Bane of the Elite

Chapter 5

The city clock struck 9:30 PM as the flashing neon lights of downtown finally bled into my exhausted vision. I hurried down the pavement, my breath pluming faintly in the cool night air until I spotted the glowing marquee of Velour cutting through the shadows. Standing near the entrance was Megan, tapping her foot anxiously against the curb while holding a clipboard and a spare uniform apron.

"Autumn! You actually made it," Megan breathed out in relief, hurrying over to grab my arm. "I was starting to worry you might have backed out at the last second after the absolute chaos we had to deal with today."

"No, I wouldn't do that," I replied, offering a reassuring, albeit tight, smile. "Traffic on the bus was just a bit slow, and I wanted to make sure I got here on time without messing up my schedule."

Before stepping inside, I smoothed down my outfit, taking a quiet, steadying breath to calm my racing nerves. I hadn't worn anything provocative or flashy—that simply wasn't who I was. Instead, I wore a modest, clean white button-down blouse tucked neatly into a fitted black pencil skirt that fell just below my knees, paired with comfortable, flat black walking shoes. It was professional, completely decent, and respectful, ensuring I looked like a hardworking student rather than someone trying to turn heads in a high-end lounge.

Megan gave me an approving nod, flashing a bright, encouraging grin. " You look great, Autumn. Very neat and professional. Now, take a deep breath because the manager is waiting for us in his office. Don't worry, he's eccentric, but he has a heart of gold underneath all that glitter and drama."

As Megan pushed open the heavy glass doors, a wall of sensory overload slammed straight into me. The interior of Velour was an entirely different universe from the sterile, quiet hallways of Sanvitores Corporation. It was a labyrinth of pulsing bass, blinding strobe lights flashing in shades of violet and crimson, and the heavy, sweet scent of expensive perfume mixed with spilled alcohol and thick smoke. Laughter echoed from every corner, and as we squeezed past a crowded booth near the dance floor, I caught sight of a couple locked in a deeply passionate, uninhibited kiss. My cheeks heated instantly, and I quickly averted my eyes, staring down rigidly at my shoes until we reached the quieter back hallway leading to the administrative offices.

Megan led me straight to the manager’s office, giving a quick, cheerful knock before pushing the heavy oak door open.

Inside sat the manager, a flamboyant, middle-aged gay man with sharply sculpted eyebrows, a vibrant silk scarf draped elegantly over his collar, and a heavily decorated desk covered in colorful event planners. The moment his gaze landed on me, his eyes widened and then lit up with absolute delight.

"Oh, sweet mother of disco, who is this absolute doll?!" the manager gasped, standing up from his plush leather chair and literally twirling in place. He rushed over and circled me with an appreciative, critical eye. "Megan, darling, you didn't tell me you were bringing in a literal angel! Oh, look at those expressive eyes, the posture—perfection! Honey, you are hired starting tonight, no questions asked, no auditions needed!"

I blinked, caught completely off guard by the lightning-fast hiring process. "Th-thank you so much, sir. I promise I'll work really hard and—"

"Oh, save the resume for someone who cares, gorgeous, you've got the job!" the manager interrupted cheerfully, waving a dismissive hand with a dramatic laugh. He walked back to his desk, pointed a long, manicured finger at me, and turned serious for a fraction of a second. "Now, listen to me closely before you step out onto that floor. The patrons here can get wild, and they love to throw around money. When a customer hands you a massive tip—and they will, trust me—you take it. No hesitation, no false modesty, and definitely no turning it down. Money is money, and in this ruthless city, you grab every single bill that comes your way. Understood?"

"Yes, sir. I understand completely. Thank you," I murmured, nodding respectfully before stepping back out into the bustling hallway with Megan to tie my fresh apron around my waist.

Within minutes, I was thrust straight onto the main floor. The noise was deafening, the air thick with smoke and electric energy. I balanced my first silver tray of cocktails, weaving carefully through the sea of dancing bodies, flashing lights, and loud patrons.

"Hey there, gorgeous," a slurred, overly confident voice called out as I passed a dimly lit corner booth. A group of burly men in expensive jackets grinned up at me, their eyes lingering too long on my figure. "You must be new around here. I come to this club every weekend, and I've never seen a face this pretty serving drinks before."

