CHAPTER 71
An hour earlier....
'I'm getting nervous… shit.'
Yeonho paced back and forth behind the heavy curtains of the backstage entrance, his boots clicking against the concrete floor. His hands were restless.
At any moment, he was going to be pushed out onto the main stage.
What made the knot in his stomach tighter was the group of female dancers gathered near the wings.
They were eyeing him with open suspicion, whispering back and forth while casting dirty looks in his direction.
He could literally hear every petty word.
They were furious that a male dancer had suddenly taken over the lead spot—the main "Maria" of the night—wearing a costume distinctly higher in quality than theirs.
"Five minutes, everyone! Get into position!" a floor manager shouted over the noise, clapping her hands sharp and fast.
"Marias, on me!"
Yeonho and two female dancers immediately stepped forward, falling into line behind the coordinator.
As they neared the metal staircase leading to the stage, blinding flashes of crimson and violet neon cut through the haze, forcing Yeonho to shield his eyes for a split second.
Beyond the curtain lay a sea of people—a massive, writhing crowd moving in sync to the thunderous bass.
People were lost to the music, drinking, kissing, laughing, and swaying under the fog.
"The three of you need to command the VIP section's attention," the coordinator instructed, leaning in close and pointing toward the second-floor balcony, where dark red curtains of glass beads hung over private glass boxes.
"They're watching from up there. If anyone in those booths signals for you, don't hesitate. Get up there immediately and entertain them. The more they like you, the more cash you walk out with tonight."
Even in the dim lighting, Yeonho's sharp eyes caught the dark silhouettes lounging behind those beaded curtains.
Eventually, the track faded, and the crowd turned their eyes toward the main stage as the announcer's voice boomed through the speakers.
"Get ready, everyone! You're about to feast your eyes!"
Yeonho felt his heart drop into his stomach.
He didn't know the choreography, and stepping out under the spotlight blind would make the whole performance look ridiculous.
Noticing the tense energy radiating off him, the female Maria standing beside him tapped his shoulder gently.
"Are you nervous?" she asked softly. It was the same dancer he had passed near the entrance earlier.
"Yeah," Yeonho admitted, offering a sheepish look.
"I don't know the choreography. I just took the gig for the money."
It was a blatant lie, of course—his real objective was far more dangerous—but the woman gave a soft chuckle, clearly finding his honest expression cute.
"You don't need to know the choreo," she reassured him with a warm smile.
"Look at your outfit—you're completely different from us anyway. Just treat this tonight like you're the main event. Dance freely and let your body flow with the beat."
Yeonho nodded slowly as the tension in his shoulders eased.
He closed his eyes for a brief second, channeling memories of his past life—the endless nights spent getting lost in crowded clubs, drowning in liquor, and letting the beat take control of his body.
"Please welcome tonight's main event!" the host screamed into the mic.
The crowd erupted into cheers, clapping and shouting as the beat dropped.
The floor coordinator signaled the core dancers first, followed by the two female Marias.
They glided onto the platform, moving in flawless, synchronized rhythm.
Yeonho couldn't help but admire them; despite working in a place most people called dirty, these women were remarkably talented performers.
A moment later, the lighting change into deep shades of lace-pink and bruised purple.
"Get ready. You're up," the stage manager said, tapping her headset. She gestured toward the stairs with her chin.
"Now. Go. And good luck."
Yeonho took a slow, steady breath and stepped out from the shadows.
The moment the main spotlight locked onto him, a collective gasp swept through the crowd, followed by a wave of sharp, breathless whistles.
Hiding his face behind a black lace fan, Yeonho lowered it inch by inch—a deliberate, agonizing tease—before raising his burning gaze to meet the eyes of the crowd below.
His striking blue eyes caught the glare of the strobe lights, glowing with an otherworldly intensity.
The cheering died down into a stunned, hypnotic silence.
People simply stared up at the stage like idiots, entirely spellbound.
Seeing their reaction, a dark, shameless smirk formed at the corner of Yeonho's lips.
Down on the floor, a group of wealthy young men with women wrapped around their arms paused mid-drink, their eyes glued to the stage.
"What the fuck?" one of them muttered, blinking hard. "Is that a guy?"
