After finishing her song, several men who looked like regulars greeted the songstress. Their expressions toward her were a mix of admiration and humility. She, however, simply raised her glass lightly to one of the regulars; in her glass, the red wine shimmered. That lucky man wore a look of happiness and pride as the other guests glanced their way.

This girl was like a tulip blooming in the dark night, exuding fragrance. It made Evelyn Lewis feel a tinge of self-conscious shame.

How many such flowers are scattered throughout this city? They float along the river of night bars, their subtle fragrance drifting, each harboring her own secrets, waiting for a garden to settle in.

Downing her drink in one go out of spite, Evelyn Lewis also waved her hand, but it was clear her gesture was not meant for the songstress.

A male waiter appeared silently at her side, bowing and asking, “Miss, would you like to order a drink?”

“Is your boss here?” Evelyn Lewis, emboldened by the alcohol, asked boldly.

The waiter was taken aback, then softly asked in return, “Do you... need to make a complaint?”

Evelyn Lewis flashed what she thought was a cute smile. “No! A friend asked me to bring him a note... um, that guy’s name is Charles Sutton, right?”

The waiter let out a quiet sigh of relief, his tone relaxing. “Yes! But, the ‘that guy’ you mentioned—that’s your way of calling him, I’m just repeating your words—he’s usually on the terrace at this hour. Take the elevator and tell the hostess you’re looking for the boss, she’ll take you to the terrace.”

The terrace? Evelyn Lewis recalled the information she’d gathered beforehand.

This “Demon” bar was located on a commercial street. The street had a long history and had recently undergone renovations, so all the buildings had become “modern antiques.”

The purpose of the renovation was to “develop tourism.” After the changes, the architectural style of the street remained the same—rows of Republican-era buildings lined the street, each one connected yet independent, similar in style but not identical.

Generally, the ground floors of these buildings were shops, while the second and third floors were mostly restaurants, snack bars, bars, nightclubs, and other entertainment venues. As for the rooftop terraces, they were mostly allocated to the original residents of the street. These terraces were enclosed and converted into sunrooms, which the residents rented out as bars, tea houses, and so on.

The Demon bar was on the second floor, with its terrace on the rooftop of the third floor. Following the waiter’s guidance, Evelyn Lewis arrived at the bar’s private elevator.

Out-of-town tourists liked to climb the faux-antique stairs of this commercial street, using the opportunity to experience the “weight of history.” Local pleasure-seekers didn’t mind walking up a few flights either, enjoying the leisure of it. As a result, none of the buildings on the street were willing to give up commercial space to install an elevator—except for the building housing the “Demon” bar. Not only did it have an elevator, but the elevator was the only way to reach the upper floors.

Because it had no stairs. On the entire street, only this building had no stairs. Both the second and third floors belonged entirely to the “Demon” bar, and the only way in was via two elevators.

The elevators were operated by staff, and there was no button for the fourth floor on the panel. After Evelyn Lewis told the hostess her destination, she lifted the panel cover and pressed a hidden button. The elevator rose past the third floor and stopped at a floor that didn’t exist in reality.

“We’ve arrived, the floor you wanted,” the hostess said, extending her hand. Evelyn Lewis stepped out of the elevator almost involuntarily.

Chapter 1: The City at Dusk (2)

Dim fluorescent floor lights illuminated a T-shaped corridor. Evelyn Lewis stood at the crossbar of the T, facing a short passageway. On the left were three rooms with tightly locked doors; on the right, one room with its door ajar, a faint light shining through.

The neon lights outside flickered, so the corridor was not lacking in brightness. At the end of the hallway was a glass room, silent and seemingly empty, everything hidden in a play of light and shadow.

Evelyn Lewis bit her lip and quietly walked to the only lit room, knocking on the half-open door.

There was a slight sound from inside, followed by a clear female voice—“Please come in?”

Suddenly stepping from the dim corridor into the commanding office, Evelyn Lewis was momentarily unaccustomed to the change in light, blinking several times. Once the room’s brightness no longer stung her eyes, she was met by a wary round face.

This was a professional woman who couldn’t be called beautiful. Her skin was a bit dark, her features quite ordinary, nothing distinctive.

However, the suit she wore was clearly high-end, her hair was immaculately styled, and her clothes were perfectly tailored from expensive fabric. Even the hair clip she wore showed signs of careful selection.

All these elements together gave a first impression of strictness.

This was a woman meticulous to the point of being picky. Now, her crimson-manicured fingers held a slender, gently smoking cigarette. There wasn’t a single document on the desk before her; the spotless surface held only a glass of red wine, glowing with a tempting crimson, filling the whole room with a lazy atmosphere.