True to her word, Janet showed up at exactly 8:30, arms full—two dresses slung over one arm, a makeup bag tucked under the other, and a box of jewellery and shoes balanced somewhat dangerously in her hands.
She barely made it inside before flopping face-first onto Layla's bed like she'd just finished a marathon.
"Oh my God, my arms are burning," she groaned, clutching at them dramatically.
Layla stood by the door, unimpressed. The small pile of things Janet carried was hardly enough to cause any real pain.
"Try again," she said, rolling her eyes as she walked over to the bed. "So, what's this party about?" she asked, lifting the lid of the box and peeking inside.
"And why do we need all this to get ready?" She held up a pair of glittery earrings, more confused than impressed.
Janet sat up slowly, brushing her hair back and giving her a look.
"Okay, okay," she admitted with a grin. "It's not really a party. We're going to a bar."
She said it like that was supposed to explain everything.
Layla blinked. "A bar?" she repeated, glancing at the dresses again. "Why do we need high heels and lashes to go sit in a bar?"
Janet shrugged, already digging into the makeup bag. "Because we're not just sitting. We're going to look hot while doing it."
An hour later, they were ready, or almost.
Makeup done, cheeks glowing, lips glossy. Janet had curled Layla's hair into soft waves, while Layla had insisted Janet leave hers that way too, but of course, Janet didn't listen. She straightened her hair to perfection, letting it fall sleek and smooth over her shoulders.
Then came the dress.
Janet pulled it out with a dramatic flourish, like revealing treasure. Layla's outfit was a black sleeveless blazer dress with a halter neckline, cinched at the waist and flaring into neat pleats at the bottom. It was simple, sharp, and stunning. She paired it with black strappy heels—the kind that made her walk like a baby deer—along with a black clutch, matching bracelets, and a pair of clover-shaped earrings that somehow made her face glow.
Janet, on the other hand, looked like she belonged on the cover of a fashion magazine. She wore a black satin mini dress with a draped neckline and thin, adjustable spaghetti straps. The dress clung to her in all the right places, ruched along the sides and pulled tight at the waist, creating a silhouette that demanded attention. She topped it off with black heels, a slim purse, and silver dangling earrings that shimmered every time she moved.
They stood side by side in front of the mirror, two completely different versions of beauty, dressed in confidence and black."I don't know… I don't think I want to step out like this," Layla said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
She stood frozen in front of the mirror, arms folded tightly across her chest. The reflection staring back at her felt unfamiliar. Not wrong, just... not her.
The girl in the mirror looked confident. Bold.
Beautiful, really beautiful.
Her red hair spilled over her shoulders in soft, controlled waves, catching the light like flame. Her lips were glossed, her eyes framed with just enough makeup to make them look mysterious, striking. The dress fit perfectly, the neckline drawing attention in a way that made her nervous. It was still her—but more.
And that scared her.
"I don't look like me," she muttered, half to herself.
Janet stepped beside her, their reflections now side by side. She didn't smile or tease this time. She looked at Layla's face with quiet sincerity and said, "That is you, Layla. You just don't see it often."
Layla's throat tightened, emotion bubbling up somewhere behind her ribs. She looked at herself again. Really looked.
And maybe, for the first time, she believed it just a little.
***********
Never in her twenty-one years had Layla feared death as much as she did on the drive to the club.
Not even the brutal beatings she had endured.
Not even that night in the woods, where she'd come so close to dying she'd tasted it on her tongue.
None of it compared to the sheer terror of being in this car—with Janet behind the wheel.
Her knuckles were white from clenching the seatbelt, heart leaping with every sharp turn and sudden brake. Janet, on the other hand, seemed completely unbothered, humming along to the music and casually navigating the road like they weren't seconds away from death.
To make it worse, this was Layla's first time in a car since her parents had died, she wasn't given chance to, food was luxury let alone a car ride.
The memories clung to her like fog, unwelcome, heavy. She tried to breathe through it, eyes fixed on the road ahead like if she stared long enough, she could will the car into slowing down.
She couldn't.
She glanced at Janet, who flashed her a quick grin, completely unaware of the inner panic storming behind Layla's calm face.
Layla closed her eyes and muttered a quiet prayer.
**********
The club was already alive by the time they arrived.
It pulsed with energy, loud, raw, electric. Music thumped from massive speakers, a rhythmic bass that made the pavement outside vibrate under Layla's heels. Bright neon lights spilled out from the entrance, flashing in hues of violet, deep red, and icy blue, casting dancing shadows on the sidewalk.
The moment they stepped inside, the air changed. It was hot, thick with perfume, cologne, sweat, and the faint scent of alcohol. Laughter rose over the music in scattered bursts, bodies pressed together in fluid motion on the dance floor, moving like one heaving, glittering organism under strobe lights.
A DJ stood elevated at the far end of the room, headphones slung around his neck, fingers flying across his board as he manipulated the tempo. The beat dropped and the crowd responded like it was gospel, arms lifted, hips swaying, heads thrown back in wild abandon.
The walls were dark, matte black or deep navy, it was hard to tell under the shifting lights. There were sleek booths along one side, filled with packs of people draped in expensive clothes and reckless confidence, sipping cocktails that shimmered with artificial color under the lights. At the center, the bar glowed faintly with a backlit shelf of liquor bottles, all shapes and sizes, all seemingly untouched by gravity or logic.
Layla blinked, trying to take it all in.
It was chaos. Beautiful, chaotic freedom.
Janet leaned in close to her ear, her voice almost drowned by the music. "Now this is what I call a night."
Layla just nodded, still too stunned to speak.
They were mostly wolves here, Layla noticed.
It was in the way they moved, sharp, fluid, hyper-aware, even as they danced or laughed or leaned across the bar. Their presence had weight. The kind only a fellow wolf could sense.
Even with the haze of perfume and sweat and alcohol, she could still smell it: wildness, strength, dominance. The club was full of them.
Layla had never seen this side of their world before.
She was used to structured things, training grounds, pack briefings, formal meetings, barked orders, scrubbing the floor, wolves in uniform, wolves with rank, and every other thing that isn't...this.
But here… here they were loose. Dressed in silk and leather and dark lipstick. Drinking. Dancing. Showing teeth, but smiling.
Janet, already halfway through her drink, leaned in toward her ear. "Most of the packs in the area come here," she shouted over the music. "No politics. No hierarchy. Just freedom."
Layla nodded slowly, her eyes scanning the room again.
No betas giving orders. No omegas bowing their heads. Just wolves, shoulder to shoulder, like rank didn't exist.
It was strange.
It was… freeing.
And maybe a little dangerous.
She wasn't sure how to feel.
But she knew one thing: this wasn't a regular night out.