The club was small but busy, filled with the hum of chatter, laughter, and the faint thrum of old pop music playing through dusty speakers. Dim, colored lights washed over the room, and the air smelled faintly of cheap perfume, alcohol, and fried food.
Elena stood behind the bar, her hands trembling slightly as she wiped down a row of glasses. The uniform they gave her was plain—black slacks and a white blouse—but she still felt out of place. She had never imagined she would end up here, waiting tables to survive.
“Hey, new girl,” a waitress with bright red lipstick called from across the counter. “You’re on table six. Two beers and a plate of fries. Hurry up before the customers start complaining.”
Elena nodded, forcing a polite smile. “Right away.”
She balanced the tray carefully, we