"Excuse me, just delivering an order," I kept my voice polite, neutral, and professional, offering a quick, polite nod before darting away before any of them could reach out to grab my wrist.

The work was relentless. My feet pounded against the sticky floor, and my arms ached from carrying heavy trays through the suffocating crowd. Yet, amidst the chaos of clinking glasses and booming bass, a sudden wave of high-pitched shrieks and excited murmurs unexpectedly rippled through the crowd near the VIP section upstairs, sounding almost like a group of starstruck fans greeting a major celebrity.

Curious despite myself, my eyes flicked upward toward the commotion. My breath caught violently in my throat.

Cutting through the exclusive staircase with an effortless, intimidating aura was Dark Sanvitores, flanked by the exact same group of friends from his office earlier that day. He wore a crisp black shirt with the top buttons undone, looking every bit the ruthless, untouchable corporate tyrant even in the middle of a rowdy nightclub. My eyes widened in pure, unadulterated horror, and I instantly whipped my head back down, turning my back to them as fast as my trembling legs could carry me.

What on earth is he doing here? Panic buzzed sharply under my skin. This was supposed to be my safe haven—my escape from the suffocating world of Sanvitores Corporation—not a continuation of it.

I forced myself to keep my head down, losing myself in the frantic rhythm of my work until one of the senior floor staff rushed past me, pressing a fresh ticket into my hand. "Autumn! Quick, table twelve in the VIP lounge needs a restock of top-shelf scotch and mixers immediately. Grab your notepad, pen, and a tray, and take it up right now."

Before I could even protest or explain my panic, the staff member had already vanished into the crowd. With a heavy, sinking heart, I grabbed a small leather-bound notepad and a sleek black pen, slipped them into my apron pocket, took a deep, shaky breath, and hurried up the spiral staircase leading to the exclusive VIP mezzanine.

I walked down the plushly carpeted hallway, silently counting the room numbers in my head. When I reached the designated door, my mind was racing with anxiety. Without pausing to double-check the plaque, I lifted my hand, gave a polite knock, and pushed the door open, stepping inside while keeping my gaze respectfully lowered toward the floor.

"Here are your drinks, sir—"

The words died instantly on my lips. My jaw slackened, and I froze dead in my tracks, my hand instinctively brushing against the notepad in my pocket.

This wasn't a random VIP room. This was their room.

Dark Sanvitores and his inner circle of friends were lounging across the luxurious leather sofas in a haze of cigar smoke. The moment I stepped in, the heavy, playful conversation that had been filling the room instantly died, replaced by a deafening, suffocating silence. Dark's head snapped up, his thick eyebrows instantly knitting together into a fierce, murderous glare as his obsidian eyes locked directly onto me. Across the room, his friends stared in absolute, stunned disbelief.

"Well, well, well," the curly-haired man with the warm, light brown eyes broke the silence first, leaning forward with an amused, lopsided grin that crinkled the corners of his face. "Look who it is. Hey, little cleaner. Wait a minute—when did you start working here? I've been coming to this club for months, and I've never seen you serving tables before."

I swallowed hard, my palms slicking nervously against my apron. "I... I just started tonight, sir," I answered softly, my voice barely audible over the distant bass of the club.

From across the room, a low, biting scoff cut sharply through the air. Dark leaned back slowly against the sofa, exhaling a thin, toxic cloud of smoke from a cigarette pinched between his long fingers. His dark, piercing eyes pierced straight through me with venomous sarcasm.

"Well, isn't that an absolute coincidence," Dark drawled, his voice dripping with icy, controlled contempt. "No wonder you were in such a frantic, desperate rush to bolt out of my office earlier today. Turns out you had a second shift waiting for you all along."

A chorus of low, knowing chuckles and snickers rippled among the other men in the room, making my skin crawl with embarrassment.

Heat rushed violently to my cheeks, burning so intensely I thought I might cry from pure, unadulterated humiliation. I wanted nothing more than to drop my notepad, turn around, and run out of the building, but I forced my trembling hands to steady themselves, swallowed the massive lump in my throat, and kept my eyes glued to the floor.

