Ryan was efficient and fast. That very afternoon, I had the package in hand. There was no label, just a clear sealed bag filled with pale pink powder.

"They call it Eros Flame on the black market," he said while handing it to me, his expression complicated. "Even licensed vets wouldn't dare use it casually. It's for breeding bulls with no libido, essentially.

"It acts directly on the central nervous system, shuts down reason, and blows primal desire completely out of control. A few grams is enough to keep a thousand-pound bull in heat for three days."

I took the package and smiled. "Thanks."

When I got home, I poured the entire packet into a bottle of Romanee-Conti. The powder dissolved the instant it touched the wine. The dark red liquid thickened, almost crimson, like molten lava starting to boil.

A strange, sweet, metallic scent spread through the air. It was sharp and invasive. Just a whiff, and one could feel their skin crawling and their heart pounding.

I gently swirled the bottle and watched the eerie red liquid move inside. I smiled in satisfaction. This was no longer wine, but a ticket straight to hell.

That evening, Susan was busy in the kitchen. I deliberately locked the wine bottle into the most visible glass cabinet in the living room in front of her.

"Ms. Miller," I called out.

She immediately wiped her hands and hurried over, her eyes glued to the wine bottle as if pulled by a magnet. "Oh, what's that, Ms. Lawson?"

"This is a 1945 Romanee-Conti," I said evenly. "I picked it up at a recent auction. One bottle is worth two million dollars."

As I spoke, I deliberately placed the key on top of the shoe cabinet by the door, a spot she could easily reach just by standing on her toes.

Her throat bobbed hard. I clearly heard her swallow—the sound of greed and barely contained impatience. I knew the fish had taken the bait.

For people like Susan and Roman, the temptation intensified the more expensive something was. Roman, especially, relied on flashy livestream stunts to draw viewers. To him, this bottle of wine was a fatal lure.

Late into the night, I lay on the bed with a cooling face mask and watched the surveillance feed.

The living room was pitch-black, but a sneaky figure crept into the foyer, tiptoed, and acquired the key. Then, she carefully unlocked the glass cabinet.

With the help of the moonlight filtering in, I saw Susan holding the red wine with a look of crazed triumph. She acted no differently than a thief, stuffing the bottle into her bag and sneaking out of the house.

I watched her retreating figure and let her be. In fact, I even wanted to applaud her.

The show was finally about to begin.