BEHIND HER MASK

RAMONA 2.0

~Alexander~

Music pulsed through the walls, heavy enough to reach the street, while neon lights painted the pavement in deep shades of crimson and violet. The moment Alexander entered the club, conversations near the entrance fell silent. He carried himself with such composure that people instinctively stepped aside to clear his path.

“Who’s that? Never seen him before,” a woman whispered, her eyes lingering on him with open interest.

Heads turned, especially the women—even those sitting with their fiancés couldn’t help but stare. A smirk tugged at Alexander’s lips as he walked past, brushing off the flirtatious glances thrown his way.

“Looking for a plaything tonight?” a blonde teased, blowing him a kiss.

Another woman, bolder leaned close, pecked his cheek, and whispered with a sultry grin, “I give the best head.” Her hand slid across his chest, dipped under his leather jacket, and boldly found its way lower. She gave him a squeeze on his c**k that made his jaw tighten.

“I’ll keep that in mind, kitty,” he muttered with a low groan, masking the brief flare of pressure.

With a pat on his c**k, she sauntered away, hips swaying in deliberate rhythm. Alexander’s eyes followed her retreat for a moment. She was tempting, no doubt. If he hadn’t come here for someone else, he would’ve taken her without hesitation.

The air reeked of liquor and smoke, the dance floor thrumming with life. At the door, Diego—the club’s manager—stood waiting. Immaculate in a tailored suit, he wore a welcoming grin.

“Mr. Gracias,” Diego greeted warmly, shaking his hand with a respectful bow of his head. “It’s good to have you back.”

Alexander acknowledged him with a curt nod, his expression unreadable.

“This way, sir,” Diego said, ushering him past the velvet ropes. They wove through the pulsing crowd, curious stares and hushed whispers following their steps. Power was easy to spot, and not everyone could set foot in the VIP lounge. That privilege was reserved for the elite.

Inside, the noise dulled to a hush. Leather seating, golden lights, and a waiting bottle of aged whiskey gave the room a polished glow. Diego held the door open.

“Everything has been prepared exactly to your liking, just as Jerry requested,” he assured with a smile.

Alexander settled onto the couch, poured himself a drink, and let the faintest smile ghost across his lips.

“Shall I call for our finest performer?” Diego offered knowingly.

Alexander tilted his head in consideration but said nothing. Diego took it as consent, crossing the room to draw open a curtain that revealed a one-way mirror.

On the other side, strippers moved like living art—bodies twining around poles with practiced grace.

“That’s Natasha,” Diego pointed out, nodding toward a dancer in a violet mask.

Alexander rose from his seat, drink in hand, and stepped closer to the glass. His fingers traced the outline of the woman’s figure through the mirror. She swayed with hypnotic rhythm, every motion deliberate, as though she sensed unseen eyes on her.

Her body shimmered under the lights, dusted in glitter, her hips rolling in slow, dangerous figure-eights. One hand pressed to the mirror, the other glided down her thigh before she spun gracefully and descended to the floor in a sinuous motion that left no doubt she was a master of her craft.

She was spellbinding—seductive, captivating, almost perilous. The kind of woman men would kill to possess. The kind of woman who could make him forget. Forget Ramona.

Finally, he thought, maybe he could set her ghost aside.

But when he opened his mouth, the words betrayed him.

“I want Ramona.”

Diego froze, eyes wide. “Ra… Ramona?”

Alexander’s commanding stare left no room for argument.

“…Understood,” Diego muttered quickly, already hurrying out to fetch her.

Ramona. The woman who had ruined him. The woman who had lured him into this mess.

And now—the only one who could drag him back out.

~Mackenzie~

She sat before the wide mirror, its frame surrounded by glowing bulbs that threw a warm light across her face. A row of costumes hung neatly behind her—silk, sequins, and velvet waiting their turn. She leaned closer to the glass, pressing a deep shade of lipstick to her lips, slow and steady, like an artist completing the last stroke of a painting.

