Anything is possible!

As the sun sets in the west and the eaves cast melancholic shadows, the outlines of all things become hazy and indistinct. In these moments, one cannot tell whether the figure approaching from afar is the loyal dog one has raised, or a wolf coming to hunt its prey.

At this time, the boundary between good and evil blurs, melting into the blood-red of the setting sun...

When the sun sets, our story begins.

Bar owner Charles Sutton is an antique collector, with a modest reputation in the appraisal world. On the surface, he seems lazy, living a life of extravagance and idleness.

In the eyes of most, Charles Sutton muddles through life, likes to flirt with girls, and is a typical rich second generation. However, an unexpected accident forces him to become a vampire. From then on, whether he is a wolf or a dog depends on a single thought.

He is destined to be lonely, wandering the vast sea of emptiness. He watches, he waits, he hungers...

Volume One: Demonic Bar

Chapter 1: Twilight in the City

The wine in the glass was a tempting emerald green. The color was so rich, like jade, that it made one feel as if they were standing on a lush lawn or in a dense forest.

Through the soft lighting, the icy peaks in the glass refracted a dreamlike array of colors, like a fine piece of icy jade, with a lovely, misty green that made one reluctant to swallow it, wanting instead to treat it as an ornament to admire and play with.

A hand appeared out of nowhere, slowly pouring a shot of strong tequila over the ice mountain built from crushed ice.

With a hiss, a flame appeared in midair, revealing the silhouette of a waiter holding a long, lit match.

A pale blue flame instantly danced atop the ice peak. The fierce fire burned, the ice slowly melted, blending into the green mint liqueur. Immediately, the refreshing scent of mint and the fragrance of tequila filled the air, with a hint of creamy sweetness mixed in.

Dressed simply and elegantly, Evelyn Lewis gently raised her glass and took a small sip.

As the drink slid down her throat, it was as smooth as a flirtatious glance, incredibly soft and gentle. The seductive charm lingered, leaving one feeling as if bathed in a spring breeze, intoxicated in both body and soul.

In the sweltering summer, that cool sensation seeped into her heart, making Evelyn Lewis feel instantly at ease.

"Please enjoy," the waiter gestured with one hand, his body vanishing into the darkness like a magician.

Holding the glass, she idly drifted into a daze. Only then did Evelyn Lewis remember to look up and take in the bar called "Demonic."

At first, when she saw the name "Demonic," Evelyn Lewis thought a bar with such a name would have a very unconventional, avant-garde decor, somewhere her wild heart could let loose in a frenzy. But to her surprise, the bar's style was extremely simple. So simple, in fact, that it made Evelyn Lewis feel uncomfortable.

Feelings are a mysterious thing.

She set down her glass and quietly observed her surroundings, searching for the source of that feeling.

The bar was very spacious, with large distances between tables, making the hall feel vast and, of course, rather empty. The few scattered patrons sitting idly about only made the place seem emptier. Yet, for some reason, Evelyn Lewis did not find the bar cold or desolate.

The entire bar was nothing but black and white—white floors, white walls, black oak tables, chairs, and bar counter. Aside from black and white, the only other colors came from the wine-filled cabinets and the glasses on the tables. Even the waiters were dressed all in black, standing quietly against the walls in the dim light. It was easy to overlook their presence until they appeared like ghosts.

In the dim, ambiguous lighting, the guests sitting on the black furniture seemed to be suspended in midair. Evelyn Lewis watched with bated breath, always worried they might fall, but the guests themselves seemed as relaxed as if they were sitting on the moon gazing at the stars.

Even more striking, all the patrons here were dressed simply. Many wore black clothes and skirts; such people, sitting on black stools, showed only their faces, their bodies invisible, like spirits floating in the air. However, this dress code made Evelyn Lewis, who didn't own any fancy clothes, blend in without feeling shabby.

A female singer, dressed in a long black coat and holding a white guitar, walked onto the stage. The black coat couldn't hide her freshness, and when she took it off to reveal a gray-green fitted shirt, she was like a tree in early spring, filling the bar with the breath of the season.

People began to anticipate. But after waiting a while, she didn't start singing, only flipping through the sheet music on her stand, swinging her beautiful legs. A pair of red stockings hugged her deer-like legs, accentuating their graceful curves, and her green wig made her delicate face shine like porcelain, lighting up the entire bar.

She finally began to sing—an English song.

Even those whose English wasn't good could tell that her singing voice was not as beautiful as her looks. But that was understandable—how much more could one ask of such a beautiful girl?

There weren't many men in the bar, just a few here and there. None listened to the song with full attention; they smoked, chatted, glanced absentmindedly at their female companions, and occasionally looked at the stage.

Watching was clearly more fitting than listening for this girl. The men all seemed a little tipsy, though it was hard to say whether it was from the wine in their glasses or the dimples of the pretty girl on stage.