Under His Winter Gaze

Coralyn’s POV

I always say that if you want to understand a person, watch how they behave after midnight.

Midnight stripped people bare. It peeled off manners, shame, and pretense like cheap wallpaper and left only instinct behind.

The Velvet Lantern existed for that exact purpose.

It brought out every version of humanity—the lonely ones nursing watered-down courage, the loud ones drowning something they refused to name, the heartbreakers who smiled too wide and meant none of it. The ones who came to this devil-ridden place to be burdened with more than they could handle, or to be unburdened of the things they could no longer carry.

And then there was me.

A chestnut-haired woman with a serving tray balanced on one palm, weaving through bodies like I’d been born to this chaos. A woman who smiled for tips, dodged wandering hands, and swallowed her thoughts because rent did not care about dignity.

Someone whistled when I passed.

Someone else tried to slip a tip into my waistband.

I caught his wrist before the bill could disappear, my fingers tightening just enough to make a point. I leaned in close, my smile sharp enough to cut glass.

“Do that again,” I said softly, “and I promise all that vodka I just served you will be dripping from your nostrils in a minute.”

He grunted and pulled back.

Good.

He was smarter than the raunchy, loud-mouthed men seated ahead, already arguing over whose turn it was to buy shots they couldn’t afford.

“Blanco,” I called, raising my voice over the bass.

He was crouched beneath one of the tables with a micro-flashlight between his teeth, tightening screws along the loose leg. The Lantern had charm, sure—but most of it was held together by stubbornness and last-minute fixes.

“Blanco!”

“Mm?” He looked up, light flickering across his face as he pulled the flashlight free. “It’s not time for my shift yet.”

I sighed and pointed toward the clock mounted above the bar. The red digits blinked 9:45 p.m.

“Check again, genius. You’re on the night shift.”

He groaned like the weight of the world had just landed on his spine.

“I hate this job.”

“Well,” I said dryly, “I don’t like it any more than you do, but we both enjoy electricity and food.”

Blanco crawled out from under the table, brushing dust from his cheek. He muttered something about quitting—same speech, every night, never followed through.

I pushed back into the crowd, tray steady, eyes already scanning for trouble. The back room needed refilling, and I needed tonight to go smoothly.

I needed everything to go smoothly.

Because Christmas was three days away.

And for the first time in years, I had plans.

A real vacation. A real break. Sun, quiet, distance—things the Velvet Lantern did not provide. I clung to that thought the way some people clung to prayer. Every rude customer, every spilled drink, every late shift—I told myself it was temporary.

Just get through tonight.

Just get through the week.

A woman grabbed my arm.

She looked barely twenty-one and very drunk, mascara smudged beneath her eyes like bruises she didn’t remember earning.

“Can I get another one of those purple drinks?” she asked, waving her empty glass dangerously close to my face.

I gently nudged her hand down.

“Absolutely. But drink some water too—unless you want to wake up tomorrow feeling like your soul is crawling out through your eyeballs.”

She laughed and stumbled into her friend.

“You talk too pretty to work here.”

“You’d be shocked how often I hear that,” I replied, already moving away.

I delivered orders, dodged a spilled cocktail, and slid behind the bar long enough to grab fresh glasses. Blanco appeared beside me, tying his apron with the resignation of a dead man walking.

“If someone vomits on me tonight,” he said, “I am leaving forever.”

“You said that yesterday.”

“And I meant it.”

I smirked. “This place owns your soul, Blanco. Accept it.”

I stepped back onto the floor.

Heck—he’d worked here longer than I had.

××××

This Christmas, I had plans.

Plans that did not include bouncing out strippers we didn’t hire.

“Go on,” I said, lightly shoving her toward the exit. “There are other clubs downtown.”

She turned, chewing obnoxiously loud.

Bubble gum.

Too much glitter.

Not ours.

She planted a hand on her hip. “What did you say to me?”

“I said this is not your stage,” I replied evenly. “You can’t just walk into a club uninvited and hook your legs on the poles.”

Her mouth twisted into a sneer.

“Listen, sweetheart. I know girls like you. Pretty little nobodies with big attitudes. Don’t act like you’re better than me.”

I wanted to laugh—not because she was right or wrong, but because reacting would turn this into paperwork. Reports. Meetings. My manager’s disappointed sigh.

So I stayed neutral. Calm smile. Velvet Lantern training.

“Thought so,” she scoffed. “Quiet little club rat.”

She rolled her eyes dramatically, then leaned in.

“This place is trash anyway. Bet the only reason you even have a job is because you sleep with that gangster—the owner’s nephew. What’s his name again? Kade.”

Of course.

Of course she had to say his name.

Kade was not my boyfriend.

Not anymore. Not ever, if the universe had mercy.

He was something between a bad memory and a walking red flag that refused to stay buried.

“I don’t sleep with him.”

“Sure you do,” she said. “Girls like you always do.”

Blanco froze mid-wipe behind the bar. The bartender beside him inhaled sharply.

Everyone knew mentioning Kade around me was like poking a hornet’s nest.

“Leave,” I said quietly. “Right now.”

She smirked.

“Or what? You’ll cry?”

I walked away.

I made it halfway back to the bar before something struck the back of my head—hard.

I spun around as a half-eaten apple rolled across the floor.

“Did you just throw that at me?”

She shrugged. “Maybe it slipped.”

“You know what,” I said calmly, pulse roaring in my ears. “I tried to be nice.”

Her grin widened. “And failed. Pathetically. Like the pathetic slu—”

That was it.

I grabbed her wrist and shoved her back. She snarled, swung wildly, and I poked her in the eye. She crashed into the wall, hissing like a feral cat.

“Ow! What the hell—you’re a psycho!”

“I think you should stop talking,” I replied, rolling my sleeves up.

She lunged again. We collided and hit the floor hard. She clawed at my shoulder; I grabbed her hair and yanked her back before she could rake my face.

“Let go!” she screamed.

“You threw an apple at me,” I said flatly. “This is the natural consequence.”

Blanco came running.

“Coralyn—what in the world—”

“She wants to fight,” I deadpanned. “So we’re fighting.”

Blanco covered his face. “I am too sober for this.”

I tightened my grip. “Go get security. Before I get charged with murder.”

She spat a curse at me.

“Kade’s going to hear about this.”

“By the time he does,” I said, breath steady despite everything, “I won’t be here.”

And I meant it.

Because in three days, I was supposed to be gone.

Far away.

Finally choosing myself.

Even if the universe clearly wasn’t done testing me yet.