False Fates

Aurora didn't remember the night she was stolen. Only flashes, truth to be told it felt like an after life. She remembers mostly a woman's voice had once sung to her softly, wrapping around her very warmly. She could bet her limbs that it was her mom's voice. The last of her very nonexistent ones was of her being tucked into closet and so many screams and noises. Aurora cling mostly onto that woman's voice, that woman's melody had branded on her mind, even if that voice was gone now...buried beneath years of silence and survival. All she had now was a faded photo of her and her mom and a little boy tucked in her suitcase, plus a name she never truly belonged to.She had grown up in the care of a woman called Diane, someone who wasn't blood but kept her alive. Diane had plucked her from whatever fate awaited her in the shadows of a Chicago's streets-wherever Aurora was taken after being ripped away from her mother's side. She knew in her heart that the soft melody wouldn't had left her

They moved quickly through a side hall, toward a door framed by dark velvet curtains. The sign read PRIVATE in gold. Lisa opened it with a key she pulled from her garter, then turned to Aurora."Listen up," she said, her voice low. "This is the kind of room you don't look too long into. Got it? The men who come here are regulars. Loaded. Dangerous, maybe. Rumor is—Russian mafia."Aurora arched a brow. "Are they a problem?""No," Lisa said. "Unless you become one. They tip well and keep their hands to themselves... usually. I make the drinks, you smile and pour. And if they say anything weird, you didn't hear it."Aurora gave a small nod. "Understood."Lisa gave her a once-over. "You'll do. Come on."Inside, the room was all shadows and gold trim. A table sat in the center, lit by a chandelier that cast soft light across black velvet furniture. Three men were already seated, dressed in dark suits that screamed wealth and control. Their conversation paused as the women entered.Aurora f

By mid-afternoon, Aurora had rotated through the dressing room, the costume closet, and the makeup station. Gia said little, but she let Aurora borrow a pair of gloves from her personal stash—black satin with tiny crystal studs. Kim showed her where the emergency sewing kits were stored. Ariana watched her like a cat watching a bird but offered a half-hearted tip about stage lighting and shimmer placement.The walls that stood that morning were thinner by dusk.At one point, Aurora found herself seated between Skyler and Kim at the bar, sharing black coffee and almond pastries from a box someone had brought in. Jeremiah passed behind the counter, wiping glasses, while Lisa typed away at the register.“You learning fast,” Kim said without looking at her.Aurora glanced sideways. “Trying.”Skyler nudged her lightly. “You’re doing more than trying. You’re keeping up. That’s rare.”“You ever get scared?” Aurora asked, her voice low.Skyler looked thoughtful. “All the time. But I’ve learne

Backstage was a storm of movement.The air buzzed with perfume, powder, and the rustle of silk being pulled tight over skin. Glitter shimmered in the light from the overhead vanity bulbs, casting flecks of gold across the dressing room walls. Girls flitted in and out of frame, adjusting corsets, curling lashes, whispering chants to themselves like spells.Aurora sat before the mirror, already dressed in her opening number—the black bodysuit Vanessa had chosen, hugging her curves like it had been stitched to her soul. Her gloves were laid out beside her, long and black with gold threading at the seams. Her lips were painted deep red, her eyes smoked to perfection. She looked… dangerous. Like a secret about to be told.Her fingers trembled slightly as she adjusted her earring.The door swung open.“Front row request,” Lisa called over the chatter. “Table thirteen.”The room hushed. That number meant one thing.The Russians were back.Aurora’s pulse quickened, though she kept her express

The velvet hush of Room Eleven fell away behind her as Aurora stepped back into the glow of the club. The murmur of voices, the scent of champagne, roses, and warm cologne greeted her like a current she was no longer drifting through—but standing above.She didn’t look back.Whatever had happened in that room—whatever powerplay, compliment, or unspoken threat Kyram Vladimir had left lingering in the air—it wasn’t hers to carry tonight.This night belonged to someone else.To her.As she descended the side hallway toward the main floor, the music shifted. A slow, glittering remix of an old jazz number poured from the speakers, velvet-soft and sensual. Laughter echoed from the VIP section. Light bounced from chandeliers like gold spun in motion. The club, somehow, still buzzed with energy—no one had left.And everyone noticed her return.She didn’t strut, didn’t force it—but heads turned as she passed. Clients leaned in closer to whisper. A few raised their glasses. Even staff paused mi