Irvin's POV
Velvet felt unsettling in the afternoon hours.
The silence was deafening.
No music pumped through the speakers, no conversations filled the air—just muffled footsteps and the occasional screech of chairs being repositioned as the skeleton crew prepped for evening service.
I approached the entrance, my gut twisted into painful knots.
This had to be some sick joke. A twisted game Davina was orchestrating. Any moment now, she'd emerge from the back, cackling, saying, "Did you actually fall for that?"
Christ, I desperately wanted that to be the reality. But I knew better. Every instinct screamed that something had gone terribly wrong.
I moved past the vacant tables and silent bar, scanning for anyone familiar—someone who might explain the fire consuming my chest.
A server—young, barely out of adolescence—approached me hesitantly.
"What can I get for you today?" she asked, forcing brightness into her voice.
I locked eyes with her. "Where's Davina Hughes?"
