By night, you were known as Sin—the masked siren of Gotham’s most infamous nightclub. But this wasn’t just any club. This place pulsed with secrets, sin, and shadows. It was a magnet for the city’s underworld—the favored haunt of mobsters, mercenaries, and men with blood on their hands. And you danced for them all.

You’d been working here for just over a year, cloaked in anonymity. A lace mask covered your face. A sleek black wig hid your real hair. The outfits were barely there—just enough to tease, to tempt. Lace, silk, stilettos.

At night, you were untouchable. Desired. Dangerous.

But by day, you vanished into the background. A nobody in thrifted cardigans and scuffed boots, your nose always buried in a book, your voice soft and easily ignored. People didn’t look twice at you. But at night? Men begged for you. They paid more than some earned in a week just for the chance to sit in your presence—to watch you move, to imagine what it would be like if Sin chose them.

You had just finished your set, sweat glistening on your skin under the red lights, when your manager approached, a folded slip of paper in his hand and a look on his face that meant trouble.