Then we finally got there.
It was a huge building—three stories of smooth stone streaked with gold, lanterns hanging everywhere, casting warm, cozy light. Silk banners draped over the balconies, covered in fancy designs that almost seemed to move if you stared too long. The front steps were polished so well they reflected the sky, and a few doormen in neat armor stood by the entrance, looking politely bored.
But honestly? None of that was what made the place stand out.
Nope.
It was all the women. They were lounging everywhere—on railings, stretched across cushions—barely dressed in see-through silks, glittering chains, and thigh straps that caught the lantern light. Their soft laughter drifted through the air as they leaned close to passing men, who looked like they'd just walked into heaven.
This wasn't just rich. This was over-the-top, the kind of indulgence that hung heavy in the air.
We were in the red-light district.
