At work, Klaus behaved as usual — curt with his colleagues and impeccably polite with the guests. Egor convinced himself that all the strange things he had noticed over the past few days had simply been his imagination. Still, whenever he had a free moment, he found himself watching the prince.
A few hours later, a VIP waiter came down from the second floor. That was what the staff called those who worked upstairs. Egor didn't really know how their duties differed from his own, but rumor had it that only select clients were admitted there, and the staff was chosen according to strict criteria. Those who worked downstairs never went up. That was the rule.
The VIP employee — Egor didn't know his name — approached Klaus, spoke to him quietly, and the two headed toward the stairs. Egor had no chance to stop them or ask what was happening. Klaus disappeared into the restricted area, his face expressionless, his posture perfectly straight.
The prince climbed the final step and found himself on the second floor. From his very first day he had wanted to know what lay beyond this boundary, but he had never imagined the price of that curiosity would be so high.
The hall was dimly lit. There were no tables or bar counters — only rows of numbered doors. Deep purple carpeting lined the narrow corridors, and at the far end stood another door — a separate entrance for clients.
"Welcome to our domain," his new acquaintance said, sweeping his arm as if presenting the space.
"What exactly am I supposed to do here?"
"First, let's get acquainted. I'm Stas. Twenty-two. Studying economics."
"Klaus."
Stas waited expectantly.
"Twenty. Not studying."
"I honestly don't understand why Klara decided to transfer you here. She doesn't usually do that. But I was told to show you everything. First piece of advice — learn to smile. With a face like that, you won't be in much demand."
"I didn't ask for advice. Just tell me what I need to do."
Klaus saw that Stas was displeased with his attitude — but what did that matter? He was clearly one of those who flattered wealthy clients and groveled for a few extra bills. Disgusting. Exactly what Klaus himself would soon be forced to do. That made it worse.
"I think it'll be easier if you see everything for yourself," Stas sighed. "Klara assigned you to me, so today you'll follow me and observe. Your new duties won't differ much from the old ones. Come on."
Klaus said nothing, simply watching him. Stas seemed to expect some reaction but received none. He sighed again, shook his head, and motioned for him to follow.
Behind the stairwell Klaus discovered a separate kitchen and bar area. Stas approached a large rectangular table in the center and picked up a tray of appetizers, an ice bucket, and a bottle of champagne. At that moment a beautiful blonde approached — large gray eyes, full lips, a tight black dress just above the knee, high heels. Klaus's gaze drifted involuntarily toward her deep neckline. Noticing this, she smiled and winked playfully.
"New guy?" she asked Stas.
"The one transferred from downstairs. Klaus. He's with me today."
"I'm Alice. Call me if you need anything."
Klaus simply nodded.
"First, you need to change," Stas said. "Your suit is ready in that room. It'll have your name on it. I'll deliver the order and let them know you'll be assisting me — if Charlotte agrees."
The small room turned out to be a locker room with showers, individual lockers, and dressing tables covered with cosmetics and grooming products. It was the men's locker room.
Why so much makeup?
Klaus opened the locker marked with his name and pulled out a brand-new black satin suit — bow tie, vest, crisp white shirt. Several more suits in different shades hung inside, along with shoes, sealed socks, and even underwear.
He changed. The trousers were tight, restricting his movement, the vest emphasizing his waist. There was no denying it — he looked impressive. Yet he felt deeply uncomfortable.
"Ready?" Stas called impatiently from the doorway.
"Yes."
"No, no, no!" Stas protested. "Look at me. Do I look like that?"
Shaking his head as if dealing with a helpless child, the VIP waiter approached, removed Klaus's jacket, loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt.
"There. That's better."
Klaus studied himself in the mirror again. Now he looked deliberately disheveled, as if he had dressed in haste.
"That doesn't look very presentable."
"Your job is to project your sexuality. Guests don't come here to admire your ability to tie a tie. They come to relax."
They stopped outside one of the rooms. Stas took a breath, put on a dazzling smile, knocked lightly, and opened the door.
"Good evening, ladies — here I am."
The room was small, dominated by soft sofas arranged around a low glass table. A curtained window stood at the far wall. Dim bluish lighting matched the furniture. In one corner stood an old record player beside a modern sound system. Several vulgar paintings of intertwined naked bodies hung on the walls.
A woman in a bright yellow dress sat in the center. The dress concealed her upper body but emphasized her legs. She was clearly older than she wished to appear. Heavy makeup concealed her wrinkles, yet a glance at her neck or hands revealed her true age — an age better suited to reading fairy tales to grandchildren by the fireplace than wandering through nightclubs.
Beside her sat three women of similar age and one younger woman, perhaps around thirty, who looked nervous and out of place, as if she did not understand how she had ended up there. She dressed modestly — a simple cream cocktail dress that emphasized her waist and flared into a wide skirt, flat shoes, hair neatly pinned, and only small stud earrings as jewelry.