"No clue, man," his friend shrugged, straining his neck.
"Looks like a guy to me—no chest at all," another chimed in.
"What if she's just flat-chested?"
"Hey! That's so rude!" one of the women giggled, playfully nudging her date's chest.
The group laughed, but none of them could tear their eyes away from the performance.
Up on the second floor, inside the VIP lounge, several men stood up from their velvet couches and parted the glass-beaded curtains, their full attention on the main stage.
"Is that a new dancer?" a man in a tailored red suit asked, frowning in confusion.
"What happened to my favorite? Did she quit?"
For nearly ten minutes, the man's friends argued back and forth about the unexpected shift in the lineup.
"What do you think, Hyung? Should we call the new one over? He looks damn pretty."
The group turned toward the man who held absolute authority in their circle.
Leaning back lazily against the leather cushions was a heavily built man flanked by two blonde women.
The air around him was thick with the heavy stench of expensive cigar smoke that was drifting from an ashtray on the low table.
The woman on his left lifted a glass of whiskey to his lips, letting him sip his drink, while the woman on his right placed a fresh grape into his mouth.
"Should we claim dibs or not, Yejun-hyung?"
"Shut up. Fucking noisy bastards."
Yejun pulled both women closer by their shoulders, clicking his tongue in irritation as he glared at them.
"I told you two to put on blue contacts tonight and you didn't listen."
The two women were his regular companions whenever he frequented the club—convenient sex partners, despite the fact that he had a wife waiting at home.
"Hyung, it's about time we decide," one of his friends pressed. "You don't want to miss this."
"If we don't request the lead dancer now, someone else is going to book him."
"Fuck, should we just go down there and claim him right now?"
"Wait, Hyung hasn't said a word yet."
The group was growing frantic, completely captivated by the new dancer.
Annoyed by their incessant chattering, Yejun shoved both women off him with brutal force.
"Ouch!"
"Ow... my arm!"
Ignoring their complaints, Yejun stood up and walked toward the terrace edge, shoving past his friends and roughly parting the glass curtains.
"Fucking idiots," Yejun muttered, gripping the brass rail. "What's so special about the new one? If this is a joke, I'm throwing all of you down the stairs."
His friends backed away nervously. Yejun reached out, grabbing one of them by his collar.
"Where is he? If he looks like shit, I'm leaving, and you're covering the bill tonight."
"Ah—Hyung, come on..." his friend stammered, raising a nervous hand.
"Shut the fuck up."
"Wait!...T-There... just look for yourself!"
The friend pointed a trembling finger toward the main stage and Yejun released his grip on his collar, turning his gaze toward the platform.
The moment his eyes landed on the lead dancer, Yejun froze.
He rubbed his eyes, leaning forward to get a clearer view.
Right at that second, as if sensing his gaze, the blonde dancer turned his head, his eyes sweeping directly across the VIP balcony.
The main dancer was wearing a semi-sheer ensemble of black lace, crimson silk, and white mesh.
It covered his body, yet the design left almost everything to the imagination—looking far more like high-end lingerie than a dance costume.
The fluid, intoxicating way his body swayed made Yejun's throat go completely dry, making him swallow hard.
The masquerade mask only heightened the tension, his presence was mystery, drawing every eye in the building toward him like a magnet.
Like a devil luring mortals into his lair.
From this distance, the details were blurred, but Yejun—who had been dangerously obsessed with one specific person years ago—recognized those eyes instantly.
Drunk or sober, he could never mistake them.
"Book him."
"What?" his younger associate, Taehyun, blinked in surprise.
"I said book him right now."
"But Hyung, his set isn't finished yet—"
"I said book him NOW! Before I smash your head into the floor, Hwang Taehyun!"
Taehyun flinched. Frightened out of his mind, he scrambled toward the lounge entrance and frantically signaled a floor server to fetch the blonde dancer.
The server bowed and rushed downstairs, while Yejun stood at the railing, veins bulging along his neck and arms as his fingers dug tightly into the cold metal terrace pole.
Down below, the server relayed the VIP request to Yeonho, who immediately stepped down from the stage.
He moved gracefully toward the VIP staircase, his body swaying to the music as he navigated through the admiring crowd.
