Unfulfilled love

BEHIND THE GLAMOR

Later that night…

Vici stepped into her penthouse, the soft click of her heels echoing against the marble tiles. The city lights poured in through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, but she barely glanced at them. Her body ached, her head was spinning, and her phone had already died hours ago.

Promising Selene a weekend break meant pulling double shifts that day—meetings, emails, phone calls. She didn’t even have the energy to eat.

She dropped her purse on the console table and slid off her heels with a sigh. The silence of her apartment wrapped around her like a heavy blanket. No noise, no conversation, just her and her exhaustion.

“I need five minutes,” she mumbled, collapsing onto the couch in her work clothes.

But five minutes turned into hours.

***

A loud, shrill alarm tore through the silence, making her jolt upright in confusion. Her heart thudded in her chest. As her brain caught up, her phone buzzed violently on the table beside her, screen lit up:

*Selene *

*Where are you?? We said 7!*

Vici blinked at the time. 6:42 p.m.

“Sh*t!” she groaned, scrambling off the couch. Her hair was a mess, makeup slightly smudged, and her outfit was still the same from work. Her body was screaming for more sleep, but she had made a promise—and she wasn’t one to break it.

She grabbed her robe, rushing toward the bathroom.

“I’m never agreeing to downtime again,” she muttered, already regretting how much she’d pushed herself earlier just to clear her schedule.

—

Vici splashed cold water on her face, blinking herself fully awake as the chill hit her skin. Her reflection in the mirror looked like a woman who hadn’t slept in days—and honestly, it wasn’t far from the truth.

“Okay, Vici,” she muttered, tying her hair into a quick ponytail. “You’re a boss, not a zombie.”

She moved fast—faster than she ever had for any meeting.

Within minutes, she had the shower running, makeup essentials scattered across the counter, and three dresses laid out on her bed. Normally, she had her glam team for this, but tonight it was just her and a prayer.

Twenty minutes later, she was sliding into a fitted emerald-green dress, brushing her hair out into soft waves. A swipe of nude gloss, light contour, and her signature bold eyeliner later—she was back to looking like *Vici Monroe*, not the drained CEO who passed out on her own couch.

As she grabbed her purse and heels, her phone buzzed again:

*Selene*

*You got 10 mins before I order without you

*

Vici replied quickly:

*On my way. Don’t flirt with the bartender till I get there.*

She stepped into the elevator, exhaling as the doors closed. Her heart still raced from the rush, but her face? Calm, collected, and unreadable.

She was late, tired, and still running on fumes—but tonight wasn’t about work. Tonight, she had to act like she had it all together… even if she was falling apart on the inside

—

Outside Verra Lounge, the street was lined with high-end machines—silent symbols of status and power. But none turned heads quite like the two that pulled up seconds apart.

*******

First came a matte black *Lamborghini Urus*, its sleek body reflecting the soft city lights. The door opened smoothly and Vici stepped out, one leg first, heels hitting the ground like a silent announcement. Heads turned immediately—even the valet paused for a second. She didn’t just arrive—she *arrived*.

Right behind, a cherry red *Mercedes-Benz AMG GT* rolled up, humming low like it knew it was hot. Selene stepped out in sync, flipping her hair back as she handed the keys to the valet without a glance.

The cameras from passing phones flashed for a moment, even if people tried to be subtle. Two queens just entered the scene—and they didn’t need an invite to rule it.

____

Hidden away in the heart of the city’s most elite district was *Verra Lounge*—a private high-end club known only to those who moved in power, wealth, and whispers. It wasn’t just a place to drink; it was a sanctuary for the elite. Politicians, CEOs, celebrities—they all came here to escape the spotlight, strike million-dollar deals, or whisper about scandal over glasses of aged wine.

Verra had no public signboard, no social media trail. You either knew someone or you didn’t belong. Inside, everything reeked of luxury—from the velvet walls and marble floors to the soft jazz humming through the air. The lighting was dim, warm, and intimate, casting gold glows on every glass of champagne and every conversation.

Vici walked in like she owned the place, dressed in a deep emerald-green satin dress that hugged her curves like second skin. Her heels clicked against the marble, subtle but commanding. Her makeup was soft but bold—highlighting her fierce cheekbones and sharp eyes. Hair slicked back into a flawless bun, she radiated power and grace.

Selene wasn’t far behind, in a fiery red bodycon dress that showed off just enough to cause a stir. Her signature silver hoops danced with every step, and her glossy lips curved in a smirk that dared anyone to look too long.

Heads turned. Of course they did.

The hostess, recognizing them instantly, led them to a quiet booth near the back—semi-private, but still in view of the scene. Just how they liked it.

Glasses clinked. Orders were placed. And finally, the air was calm.

“So,” Selene leaned in, swirling her drink. “Tell me about the next blind date of yours. Any worse than the last one who tried to pitch you a business deal during dinner?”

Vici rolled her eyes. “He’s supposedly a big shot this time. From some tech conglomerate. My mom swears he’s 'serious husband material.’ Whatever that means.”

Selene already had her phone out. “Name?”

“I think she said his name is Donovan Grey.”

Selene’s fingers danced on the screen. “Hold up—Donovan Grey? As in *GreyTech*? That’s no joke, Vici. The guy’s been on Forbes.”

Vici groaned. “Even worse. Means I can’t escape it.”

“Girl, go. I’d cover for you, but I’m drowning in two client briefs and an event rollout this weekend.”

Vici took a long sip of her drink. “Great. Guess I’m going solo.”

Their convo paused briefly as a man walked by with a woman clinging to his arm like she was staking a claim. Both Vici and Selene watched in silence.

“Isn’t that Mark Elston?” Selene whispered. “Didn’t he just finalize a merger with LuxCorp?”

“Yup,” Vici replied. “And that definitely isn’t his wife.”

Selene sipped. “These men never change. Rich or richer.”

—

Selene raised a brow as she watched the couple across the room, clearly ready to dig into some juicy gossip. But before she could even open her mouth, Vici spoke.

“Leave it, Selene,” she said calmly, taking a sip of her drink. “Whatever he’s doing, it’s not our business. It’s not like we’re getting paid for the gossip.”

Selene blinked, a little caught off guard. “Damn, okay... chill.”

Vici leaned back in her seat, eyes soft but tired. “I came here for peace, Selene. Just one night to breathe, drink, and forget about everyone else’s mess—including mine.”

That silenced them both for a second. The weight in her tone said more than her words ever could.