Short Devil

The plush, velvet curtains of the private club room shimmered in the dim, red light, casting long, distorted shadows across the opulent furnishings. Vernon, his face flushed with a mixture of alcohol and exhilaration, reclined on a chaise lounge, surrounded by a bevy of giggling women. He was enjoying himself, the anxieties of his professional and familial life momentarily forgotten in the haze of pleasure.

The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and cheap champagne, the rhythmic pulse of the club's music vibrating through the walls. Vernon laughed, his voice loud and boisterous, as one of the women leaned in, whispering something in his ear.

Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room shifted, the playful laughter replaced by a tense silence. The women, their smiles fading, exchanged nervous glances and began to discreetly gather their belongings. Vernon, oblivious to the change, continued to laugh, his eyes half-closed.