Does Velvet Vixen enjoy the peril?

Madame Mirage’s smile stretches into something far more wolfish now—hungry, glinting with something wicked and intimate. She leans in closer to the table, her lips a hair’s breadth away from the tiny chair where Velvet Vixen sits, and lowers her voice to a sultry whisper.

“You know, you’ve got all the sass, all the sparkle, all the flair of a heroine who should be untouchable.”

She tilts her head, eyes never leaving Velvet Vixen’s face.

“And yet… somehow, every time I check the papers, someone’s got you tied to a chair, dangling from a deathtrap, or trussed up in a basement.”

Velvet Vixen stiffens.

“It’s not like I plan that.”

Mirage’s grin widens.

“Mmm. But tell me the truth, darling…”

Her wand taps once—gently—on the table, and Velvet Vixen feels the velvet chair melt into nothing beneath her, dropping her to her knees on the cool glass tabletop, now completely exposed and **** before the towering magician.

“Do you enjoy it?” Mirage’s voice is low. Dangerous. All performance and poison. “The helplessness. The suspense. The rope around your wrists, the trap just seconds away from springing… the attention.”

Velvet Vixen swallows hard.

She opens her mouth, but her voice catches. And that moment of hesitation—the flicker of blush, the slight tremble of her breath—is more than enough for Mirage.

The magician leans back, laughing, not cruelly, but triumphantly.

“Oh, Vixen. You are delicious.”

Velvet Vixen snaps back, forcing composure.

“I don’t enjoy it—”

“Mmm, but you don’t hate it either, do you?”

The heroine glares up at her from the table’s smooth surface, chest heaving, red-faced and furious.

Mirage just twirls her wand and hums like she’s found her favorite song.

“No wonder Westville adores you. A little bit of glam, a little bit of grit… and just enough vulnerability to make people watch.”

She leans in once more.

“I’m going to have so much fun unraveling you.”