exposure.”

Noah’s gaze hardened. “I fail to see how this establishment qualifies as culture or exposure.”

A soft chuckle came from beside him. Hart snorted, his eyes gleaming with amusement. “You teach Oscar Wilde, Noah. Surely decadence isn’t entirely foreign to you.”

Noah stared at the glowing sign.

Velvet Eclipse.

Even the name sounded like a warning.

“This is inappropriate,” he said flatly. “I will not step foot inside.”

Brandon groaned. “Oh, come on. Don’t be a sourpuss.”

“I am not being a ‘sourpuss’,” Noah replied, voice edged with ice. “I am being prudent. If someone recognizes me, my reputation and my career could be irreparably damaged.”

Brandon waved a dismissive hand. “That’s exactly why we chose this place. It’s exclusive, private, and strictly confidential.”

Hart nodded. “The clientele value discretion above all else. No recordings, no real names, and absolutely no leaks.”

Noah’s jaw tightened. “That does little to reassure me.”

Brandon leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Everyone here wears masks. Staff included. Patrons remain anonymous, and identities are protected. Think of it as… academic masquerade.”

Hart reached into a sleek black box resting beside him and produced a finely crafted mask. It was matte black with subtle silver detailing—elegant.

“For you,” he said, offering it with a small smile.

Noah hesitated before taking it.

The material was smooth beneath his fingertips, cool and unfamiliar. It concealed the upper half of his face—just enough to render him unrecognizable.

“Strict confidentiality,” Hart repeated gently.

Brandon smirked. “Besides, Caldwell, it’s a mixed club. Not just women—men too. Consider it an expansion of your horizons.”

Noah shot him a withering look. “My horizons require no expansion.”

“Of course they don’t,” Brandon replied, barely suppressing a grin as he slipped on his own mask.

Silence settled as Noah studied the entrance once more. Laughter drifted through the doors, mingling with the sultry melody of slow jazz and the distant murmur of anticipation.

He exhaled slowly.

One night. That’s all.

With a deliberate motion, he lifted the mask and secured it in place.

“Very well,” he said at last. “But if this goes south, I will personally hold you both accountable.”

Brandon clapped his hands together. “That’s the spirit!”

Hart smiled, putting his on as well. “Shall we?”

The three men stepped out of the car and walked to its entrance.

It was then Noah noticed the trio’s masks had the same symbol embroidered on it and it differentiated them from the others.

A well-dressed attendant, with a mask as Brandon said earlier, greeted them with a respectful nod before ushering them inside.

The moment Noah crossed the threshold, he was enveloped in velvet shadows and golden light. Chandeliers cast a warm glow over polished marble floors, while crimson drapes framed an opulent stage. The air smelled faintly of expensive cologne, champagne, and smoke. All kinds of smoke.

Laughter mingled with the soft hum of conversation. Masks shimmered in silver, gold, and obsidian, concealing identities.

Noah’s eyes narrowed as he took it all in.

This place reeked of indulgence and danger and he could understand why people did indulge, there was a certain thrill.

A hostess approached, her voice smooth and professional. “Welcome to Velvet Eclipse, gentlemen. Your private table awaits.”

Brandon beamed. “Lead the way.”

As they were escorted to a secluded booth overlooking the stage, Noah settled into his seat. His gaze drifted across the room—curious despite himself.

He told himself he was merely observing, nothing more.

The lights dimmed slightly, casting a sultry glow across the stage.

Noah folded his hands in his lap, his expression unreadable behind the mask.

“One drink,” he murmured. “And then I leave.”

Brandon chuckled. “We’ll see about that.”

Hart lifted his glass with a knowing smile and whispered. “To six years of excellence.”

Noah inclined his head slightly.

“To discretion,” he replied.

Glasses clinked softly.

Across the room, Nyx prepared to entertain the guests.