"Damn, he's heading straight to the VIP section."
"He's a guy, right? Fucking insane."
"You need real cash if you want to book someone like that."
"Told you it was a guy."
"Shame I don't have that kind of money on me."
Quiet whispers of envy followed him, but the crowd could do nothing except watch him climb the carpeted stairs.
Up above, Yejun could barely contain his impatience. The moment the blonde reached the top of the landing, a server handed him a fresh bottle of liquor.
Yejun retreated to his couch, sitting down and watching like a hawk as Yeonho stepped into the VIP suite.
Yeonho offered a polite bow and a soft smile.
"Come here," Yejun ordered instantly.
Yeonho obeyed without hesitation.
"Excuse me."
Yejun immediately motioned for the two women on the couch to get lost.
Once Yeonho sat down beside him, Yejun leaned in uncomfortably close, shadow falling over Yeonho's face.
"Take that off. I want to see your face."
Instead of removing it, Yeonho bowed his head slightly, offering a soft, gentle refusal.
"I apologize, sir, but I cannot remove the mask. It is a strict rule to protect my identity."
"I paid for your time."
"I... I am deeply sorry," Yeonho whispered softly, looking down.
"I can't do that. Please understand."
Yejun leaned back against the leather, resting his arm along the top of the couch. Those blue eyes were unmistakable—he wasn't misremembering.
"Hmm... What will it take for you to take it off for me?"
Yeonho remained quiet, his slender fingers nervously fidgeting with the lace of his costume.
A slow, predatory grin forming on Yejun's face.
"Just tell me what you want, and I'll give it to you," Yejun coaxed, his tone dripping with fake warmth. "Just let me see your face."
Yeonho hesitated, lowering his voice into a delicate murmur.
"I...."
"Yeah? Go on. Say it."
"I want... money..."
Yejun let out a booming laugh, suddenly pulling Yeonho directly into his chest. He looked down at the delicate figure who seemed to be trembling in his hold.
"Order the vintage bottle that just arrived!" Yejun shouted to his group.
"All of you, go grab your own tables and start ordering! We need to give this princess right here what he wants!"
The server bowed and rushed out to fulfill the order, while Yejun's friends hastily vacated the suite to drink at other nearby tables—forced to spend their own money on Yejun's whim, as usual.
With the room cleared, Yejun's hand slid down to rest possessively on Yeonho's waist.
Yeonho gave a small, exaggerated flinch.
"Um... your hand, sir."
"What? You don't like that?"
Yeonho shook his head quickly, looking thoroughly intimidated.
"N-No..."
"Good boy. Just behave well and listen to me, and I'll give you as much money as you want."
"O-Okay... Thank you, sir."
Yejun kept his arm locked tightly around Yeonho's waist, casually flirting and touching him as he pleased.
The helpless, timid reactions he received only fed his ego further.
Whether the Yeonho was terrified, shy, or naive, Yejun thoroughly enjoyed playing with his prey.
A few minutes later, the server returned bearing an exquisite vintage bottle, while other staff brought rounds of drinks to the surrounding tables.
Once the wine was poured, Yejun handed a glass directly to Yeonho.
"Drink."
"Y-Yes..."
Yeonho took the glass with trembling hands and downed it in a single, smooth gulp.
He set the empty glass back on the table.
Now that he had fulfilled his end of the bargain, Yejun reached out to pull the mask off.
Before his fingers could touch the strap, Yeonho gently caught Yejun's wrist in mid-air.
"Let's go somewhere we can be alone," Yeonho whispered.
The shy, trembling tone was completely gone, replaced by a smooth, seductive melody.
Yejun didn't mind the sudden change in demeanor at all—if anything, the bold invitation delighted him.
"Now you're talking," Yejun grinned, standing up and pulling Yeonho with him.
"Lead the way."
Keeping a firm arm wrapped around Yeonho's waist, Yejun guided him down a secluded, dimly lit corridor away from the main floor.
Yeonho softly suggested choosing a room at the very end of the hall, claiming he didn't want anyone accidentally walking in on them while his mask was off.
Yejun chuckled darkly, thoroughly captivated, and agreed without a second thought.
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