Two

"Can I open my eyes now?" I asked for what felt like the hundredth time. Andra was pulling my hair in every direction and going on and on about how, by the time she was done, I’d be wishing I joined her modeling agency.

"Just one more moment," she replied, clearly losing patience with my tantrums.

Finally, she relented. "You can open your eyes now," she said, her voice full of excitement.

I blinked and shot her a glare before turning to the mirror.

"Woah," I breathed, my voice laced with surprise. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I look hot."

I wasn’t exaggerating. My emerald eyes were smoky, my ginger hair had been curled perfectly, and my lips—inviting, full—gave off an enthralling vibe. It was the kind of look that would make anyone take a second glance.

"I look beautiful," I smiled, genuinely impressed. "Thank you, Andra."

"Told ya you’d like it," she teased, hands on her hips. "Now, for the outfit... tada!"

With a flourish, she pulled out a dress from behind her.

I gasped. "How did you even find time for this? I thought we were just going to a club."

"Well, I work as a model, duh," she said, rolling her eyes. "Plus, I knew you’d say yes. Let’s just say I prepared everything ahead of time. Oh, and a little confession—we’re actually going to a costume-themed party. Strictly for models. But didn’t want to go alone, and I figured you could use one last wild night before you sail into the ship of motherhood and have little Laydens running around."

I shot her a disapproving look, already regretting agreeing to this.

"No, no, no," Andra said, catching my expression. "Don’t give me that look. You’re not backing out now. And before you say anything about Layden not liking it, let me remind you—he’s not here, and I am. Now go try it on."

She tossed the dress in my direction. I hesitated, then reluctantly changed into the outfit—a slutty version of a Cleopatra costume.

When I stepped out, Andra's eyes went wide.

“Wow,” she said, grinning. “Cleopatra’s got nothing on you, baby girl. Are you hot, or am I just stoned?"

I blushed, my pale skin glowing against the golden embroidery of the dress. It fit like a glove. The deep neckline and the thigh-high slits showed just enough skin to be daring, yet tasteful. If I saw me in a crowd, I wouldn't stop staring.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror, and for a moment, I wondered what Layden would think if he saw me like this. Would he love it? Maybe I could surprise him. I felt my cheeks flush at the thought.

Andra handed me some jewelry: gold bangles, a chunky necklace that plunged between my cleavage, and a few waist chains to accentuate my slim waist. The dress was nothing short of scandalous—leaving my thighs bare and my curves on full display.

"You look sexy mama," Andra said, her voice deadpan. "But you won’t hear it until we get to the party. Snow White, let’s go, we’re late."

She grabbed a pair of high heels and tossed them to me.

"How high are these death traps?" I asked, eyeing the eight-inch heels with a mix of awe and trepidation.

"What? You want to party with models, you gotta look the part," Andra said, already slipping on her own sky-high heels. "The higher the heels, the more attention you get."

I took the heels with a reluctant sigh, struggling to balance as I strapped them on. Almost losing my footing, I flailed—but Andra caught me just in time, laughing hysterically.

"Careful there," she teased, still chuckling. "You’ll get used to it."

We made our way out of the apartment and into her sleek black Camry.

"How long have you been planning this?" I asked, as we zoomed off toward the party.

she flashed a mischievous grin. "Since forever. You just didn’t know it."

Throughout the ride, I kept checking my phone for any missed calls or texts from Layden, but there was nothing. Andra, as if sensing my worry, turned to me.

"Janice, put down your phone. He’s probably somewhere with his guys, having a good time. I’m pretty sure he’ll call you when he gets a chance. Who knows? Maybe they took his phone away to stop him from contacting you. After all, it’s his bachelor night too," she said with a reassuring smile.

I nodded, shaking off the negative thoughts that tried to creep in.

"And we’re here!" Andra chimed, pulling into a parking lot just in time. We got out of the car, and I looked around, stunned by the surroundings.

"Well, will you look at that. The rich keep getting richer," Andra exclaimed, and we shared a look of mutual disbelief.

It wasn’t an apartment like Andra had explained—it was a freaking penthouse. Music blasted from inside, vibrating through the walls.

The building itself was sleek, towering over everything else around it. The entrance was lined with tall palm trees, the kind you only see in the movies. As we approached, I could see the reflection of the lights from the city skyline shimmering in the glass of the windows. This was a whole new world, one I wasn’t used to.

We walked in, and the vibe hit me like a wave. The place was sprawling, open, and luxurious. The first thing I noticed was the ambient lighting. LED strips were tucked into every corner, casting a soft, blue glow across the entire room. Despite the dim lighting, the space felt alive—people moving, laughing, talking, with shadows and silhouettes flickering as they moved through the haze of smoke and flashing lights.

It was like stepping into a scene from a music video. The walls were adorned with abstract art and designer furniture that screamed ‘money.’ In the center of the room, there was a grand staircase leading up to a second level, overlooking the party. Everywhere you looked, there were people dressed to impress, their faces barely visible under the glow of neon lights.

Andra yelled over the music, "So I know you don’t drink, so I’ll grab you some coke. Just wait here and don’t take anything from anyone!"