"Stasik! We've been waiting!" one of the women exclaimed.
"My apologies. As I mentioned, our new colleague will join us today. Klaus."
All eyes turned to him.
Klaus took a quiet breath and put on his now-familiar mask.
"Good evening, ladies," he said with a warm smile and a slight bow. "I hope you won't mind my company."
"What a polite boy — and so handsome," the woman in yellow said, beaming at her companions. Murmurs of approval followed.
Stas could hardly believe what he was seeing. Now he understood why Klara had been so eager to bring this young man upstairs. When he had first met Klaus, he had noticed only his striking appearance — long black hair, sharp features, intriguing tattoos, a commanding gaze. He had never imagined that this reserved, rough-mannered youth could perform his role with such effortless skill.
Klaus answered questions, smiled, poured champagne, and moved with natural ease, as if he had been born for this work. Gradually all attention shifted to him, and Stas — who had expected to delegate routine tasks — found himself running back and forth while Klaus entertained the guests.
"Stasik, bring us another bottle of whiskey! Klaus, you'll drink with us, won't you?"
"If it pleases you," Klaus replied with a smile.
"And one more thing," Charlotte added with a wink. "We should diversify our company. Bring the second menu."
The "second menu" was a folder containing photographs and profiles of the staff working on the second floor. As the women eagerly browsed, Klaus noticed his own profile among them.
"Oh, Klaus! You're only twenty!" one of the women giggled.
"Age is merely a number," he replied with a playful wink — while inwardly disgusted with his own words.
Half an hour later, after another bottle of champagne, two young men joined them — Kirill, short and bespectacled, with the air of an intellectual, and Maxim, his complete opposite: muscular, dark-skinned, and not particularly bright by the look of him.
"Come closer, dear," one of the women in yellow beckoned.
Klaus did not bother remembering their names. He hoped he would see them for the first and last time tonight. He moved beside the woman, and she whispered in his ear, her breath heavy.
"My niece is bored. She didn't want to come, but a young woman must learn how to relax. Cheer her up, and I won't be stingy with the tip."
"Do you think she'll welcome my company? She seems to reject all attention. Stas has tried several times already."
"She's been stealing shy glances at you all evening," the woman insisted, her lipstick brushing his cheek. Klaus shuddered inwardly but only smiled, bowed slightly, and moved toward the young woman, discreetly wiping the damp trace from his skin.
"Good evening," he said gently. "May I offer you more champagne?"
She hesitated, turning the nearly full glass in her hand.
"I have the impression you don't particularly like champagne," he continued, sitting beside her. "May I suggest something else?"
"All the ladies are drinking it… but you're right. I don't really like it."
"What about whiskey?"
"That would be… strange, wouldn't it? Drinking whiskey alone?"
"If that concerns you, I'll gladly join you. With ice? Perhaps with cola?"
"Yes… both," she smiled shyly.
Klaus prepared the drinks. While she looked away, he poured only soda into his own glass.
"To a pleasant evening," he said, lightly touching his glass to hers.
The modest young woman gradually grew bolder after several drinks, speaking more and more freely. Klaus listened attentively, agreeing with everything she said and refilling her glass — now without cola.
"Tell me," she slurred at last, "is it really so strange that a woman of thirty-four has never had a proper relationship?"
"Not at all."
"You're only saying that because my aunt pays you," she said bitterly, pressing her hands against his chest. "You're sitting with me only for that reason. But I don't care… what difference does it make?"
"Another drink?" Klaus asked.
"I think I've had enough… although I'm supposed to relax tonight. Yes, pour me another."
A short while later, her aunt approached Klaus.
"Well done," she said approvingly. "I've never seen her so talkative — or so drunk. The perfect ending would be for you to take her home."
She slipped something into his waistband and slapped him lightly before returning to her companion. Klaus pulled out the crumpled bills — the amount equaled his monthly salary.
He agreed.
Outside, while preparing to call a taxi using the girl's phone, Klaus glanced through the bar's window — and froze.
Inside, Egor stood pressed against the wall. Another waiter was threatening him with a knife.
Klaus acted without hesitation. He smashed the glass door with his elbow, reached through the broken pane, unlocked it, and rushed inside.
The fight lasted only seconds. Klaus quickly subdued the attacker. The man's empty eyes and unnatural movements made everything clear.
Possessed.
Using the magical orb, Egor managed to drain the magic from him. Klaus found a small enchanted stone in the waiter's pocket — a control artifact. Someone else had entered this world. Someone capable of manipulating living beings like puppets.
They had no time to think further.
Klaus left with the drunken woman.
Egor remained behind — shaken, furious, and trembling.
Watching the taxi drive away, he clenched his fists and dialed the emergency number.
"Yes… hello," he said quietly.
"I'd like to report an assault."