"If you're done mocking me," I whispered tightly, forcing every ounce of professional composure I had left into my voice as I pulled out my notepad and pen, "may I take your orders?"

The curly-haired man smiled apologetically at my tense posture, quickly rattling off a standard drink order for his side of the table while the other men chimed in with theirs. I quickly scribbled down every detail on the paper. But Dark remained completely silent. He didn't look at my face; instead, he lazily dragged on his cigarette, his cold, unblinking stare fixed rigidly on the opposite wall, completely ignoring my presence as if I were a ghost.

My heart hammered violently against my ribs like a trapped bird. Hesitantly, I took a small step closer, my voice trembling slightly as I dared to prompt him. "Sir? What... what would you like to order?"

Slowly, agonizingly, Dark turned his head. His sharp, dangerous jawline caught the dim club lighting, and his freezing, unblinking glare locked onto mine with enough intensity to turn my blood to ice. He didn't blink. He didn't move an inch.

"My order?" Dark's voice was a low, gravelly threat that silenced the entire room completely. "What I want is for you to pack your things, walk out that front door, and go home right this second."

My lips parted in absolute shock. For a second, my brain flat-out refused to process his absurd words. When I finally recovered my breath, a sudden spark of fiery defiance flared up inside me, pushing past the terrifying intimidation. "I can't do that, sir. I'm on duty, and I need this job. If you're not going to order anything else from me, I'll take my leave."

Without waiting for his permission or his approval, I turned sharply on my heel, marched out of the VIP room, and handed the notepad and drink list over to another server named Mike in the hallway, knowing the heavy tray and orders were too much for me to handle alone after that encounter.

I spent the next hour down on the main floor, forcing myself to smile through the burning ache in my feet, serving drinks, and pushing the terrifying encounter to the very back of my mind. But as I balanced a fresh tray of empty glasses near the edge of the crowded dance floor, an eerie, prickling sensation suddenly crawled up the back of my neck—the distinct, undeniable feeling of being watched.

Slowly, cautiously, I let my gaze wander upward, scanning the multi-tiered architectural layout of the club until my eyes landed squarely on the glass-paneled VIP balcony.

There he stood.

Dark Sanvitores was leaning casually against the railing, a glass of amber liquor clutched tightly in his large hand. His dark, piercing eyes were locked entirely, unblinkingly on me—burning with a sharp, heavy intensity, as if he had been watching me every single second since I stormed out of his room upstairs.

Why on earth is he staring at me like that? a voice echoed anxiously in my mind. Is he bored? Does he seriously have nothing better to do than intimidate a simple worker?

My mind raced back to his words earlier. He had called me "off-limits" back at the corporate office, even though I didn't even have a boyfriend and lived a completely ordinary, struggling life. What on earth was supposed to mean? Why did he care?

Even though a shiver ran down my spine, I deliberately forced my chin up, broke eye contact, and turned resolutely back to my work, trying to shake the confusing thoughts away.

Hours later, the clock finally struck closing time. The music died down, and the heavy metal doors of Velour were locked against the cool night air.

"Phew! My feet are officially dead," Megan groaned, tossing her damp wiping cloth onto the counter as we gathered our things in the staff lockers. She flashed me an exhausted yet bright grin. "You survived your very first shift, Autumn! Not bad for a rookie who had to deal with the most intimidating billionaires in the city."

I offered a tired, genuine smile as I zipped up my bag. "Thanks to you, Megan. If you hadn't brought me here, I wouldn't have made it through the night. I'll see you tomorrow morning bright and early?"

"You bet! Get home safe, get some proper rest, okay?" Megan waved warmly as we stepped outside into the quiet, deserted street, parting ways toward our respective bus stops.

Even as I rode the empty bus home, staring out the glass window at the blurring streetlights, and long after I crawled into my narrow bed, staring up at the dark ceiling, the image of Dark's obsidian eyes refused to leave my mind. His piercing gaze, his harsh words, and that confusing label of being "off-limits" continued to echo in my head, keeping me awake deep into the silent night.