I nodded, still taking in the surreal scene before me. As Andra disappeared into the crowd, I leaned against the bar, scanning the room. This was not my world—at least not yet.

I waited sheepishly for thirty minutes, but Andra still hadn’t returned. And how did I know? The grand clock on the opposite wall stared boldly back at me, mocking my patience. I groaned in annoyance. I was hungry, tired, and slowly growing restless.

Andra had been right—the models didn’t come to play. They looked flawless, their skin glowing under the neon lights, their outfits exuding effortless glamour. The scent of weed lingered in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of expensive cologne and something else—marijuana, pot, smoke—it was everywhere, thick enough to make my stomach churn. I needed water. Or food. Or something. Anything.

I pushed my way through the throng of bodies, heading toward the flight of stairs where I had last seen Andra go. The pulsing bass of the music rattled through my chest as I searched for a bathroom.

Finally, I found it.

The moment I stepped inside, I felt like I had walked into another dimension. The bathroom—had marble sinks, golden fixtures, dim lighting that casts a soft glow on the room, mirrors so pristine they looked like portals to another world.

I exhaled, taking a moment to check my reflection in the mirror. The smoky eye makeup Andra had done still held, making my emerald eyes stand out even more. My ginger curls cascaded in perfect waves over my shoulders, framing my face. I looked... exotic.

Just then, I heard a flush.

Turning toward the sound, I watched as a girl stepped out of a stall. She was tall and impossibly thin, her raven-black hair sleek and straight, falling down her back like a curtain. She wore a cheerleading uniform—but not the kind you’d see on a football field. This version was scandalously short, sinfully tight, and paired with dangerously high heels.

"Hello," I said, attempting to make conversation.

She gave me a slow once-over before smiling. "Hi. I'm Samantha." Then, tilting her head slightly, she added, "I know you."

I blinked, taken aback. "You do?"

She nodded, her lips curling into a smirk. "Yeah. I’ve seen your pictures on Sandra’s phone. You’re the one who’s getting married."

"Oh." I felt my cheeks warm. "Yes, that’s me. Janice. And tonight is my last night single."

"Congratulations." She grinned, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a handful of gummy worms. She placed them in my palm. "Consider this my wedding gift. You look like you could use some of these."

I laughed, grateful. "Thanks. I was actually getting pretty hungry."

Without a second thought, I popped a few into my mouth, savoring the sugary sweetness. They tasted a little... off. A bit too tangy. But I waved the thought away and kept chewing.

Samantha watched me with amusement before chuckling. "Alright then, bride-to-be. I’ll see you around." With that, she turned and disappeared through the door, leaving me alone.

Finishing off the last gummy worm, I headed up another flight of stairs, drawn by the curiosity of what lay beyond. The air was different here—thicker, heavier, charged with something unspoken. Two large, buff men guarded a sleek, dark door at the top. I tried talking to them, but they barely acknowledged me.

Before I could protest, a soft hand slipped into mine.

"It’s okay, guys. She’s with me," Samantha’s voice purred from beside me.

The guards exchanged glances before giving a curt nod, stepping aside.

As soon as I stepped inside, the change in atmosphere hit me like a wave. The room was darker, the energy more intense. This was no ordinary party—this was something else. A VIP section, but with a dangerous, almost forbidden edge. It was worse than the chaos downstairs. More crowded. More reckless.

Bodies moved in sync to the sultry rhythm of the music. The lights flickered in hypnotic patterns, casting shadows that danced along the walls.

A giggle bubbled from my lips, uncontrollable and unexpected, like a spring that had been coiled too tightly and suddenly burst free. I clapped a hand over my mouth, trying to stifle it, but it escaped anyway, loud and unhinged, drawing a few curious glances from the crowd around me.

Weird, I thought, my mind feeling hazy, like I was floating just outside my body, watching myself from a distance. My cheeks flushed, and I shook my head, trying to clear the fog, but it clung to me like a second skin.

That’s when it hit me—the gummy worms. Those damn gummy worms.

I reached out, my hand unsteady, and grabbed a shot glass from a passing waiter’s tray. The liquid inside was a deep amber, catching the light like molten gold. I didn’t even think twice—just threw it back in one go, the sharp burn of whiskey or tequila or whatever it was scorching a path down my throat.

I coughed, my eyes watering, and Samantha chuckled beside me, her hand landing on my back with a firm pat.

“Easy there, tiger,” she said, her voice laced with amusement. “You’re supposed to sip those, not drown in them. Now let's go have the time of our lives, bride-to-be," she chided.

I nodded, my brain suddenly flooded with a strange, hyper buzz. It was like my blood had been replaced with liquid electricity, pulsing through my veins.

I let the music take me.

I danced, swayed, arms brushing against unfamiliar bodies. Laughter spilled from my lips as faceless strangers pulled me close. Warm hands roamed over my hips. Someone's lips grazed my neck. My heart pounded, a frantic, dizzy rhythm.

And I didn’t stop them. I didn’t stop any of it.

Because, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t thinking. I was just... feeling.

And God, it felt good!