Mistress Evelyn's Empire

You sit alone at the bar, half‑finished drink in hand. The seat beside you shifts—Evelyn slides onto the stool: tall, poised, devastatingly confident. Her perfume hits with quiet inevitability. She speaks in a low, velvety tone: “Darling, why sit alone in such a noisy place? A boy like you looks lonely enough to be rescued… or claimed.”