The evening goes on.
Just not for everyone—with music and champagne.
The service entrance of the Angel Club.
A place that doesn't smell of perfume or money, only of trash, sweat, and other people's secrets.
Sebastian and I are hiding behind the dumpsters like two bargain-bin special agents from a B-movie titled No One Believed They'd Make It Out Alive.
The metal chills my back. Somewhere nearby, an exhaust fan hums. My heart is pounding far too loudly.
"We shouldn't have done this…" Sebastian whispers, almost whimpering. "We're going to get beaten up. I can feel it. Right here. Knees first."
"Did you forget who's inside?" I hiss. "Giselle and Victoria."
I swallow hard.
"Those two assholes who took them… they're going to do something bad to them."
Sebastian looks at me like a man who has already written his will.
"I just… I've got a really bad feeling about this."
"Sebastian." I lean closer. "We have to be heroes. Show the girls what we're made of."
I pause. The lowest, dirtiest pause.
"Or do you want to stay a virgin?"
He straightens up sharply.
"No. I don't."
"Neither do I," I nod. "Quiet."
The service door opens.
A club employee comes out with trash bags. He yawns, thinking about anything at all except the two idiots crouched behind the bins.
And in that moment, something clicks inside us.
We move.
Fast. Silent.
Like ninjas. Well… like ninjas with terrible coordination, but still.
The door slams shut behind us.
We're inside.
The first room is a locker room.
Waiters' shirts hang neatly on racks, like costumes waiting for their next performance.
"Sebastian," I whisper. "Suit up."
A minute later, we're in uniform.
White shirts. Black pants.
I grab a metal tray—it's cold, heavy, like my conscience.
We step into the corridor.
Footsteps.
The music grows louder.
And then—
"Stop."
I turn around.
A security guard stands in front of us. Huge. Real. Not a movie extra.
The kind who doesn't ask questions—he decides.
My heart drops into my heels.
That's it. The end.
Mom, forgive me.
Sebastian starts backing away.
"Serve that table," the guard says. "They're complaining they've been waiting too long."
He looks past us.
He doesn't recognize us.
"Got it," I reply.
My voice trembles. I lift the tray to my chest as if it could somehow shield me from exposure.
We walk past him.
Only when he disappears from sight do I start breathing again.
We enter the main hall.
Music. Light. People.
And we freeze.
"Where… where do we look for them?" Sebastian whispers.
I scan the room.
And then I see them.
"There," I say quietly. "Giselle and Victoria."
They're sitting at a table.
Four guys around them. Too confident. Too close. Too pleased with themselves.
Victoria is laughing.
Giselle leans forward.
And for a second I wonder—
are they actually having fun?
No.
That's an illusion.
We made it just in time.
"Hang on," I whisper, tightening my grip on the tray. "We're going to save you."
Sebastian swallows. His eyes go wide.
"Theo…" he whispers. "Are you sure they even want to be saved?"
I take a step forward.
"Too late to think about that now."
We walk toward them.
And in that moment, I realize:
whatever happens next—
there's no turning back.
And the question is no longer what are we doing,
but which of us is going to survive tonight.
**
Giselle and I walk toward the strangers' table.
Every step feels like thin ice. My heels touch the floor softly, almost without a sound. The music pulses dully beneath my skin, and it seems to me that the whole room suddenly grows quieter. Or maybe it's just me, losing everything except the sound of my own breathing.
"André Cortland," the first man introduces himself. His smile is neat, collegiate—the kind worn by a millionaire who knows he's well liked.
"Christian Grayson," says the second.
And his voice…
He doesn't raise it. He doesn't try to charm. It simply exists. Calm, low, assured. The kind that makes something inside me tighten on its own.
"Victoria Montreux," I reply.
"Giselle Vellard," Giselle adds, and I feel her straighten her back just a little. Of course. She's already in the game.
Christian makes a small gesture with his hand, inviting us to sit.
And at that exact moment—
chaos.
Out of nowhere, almost materializing between us and the couch, Finn Rivière and Alex Monroe appear.
Too close. Too sudden. Too… territorial.
Finn drops down right next to André—so close that André visibly flinches.
Alex plops down beside Christian.
I catch myself holding my breath.
André is clearly older. I know that feeling—when you're trying to look confident but your body betrays you. He's in his final year, yes… but Finn and Alex are juniors: bold, hungry, sharp-edged.
And Christian…
Christian is at least twenty-eight.
And Alex's sudden intrusion doesn't intimidate him in the slightest—it amuses him.
He looks at Alex slowly. With interest. With a faint, almost lazy smile, as if he's studying a puppy barking far too loudly for its size.
I glance at Giselle.
Her eyes are glowing.
Of course.
We both react the same way every time men start competing over us. It's like a scene from a movie where you're technically not involved… yet the shiver still runs straight down your spine.
"You're violating club rules," Finn says sharply, staring André down. "You can't invite taken girls to your table."
"Exactly," Alex adds, flicking a glance at Christian.
André shifts in his seat. His shoulders tense. He clearly didn't expect this turn.
But Christian…
He doesn't even change his posture.
"Victoria," he says calmly.
My name sounds too… personal in his mouth.
"Giselle. Sit down."
Not a question.
A command.
My heart jumps somewhere near my throat. I look away, annoyed at myself for reacting at all—and obey. I sit on the edge of the couch, feeling the soft leather under my palms, the warmth of someone else's body beside me.
Giselle sits down after me.
At that moment, two waiters approach the table.
And something about them immediately feels… wrong.
They're holding their trays with both hands, pressed to their chests like shields.
I look up.
And freeze.
"Theo?.."
"Sebastian?.."
My heart drops straight into my stomach.
"Run, girls!" Theo suddenly shouts, his voice breaking into a high pitch. "We'll hold them off!"
Time stops.
The four men at the table stare at them in stunned silence.
A heartbeat of stillness.
Then Christian stands up.
To his full height.
He straightens his shoulders. Slowly. Calmly. Like a man who knows exactly how this ends.
The others rise as well.
And Theo and Sebastian…
Just moments ago—heroes.
Now—two terrified puppies, clutching metal trays under their chins as if they might save their lives.
I curl my fingers around the edge of the couch.
Hell of an evening, flashes through my mind.
And for some reason, I am absolutely certain:
this isn't even the climax yet.