First shift

The backstage corridor buzzed with the low hum of hairdryers, laughter, and high heels clicking against tile. Vanessa led Aurora through the narrow hall, stopping in front of a set of gilded double doors that opened into the performers' lounge. The air inside smelled of hairspray, perfume, and cigarette smoke—sultry and feminine, like secrets dressed in silk.

"Girls," Vanessa called out, her voice carrying the weight of authority softened by amusement. "We've got a new face."

Four heads turned.

Gia was the first to rise. Her beauty was loud—curves wrapped in crimson velvet, with hair like molten gold and a mouth made for trouble. She moved like fire, slow and consuming, and her gaze skimmed over Aurora like a critic judging a rare gem.

Kim and Ariana followed. Ariana wore rhinestones on her collarbone like armor, her cheekbones sharp enough to slice. Kim was quieter, darker, with a gaze that could flay a man alive or lull him into a dream.

But it was Skyler who stepped forward first, a smile lighting her face.

Skyler had the kind of beauty that didn't shout—it whispered. Gentle, warm, sincere. Her black curls were pulled into a high bun, her robe cinched around her waist as she extended a hand.

"Skyler," she said, her voice like soft jazz. "Welcome to the Rose."

Aurora shook her hand, grateful for the kindness in her eyes.

"She's training," Vanessa explained. "Won't be on stage yet, but she'll be watching. Learning."

Gia smirked, leaning back against the vanity. "She's got the look. Let's see if she has the guts."

Skyler rolled her eyes. "Ignore her. She's all bark unless there's glitter involved."

"I like glitter," Aurora said, deadpan.

That made Skyler laugh, and something eased in Aurora's chest.

Vanessa gave her shoulder a gentle pat. "You'll be shadowing the bar tonight. Lisa and Jeremiah will show you how things run when the house is full. Stay close. Watch. Listen. Keep your head down, your smile up, and remember—confidence is currency here."

Aurora nodded. "Yes, ma'am."

The bar was already busy when she stepped behind it, the crowd thick with velvet blazers and glittering heels. Low lights flickered off glass bottles arranged like stained glass in a church. Jeremiah was a tall, inked man with tattoos coiled around his arms and a disarming grin. Lisa, on the other hand, was sharp—high ponytail, immaculate winged liner, and a tongue that didn't tolerate mistakes.

Jeremiah winked. "You the new blood?"

"I'm Aurora."

He passed her a bar towel. "Then welcome to the storm. First rule—don't spill on the suits. Second—tip the bottle toward the ice, not the rim."

Lisa snorted. "Don't overwhelm her. She's just watching tonight."

Aurora followed them for nearly an hour, wiping glasses, fetching bottles, and silently observing the rhythm of the room. Music swelled in the background as the show began—velvet curtains parted, and Gia took the stage in feathers and rhinestones, a goddess beneath the spotlight. Her movements were deliberate, her smile wicked.

Aurora couldn't look away.

It wasn't vulgar—it was art. Confidence stitched into every move, every sway of the hips, every flick of a wrist. These women weren't just dancers. They were sirens in silk, and Aurora felt the ache to join them settle into her bones.

"You'll get your turn," Lisa murmured beside her, watching her face.

Before Aurora could respond, Vanessa appeared at the end of the bar. Her heels clicked once against the floor before she leaned in.

"Private room request. Jeremiah, you stay. Lisa, take Aurora."

Lisa tensed. "Them?"

Vanessa nodded.

Lisa grabbed a tray and turned to Aurora. "Follow me. Don't talk. Don't ask questions. You carry the drinks, I make them. That's it."

Aurora nodded, her nerves twitching.