Chapter One - Zoe
I stand outside the club, my coat pulled tightly around me, the cold air biting at my skin. I glance up at the building again, unsure why I even agreed to this. I’m only here because my best friend, Maria, begged me to come.
“Zoe, it’s exclusive. You’ll love it,”she promised.“We’re on the list. It’s safe, I swear.”But I feel anything but safe.
The bouncers at the door are built like tanks, with arms that look like they could bench press a car, their eyes scanning the crowd like they’re judging whether or not you even belong here. I hesitate, my fingers gripping my phone a little too tightly. I don’t belong here. I know it.
I can’t go in alone. I just… can’t. Every inch of me is screaming to run, but I’m frozen. There’s a heaviness in the air, something suffocating that makes me feel like a fish out of water. This place is intimidating, and the thought of walking in without Maria makes my stomach churn. I already texted her a few minutes ago to let her know I’m outside and she promises to be here soon.
A few more minutes drag by before I see her. Maria. She’s walking toward me with a smile as wide as the L.A. skyline, her hair bouncing with every step. I exhale in relief, stepping forward to meet her. The tension in my body loosens slightly, but my nerves still race.
She wraps me in a hug, pulling me into her with that familiar warmth. “I knew you’d come,” she says, voice filled with excitement. “We’re going to have the best time. Trust me.”
I force a smile, but inside, I still feel like I’m standing on the edge of something dangerous. Maria’s confidence is almost enough to make me forget my anxiety, but not quite. She grabsmy hand, her fingers cool and firm around mine, and leads me toward the entrance. My feet are heavy, each step feeling like a decision that’s pulling me into the unknown.
As we approach the door, the bouncers’ eyes lock on to us. They don’t smile. Their gaze is sharp, appraising, and their silence feels like a weight on my chest. I hold my breath, trying to look casual, trying to not draw attention to how out of place I feel. Maria walks ahead like she owns the place, and somehow, the bouncers step aside to let us pass. My shoulders relax a fraction, but I’m still not sure if this is where I belong.
Once inside, the atmosphere is completely different. The air is thick with cigar smoke, low lighting casting everything in a hazy, almost unreal glow. People are dressed to the nines—sharp suits, glamorous dresses, perfectly styled hair—everyone looks like they walked out of a magazine. I feel like a mismatch, standing here in my tight maroon dress, my curves on full display. I can’t help but feel like all eyes are on me, some of them admiring, others… calculating.
Maria, on the other hand, fits right in. She’s glowing, walking with that effortless confidence of someone who’s been in this world her whole life. She greets everyone she passes—men and women alike—hugging them like they’re old friends. “Zoe, this is Hunter. He’s in real estate,” she says, introducing me to a tall man with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. “This is Kyle, he’s an artist,” she adds, moving through the crowd as if everyone is her personal acquaintance.
I smile politely, shaking hands, feeling more and more like I’m pretending to be someone I’m not. Everyone’s so… perfect. So polished. And then there’s me, standing here in my tight dress, awkwardly making conversation and trying to avoid staring at the ceiling, which feels so much safer than looking at the people around me.
Maria doesn’t notice my discomfort. She’s already on to the next person, greeting them like a starlet at the Oscars, and I follow behind her, trying to blend in, trying to ignore the feeling of being under a microscope. After a few more introductions, she waves a hand toward the back of the club. “Come on, let’s get a booth. I think we could use some privacy.”
She leads me through the crowd, and we step into a secluded, darker part of the club, away from the bright lights and the clinking of glasses. A small, private booth, tucked away from prying eyes. We sit, and I take the seat farthest from the door, needing a moment to breathe. The music thumps through the air, the bass vibrating in my chest, but I can’t shake the feeling of being trapped in a place where I don’t belong.
Maria leans forward, waving a hand toward the server. “Drinks for the ladies,” she calls out, her voice carrying easily above the music. “You already know what I like.”
I watch as the server nods and walks away, already knowing what Maria wants—probably champagne or something equally extravagant.
“You come here all the time?” I ask her, shouting to be heard above the noise.
“When I’m not swamped with school.” She shrugs. “Don’t act like I’ve never invited you, Zoe. You always say no. I’m surprised and glad you came tonight.”
The waiter soon returns with an ice bucket full of expensive drinks that probably cost more than Maria’s tuition. I’ve always known Maria came from money, though I’ve never met any family members. The way she lives—lavish, extravagant, without hesitation—feels so far removed from the reality I grew up in. But Maria is one of the most generous people I know, often picking up tabs, gifting people things they don’t even need, all with that effortless smile of hers.
We met in school—she was always the center of attention, charming everyone in the room. I admired her, sure, but I never felt quite like I fit in with her crowd. She’s a final-year medical student now, striving for her dreams to become a doctor, while I’ve just graduated, trying to make my own mark in the world of fashion design. Two worlds, so different, yet we somehow clicked. Still, she’s my best friend, and tonight—despite the unease crawling under my skin—I’m here for her.
“Gosh, I’ve missed you Zoe,” she whines, knocking back a drink. “I can’t wait to graduate from this stupid school so we can hang out together all the time.”
I laugh. “Have you forgotten you’re training to be a medical doctor? Even after you graduate, the work never stops. You’ll literally have no work-life balance.”
She’s about to respond when a handsome man steps into the booth, and I can feel the energy shift. He’s got a presence that’s impossible to ignore—tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair, a square jaw, and a confident smile. Maria’s face lights up the moment she sees him, and she doesn’t even hesitate. She stands, smoothing down her dress as she greets him like they’re long-lost friends. I watch, intrigued, as she flirts with him shamelessly—her laughter light and seductive, leaning in close with every word she says. They seem like old friends, but he touches her waist like there’s something more.
Eventually, Maria smiles, brushing her hair out of her face before she gives me a quick glance. “I’m going to the back lounge with Volkov. Just sit tight, okay? I’ll be right back.”
I nod, though part of me wants to protest. I didn’t come out here to be alone, but Maria’s already lost in Volkov, and I don’t want to be a joy killer. She disappears with him, leaving me behind in the booth. Minutes after she leaves, I feel eyes on me.My body prickles, and I shift uncomfortably, forcing myself to look around the room and pretend I’m fine.
As my eyes wander, that’s when I spot them—a group of men sitting at the far end of the club. They’re all dressed in dark suits, perfectly tailored, their movements calculated and cold. No laughter here, unlike the rest of the club. They sit in a tight circle, their posture rigid, their faces unreadable. They don’t smile. Not even once. There’s something unnerving about the way they’re positioned, almost like they’re guarding something—like the whole room belongs to them.
I finally find the reason why my body prickles with the sensation of being watched.
One of them, a little apart from the others, is looking right at me. His gaze is sharp, calculating, like he’s measuring me with every look. His eyes—dark, intense—catch mine for a fraction of a second, and my heart skips a beat. He doesn’t look away, and so I roll my eyes at him, despite the fire burning in my chest.
I turn away, but that feeling of being watched doesn’t fade. I tell myself I’m imagining it. He probably wasn’t looking at me at all. I’m just another face in the crowd to him. It’s not like I stand out. I glance down at my dress, the fabric hugging my curves. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, then take a deep breath, willing my nerves to settle.
I pull out my phone, scrolling mindlessly through messages I’ve already read a thousand times. I’m not even paying attention anymore—just moving my thumb over the screen to distract myself from the uncomfortable tension between me and the stranger who’s staring at me.
