002
1601 Words
AUGUST
“Taylor, you know damn well I’m going out with Daniel tonight.”
I kept my voice low as I spoke into the phone, but there was no hiding the sharp edge underneath it. I was already irritated, and hearing her voice didn’t help. The city lights flashed past the window as Daniel drove, the engine humming smoothly beneath us.
She scoffed on the other end. That little sound she made whenever she wanted to remind me she wasn’t afraid of me.
“So?” she said.
“So what?” I snapped. “Don’t act stupid, girl. It doesn’t fit you.”
There was a pause. I imagined her tightening her jaw, forcing herself to stay calm the way she always did in public. Taylor cared too much about appearances. About being perfect.
“Your parents and mine are going to be at the restaurant in thirty minutes, August,” she said finally. “Please don’t embarrass me.”
I let out a dry laugh. “You brought it upon yourself.”
“August,” she said, her voice dropping. Softer now. Almost careful. “I promise you, I’ll do everything in my power to make you love me. I know you don’t want this engagement, but I swear I’ll do everything in my freaking power to make this work.”
That did it.
I ended the call before she could say another word.
The silence afterward felt better than her promises ever did.
Daniel glanced over from the driver’s seat, one eyebrow raised, a small smirk tugging at his mouth. “That was intense, man.”
I rubbed my temple, already feeling the familiar pressure building behind my eyes. “I need her off my back. She’s getting so annoying. I’m pretty sure my mom told her to stop me from hanging out with you today. They just need to get off my back.”
He nodded once. “I get you. That’s why you need tonight.”
I scoffed. “You just want me to go out with you.”
Daniel laughed, loud and easy. “Well… yeah. But let’s be honest. The families want the companies merged. They’ve wanted it since before we could walk. You don’t really have a choice.”
I stayed quiet because he was right.
I never had a choice.
My parents decided Taylor was the perfect fit for me the moment I was born. Our lives were mapped out before we could even spell our names. When we both turned eighteen, they announced the engagement like it was some grand gift instead of a death sentence.
Ten years later, we were still engaged.
Taylor was tired of waiting. She wanted the ring, the wedding date, the glossy photos splashed across society pages. My parents wanted me settled, tamed, and off their hands.
To them, I was a ticking time bomb.
They never said it outright, but I felt it in their looks. In the way conversations went quiet when I walked into a room. In how carefully they chose their words, like I might crack at any moment and bring the family name down with me.
Bipolar.
They treated it like a flaw they needed to manage instead of something I lived with every day.
I leaned back against the leather seat as Daniel drove the Ferrari faster, the engine growling softly. The city blurred past us in streaks of neon and glass. We were heading to the other side of Nighthaven—the part people like us pretended didn’t exist.
The air felt heavier the farther we went.
We finally pulled up in front of the club. It squatted on a run-down block, loud and unapologetic, neon sign flickering above the entrance.
Rico’s.
Daniel parked right in the VIP section like he owned the place and stepped out, handing the keys to the valet along with two crisp hundred-dollar bills.
“Watch the car,” he said casually.
The kid nodded so fast I thought his neck might snap. “Yes, boss. Yes, boss, I would.”
Daniel chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder as we walked toward the entrance.
The moment the doors opened, heat and bass slammed into me like a wall.
The place was packed. Bodies pressed together, the floor vibrating beneath our feet. Sweat, cheap cologne, perfume, smoke—it all blended into one suffocating smell. Lights flashed overhead, cutting through the darkness in bursts of red and purple.
“Damn,” I muttered. “This place is too small. Should’ve just booked La Voil.”
La Voil was clean. Exclusive. Quiet enough that you could actually hear yourself think. The kind of place where the lighting was soft, the music low, and the people carefully chosen. You didn’t just walk into La Voil—you paid for the privilege. Serious money, just to exist inside the room.
Daniel grinned beside me, clearly enjoying my irritation. “Now where’s the fun in that?”