She slipped on her glittering earrings, letting them sway with every small movement, then adjusted the curve of her dress. She took a breath, inhaling the mix of powder, perfume, and faint cologne that lingered in the air.

For a moment she let her eyes linger on her own reflection. There was a flicker of nerves there—hidden beneath the poise—but she straightened her shoulders. Tonight wasn’t just another performance; it was her night.

The sharp click of heels made Mackenzie glance toward the door. Eliza, another dancer, walked in carrying a tin of cookies.

Mackenzie shifted her focus back to the mirror, continuing with her routine.

“Want some cookies?” Eliza asked, settling onto the seat beside her.

“No, thanks.” Mackenzie shook her head.

It was the first real conversation between them. Normally, their exchanges never went beyond quick greetings—and it wasn’t just with Eliza but with most of the other girls too.

“Come on, just one bite won’t kill you.” Eliza popped open the tin and held a piece out.

Mackenzie gave a faint smile. “Maybe another time. Thanks, though.”

With a sudden thud, Eliza slammed the tin against the dressing table, the sound echoing through the room. Mackenzie flinched at the outburst, startled by the shift in her demeanor.

“That’s your problem,” Eliza snapped. “You act like you’re above us, like you’re better than the rest. But we’re all doing the same damn thing here. So swallow your pride and get off that high horse of yours.”

Her voice shook with fury. Bloodshot eyes, veins straining against her neck, her whole body seemed to radiate heat. Still, Mackenzie remained unfazed. She pressed her lips together, running her fingers through her hair before rising from the stool. Even with Eliza standing a few centimeters taller, Mackenzie’s presence carried a commanding weight that seemed to fill the room.

“You’re pissed at me for what? Not wanting a cookie?” Mackenzie’s voice cut through the tension, low but sharp. “Don’t confuse me keeping to myself with me thinking I’m better than you. You don’t know s**t about me, Eliza.”

Eliza sneered, stepping closer. “I don’t need to. I see the way you look at us—like you’d rather die than admit you’re one of us.”

She let out a sharp scoff and spat on the floor in pure disgust. Damn right she wasn’t one of them. Did they really think she wanted to be here—stripping for cash, letting filthy men lay hands on her? If only she could turn back time, undo that one mistake she’ll never stop regretting.

Mackenzie’s eyes hardened. She leaned in close enough for Eliza to catch the fire burning behind her calm expression.

“I get on that stage the same way you do. I grind, I sweat, I bleed for it. But don’t ever confuse my silence for weakness. You don’t want me as your enemy.”

On the surface, Mackenzie was polite, quiet, even respectful. But in this club, she was Ramona—deadly, venomous, and not someone to cross.

The room froze. The only sound was the muffled bass bleeding from the stage. Eliza’s jaw tightened, her breath uneven, but Mackenzie stood her ground—solid, steady, daring her to make the next move. The tension thickened until they noticed the eyes on them. Other dancers had gathered, watching wide-eyed.

“ENOUGH! Both of you!”

The sharp voice sliced through the room. Diego stood at the door. The moment he appeared, the crowd scattered, rushing back to work before he unleashed his temper.

“Ramona,” his tone was clipped, carrying that mix of urgency and smooth authority. “You have a guest.”

She drew in a deep breath, steadying herself. “I thought I had at least thirty minutes before my show.”

“Not now, Mona. Do as I said,” Diego ordered flatly.

“Unbelievable.” She rolled her eyes. Who changed plans last minute like that? Whoever the guest was, they must be important.

She shot Eliza one last warning glare. Eliza didn’t flinch, her eyes blazing as if daring Mackenzie to push further. It was like a silent battle—neither backing down. Then Mackenzie brushed past, shoving her shoulder hard as she walked away.

“Did you see that?” Eliza shouted in frustration, pointing at her.

“Get over it,” Diego muttered as he walked off, fists buried deep in his pockets.