Sin Starts at Midnight

The cover opens in darkness, pulling the viewer into a world that feels secretive, seductive, and just a little dangerous. A dimly lit nightclub sets the scene, washed in deep blacks and rich crimson tones. The lighting is low, with hints of neon glowing softly in the background, suggesting a place where rules blur and secrets live comfortably in the shadows.

At the center of the cover stands a woman under a single spotlight. Her figure is outlined in a soft red glow, highlighting her confidence and control. She is on stage, elevated, untouchable-yet somehow still vulnerable. Her face is not fully visible, keeping her identity mysterious, but her presence is powerful enough to command attention. A subtle shimmer on her skin catches the light, adding to the allure without revealing too much.

Behind her, in the shadows, is a man. He isn't fully seen-just the outline of a sharp suit, the hint of broad shoulders, maybe the faint glint of a gold watch or cufflink. His face is hidden in darkness, making him feel unreadable and dangerous. What matters is his focus-he's watching her. Not casually, not briefly, but with intention. It's the kind of look that suggests this moment means more than it should.

There's distance between them, but it doesn't feel empty. It feels charged. Like something is building in the space between the stage and the shadows. Something inevitable.