Before I could answer, the energy in the club shifted.
People noticed us almost immediately.
Heads turned. Conversations paused mid-sentence. Whispers rippled outward like a wave. Phones appeared out of nowhere, screens glowing as people lifted them discreetly—or not so discreetly. Someone gasped my name. Someone else said Daniel’s, louder than necessary. The attention pressed in from all sides, thick and uncomfortable, crawling over my skin.
The crowd parted without us asking, bodies moving aside instinctively, like water flowing around stone.
I hated how used to this I was.
We reached the VIP section, and a man in a cheap suit practically sprinted toward us. His smile was wide and desperate, excitement and panic fighting for control of his face. A skinny girl clung to his arm, all sharp angles and heavy makeup, her body pressed close to his like she needed the reassurance.
She locked eyes with me immediately.
Her lashes fluttered. Slowly. Deliberately.
I scowled.
“Mr. Childe. Mr. Beaumont,” the man said, bowing a little too deeply, his voice eager. “Thank you so much for choosing my club.”
Daniel smiled like he was having the time of his life. “It’s our pleasure.”
“I’m Rico Montoya,” the man added quickly, straightening his jacket. “I’ll call in the girls right away.”
“Yes, please,” Daniel said easily. “With drinks.”
“I won’t be drinking,” I cut in, already scanning the room.
Rico nodded fast. “Yes, sir. Of course.”
The girl on his arm hadn’t stopped staring at me. She tilted her head slightly, lips parting, tongue brushing over her lower lip like she expected it to do something.
It didn’t.
I looked back at Rico. “Get a grip on your girl and go get our drinks.”
The words came out flat. Cold.
His face flushed red instantly. “Of course, sir.”
He snapped his fingers sharply at a passing waitress. “Most expensive champagne we have. And tequila. Now.”
The girl jumped, startled by the sudden tone, and the waitress scurried off without a word.
I turned away, already bored, just as the announcer’s voice boomed over the music, cutting through the bass.
“And now, for the final performance of the night…”
I frowned. “Were we that late?”
Rico rushed back over, wringing his hands slightly. “I can make the girls perform again. Whatever you want.”
Daniel waved a hand dismissively. “Of course you would.”
But I wasn’t listening anymore.
My attention snapped to the stage the second the spotlight hit.
She stepped out of the shadows, and everything else disappeared.
The noise faded. The crowd blurred. Even the lights felt distant.
She moved like she belonged to the music, like it lived inside her instead of playing around her. Long, dark hair spilled down her back, swinging with every slow roll of her hips. Each movement was like she was doing this because she was forced to.
Her body curved and arched in a way that made my mouth go dry before I even realized it had happened.
She was wearing barely anything. Glittering scraps of fabric clung to her skin, catching the light with every movement. Full breasts barely contained. A perfect ass that moved with quiet confidence, like it knew exactly what it was doing and didn’t need approval.
She was beautiful.
Stunning.
But that wasn’t what caught my attention.
She lifted her gaze toward the VIP section.
Toward us.
And she glared.
No smile. No playful wink. No attempt to charm, tease, or pretend. Just raw, unfiltered fire burning in her eyes—anger sharp enough to cut—before she turned away and kept dancing like we weren’t even there.
Like I didn’t exist.
Something twisted hard in my chest. I hated been dismissed.
I cleared my throat, suddenly aware of how fast my pulse was racing, how tight my grip was on my knee. I hadn’t moved, hadn’t blinked, hadn’t breathed properly since she stepped onstage.
“Who is that?” I asked.
The drinks arrived right then, bottles filling the table as the waitress set them down carefully. Rico followed close behind, his jaw tight as he glanced toward the stage.
“Camilla,” he said. “One of my best performers. Don’t worry. I’ll correct her when she’s done.”
I leaned forward, elbows resting on my knees, eyes never leaving her as she moved.
“No,” I said quietly.
The word landed heavy. Final.
“I want to meet her.”
- Writer
