I pull the silky fabric over my body, adjusting it until it hugs my curves just right.
In front of the dressing mirror, I twist from side to side, gauging myself from every angle, searching for that subtle nod of self-approval. The dress is backless, exposing smooth skin with only the delicate crisscross of strings draped over my shoulders like a whisper.
This is the fifth dress I've tried on tonight, but finally, this one feels right. It's exactly what I envisioned... sensual without screaming for attention. A quiet kind of elegance, with just enough edge to keep things interesting. My hands graze over my waist and hips, a small smile tugging at my lips before I turn to grab my dark green snake-print heels, ones with the thin straps that wrap around my calves like vines.
A little thrill hums in my chest as I stand tall in front of the mirror. The heels pair perfectly with the thigh-length dress. The tones match like they were made for this night.
At the vanity, I rummage through my jewellery box, fingers brushing against cool metal as I search for the right finishing touch. I clasp a gold chain around my neck, the one with the dainty snake pendant, just as—
SLAM.
The bedroom door flies open.
Savannah stands in the doorway, her robe barely hanging onto her shoulders. Her straightened hair spills down her back like a curtain of ink.
"I CAN'T FIND ANYTHING TO WEAR!!" she shrieks, stomping inside—only to halt when she sees me.
Her mouth drops open. Arms go slack. Eyes wide.
"You look drop-dead gorgeous," she breathes, shaking her head in disbelief. "He's gonna make you rethink that little friend zone arrangement real quick."
I lift my hand in protest, bracing for the usual storm. But Savannah barrels through it.
"I still don't get how you've sidelined that fine-ass man. Girl, I would shamelessly gobble him up."
There are moments when I wish I carried duct tape in my purse—for her. I gently place my hands on her shoulders. "Savannah. You need to actually start getting ready."
She blinks out of her Vaughn-induced trance, then lets out a dramatic gasp. "Ten minutes!" she yells, dashing down the hallway into the guest room like a tornado of panic.
I press my fingers to my temple, trying to catch up with what just happened. I barely get a breath in before—
Ding.
The elevator doors slide open, and Vaughn steps into the penthouse.
Black jeans. A fitted black tee with Balenciaga stamped across the front. A leather jacket clings to his frame, matching the boots that hit the floor with every confident step.
My breath catches.
His messy curls are freshly lined up, and the stubble from earlier is clean-shaven. No glasses tonight.
The softness he usually wears has been stripped away, replaced with something sharper. Edgier. Dangerous.
"Ready to go, ladies?" he asks, twirling his car keys around his finger with a smirk that spells trouble.
I step toward him, still adjusting the gold bangle on my wrist. As soon as he sees me, the keys stop spinning, and his brows lift slightly. His eyes soften—something unreadable flickering there.
"You look... breathtaking," he murmurs after a beat, scratching the back of his neck the way he always does when nerves creep in.
God, he's adorable.
I close the distance between us, allowing him to pull me into a hug.
"I'm glad you made it tonight," I whisper. "Feels like it's been forever."
He wraps his arms around my waist. His fingertips brush my bare skin—just a graze, but it lights up like a fuse. I've stopped reacting to him this way ages ago.
Maybe I need to get laid.
"I'd never miss a night out with you," he says, his voice warm against my ear. "You know me, I jump at every invitation. No matter how many times you deny me, I'm still at your feet like a damn puppy."
His lips graze the base of my neck. "You're just…"
My skin tingles where his mouth lingers, heat curling through me like smoke.
Before he can finish the sentence, Savannah bursts back in, perfectly on cue.
"Oh!" she exclaims. "Didn't know you were already here."
Vaughn turns to greet her, and I take a small breath, grateful for the interruption.
"Wasn't here long," he says with a polite nod. "Ready to go?"
✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦
We arrive at The Vortex—an upscale club dripping in velvet. Velvet ropes. Velvet walls. Velvet attitudes.
Vaughn scans his membership card, and the mirrored doors part for us like we're royalty.
Inside, pulsing music drowns every corner of the dim room. The bass thrums through the floor, each beat echoing through my chest like a warning.
Without a word, Savannah grabs my hand and pulls me straight to the dance floor.
The glowing tiles light up with every step, like the floor's auditioning us for stardom. One step into the centre and you feel like the whole club is watching.
Eyes burn across my skin. My ears throb with the beat.
"I need a drink first!" I yell, tugging at Savannah's hand.
She nods, already swaying to the rhythm. "You know where to find me!" she shouts, spinning into the crowd. Her arms are already around some guy's neck.
I laugh and shake my head.
Typical Savannah. Sweet—but reckless. Blind to the danger hiding in plain sight.
I weave through the crowd and slide onto a barstool. Vaughn appears a second later, his hand resting on the small of my back...steady and possessive.
"So," he leans in, breath warm on my neck. "What are we drinking?"
"Margarita," I say, licking my lips—slow, deliberate. And as the words leave me, I can't shake the feeling that if we keep going like this, we're headed somewhere I'll end up regretting. Somewhere too familiar. Too tempting.
He signals the bartender. "One margarita, one whiskey sour."
I glance at him. "You drink egg whites?"
He chuckles, unbothered. "Yeah. Don't knock it."
"Pass," I grin. "No amount of convincing will work."
The drinks arrive, and we slip into conversation. It's easy, familiar. We joke about old times, about how I used to complain about everything. About the arguments we'd have when I put myself in danger. And how, despite the years, some things haven't changed.
There's love between us still, buried under old wounds and the quiet truth that we'll never work as a couple.
One drink turns into two, and two turns into five.
And before I know it, we're on the dance floor—his chest pressed firmly against my back, his hands resting low on my hips, moving with purpose. Slow. Steady. Confident. Every touch is like a promise he's not afraid to make.
I feel him. Hard against me. Wanting.
He spins me to face him. Our lips brush, and the warmth blooming between my legs causes me to rise to my toes and kiss him.
Deep. Hungry.
He doesn't pull away. Doesn't hesitate. He tastes like whiskey and heat, and I melt into him.
Then, like the snap of a rubber band, reality bites back. The music fades as I pull away, breath unsteady.
He wants me. I see it in his eyes, feel it in the heat between us. And I—God help me, I want him too.
But before I can say a word, a body crashes into me from behind. I stumble.
An arm wraps around me. Steady. Familiar.
Makai.
My heart freezes.
He helps me upright, his expression unreadable as he steps back.
Vaughn's gaze hardens, jaw tense.
"A pleasant surprise seeing you here, Allesha," Makai says, sliding his hands into his pockets with a calm smirk.
Panic prickles down my spine. My tongue is lead.
I glance at Vaughn, hoping he won't say anything stupid. But he does.
"She's here with me," he says flatly, stepping closer and wrapping his arm around my shoulder.
That was not part of the plan. Now, if Makai thinks we're together, that complicates everything.
Before I can explain, Savannah walks over at the worst possible moment.
"Hey guys!" she chirps, before turning to look at Makai, "Ouuu, Zuri, what do we have here?"
Makai's expression shifts. His brows pull together.
"Zuri?" he repeats, voice low.
My blood runs cold. Just like that, my cover starts to slip through my fingers.
Shit. Shit. Shit.