The heavy bass of the club's music thumped through the ground like a heartbeat, making Nora's heels vibrate as she stepped through the entrance. Beside her, Dina flipped her silky hair over her shoulder, her ruby-red lips curling into a smirk when she noticed how the entire room turned to look at them.
It wasn't an exaggeration. Heads really did turn.
Men paused mid-drink. Women whispered and sized them up with cold eyes sharpened by envy. Even the DJ lost his focus for a beat, letting the song skip as Nora and Dina strutted deeper into the smoky neon glow.
Tonight, they were fire. Tonight, they were untouchable.
"God, they're all staring," Dina giggled, pretending to cover her mouth but loving every second of it.
"Of course they are," Nora teased back, nudging her friend's hip with hers. "You look like sin dipped in diamonds tonight. We're here to remind these boring men what real women look like."
Dina tossed her hair again, scanning the VIP booths. "Any targets?"
Nora's eyes narrowed. She wasn't here for men — not really. She was here to forget her exhausting week at work, her mother's endless hospital calls, her overdue rent. For once, she wanted to feel alive. Wild. Free.
"Let's just sit first," she said, tugging Dina towards an empty table near the dance floor's edge.
They settled into plush seats while the lights shifted overhead, strobes catching the sparkle of Dina's gold dress and the sultry shimmer of Nora's deep green satin. They looked like opposites — Dina, the golden goddess; Nora, the emerald siren.
It wasn't long before a waiter appeared, nervously clutching his notepad. He struggled to keep his eyes level with theirs.
"Good evening, ladies. What can I get you?"
Dina snatched the menu first. She scanned it for all of two seconds before letting out a dramatic gasp. "What? These prices are criminal! Nora, we're leaving. I'm not spending my entire salary on one drink."
Nora rolled her eyes fondly. "Relax. Tonight's on me."
Dina's eyes widened. "You sure?"
"Positive. We deserve this." Nora grinned, tapping her nails on the table to the beat of the music. "Get us a bottle of Moët. And the shrimp platter. And maybe those mini sliders —"
"— And wings!" Dina added, her eyes dancing. "We need wings."
The waiter nodded, scribbling furiously. "Right away, madam."
As he turned to leave, a deep voice cut through the pulse of the music. "Waiter."
The waiter froze mid-step. He spun around, bowing slightly to the corner VIP booth. Nora followed the sound, curiosity prickling at her skin.
That was when she saw him.
Pascal. The Pascal every woman in this city gossiped about but few dared to approach unless they were prepared to be used and discarded like last week's tabloid scandal.
Tonight, the infamous playboy CEO lounged on black leather like a king among lesser men. His dark suit molded perfectly to his tall, muscular frame. A thin smile tugged at his lips as his eyes — dark, dangerous — flicked lazily between the two women.
He didn't look at Nora for long. His eyes devoured Dina like a predator stalking prey under neon lights.
"Whatever they want," Pascal told the waiter, his voice calm but edged with that arrogance only men like him perfected. "Put it all on my tab."
The waiter's Adam's apple bobbed. "Yes, sir."
Nora raised an eyebrow. Dina's cheeks flushed a pretty pink as she shifted in her seat.
"Did he just—?" Dina whispered.
Nora gave a small shrug, pretending to be unaffected though her heart gave an odd little skip. She hated men like Pascal on principle. They thought money could buy anything — drinks, nights, women's pride.
The waiter returned moments later, arms full of expensive champagne and steaming plates. He arranged everything like they were royalty.
"Your bill is settled," he told Nora when she reached for her purse.
Nora frowned. "Settled? By who?"
The waiter nodded discreetly towards Pascal's booth. Pascal didn't wave — he simply raised his glass in a mock toast, his eyes never leaving Dina's face.
Dina giggled nervously and lifted her fingers in a half-hearted thank you wave.
"He's staring," Dina hissed, pulling her hair over her shoulder to cover her flushed throat.
"Let him stare," Nora said, popping the champagne and pouring Dina a glass. "Just don't let him think we owe him anything."
For a while, they sipped, laughed, and pretended not to care that Pascal's gaze stayed locked like a laser. Every time Dina glanced over, Pascal smirked — slow, deliberate, hungry.
When Nora excused herself to find the restroom, she leaned over Dina's shoulder, murmuring, "Stay alert. He looks like trouble."
Dina laughed her off. "Relax. I'm not stupid."
Nora's heels clicked across the marble floor as she ducked down a hallway lined with mirrors. She couldn't shake the unease curling in her gut. Guys like Pascal didn't buy you a drink out of kindness. They bought you. They expected something back — a number, a kiss, a night in silk sheets you'd regret by morning.
When she stepped back into the main club, the music had shifted to something slower, darker. She froze.
Pascal wasn't in his booth anymore.
Her eyes darted to their table — her stomach sank.
He was there, leaning in close over Dina like a panther circling a deer. Dina's giggle drifted above the music, but it sounded off — brittle, forced.
Nora stormed over, heels stabbing the ground.
"Hey!" she snapped. "What the hell is this?"
Dina's eyes darted to Nora, wide with something that looked too much like fear. Pascal ignored her completely, his attention fixed on Dina's trembling lips.
"You're even prettier up close," Pascal murmured, voice thick with heat. He brushed a finger along Dina's jaw, tilting her face towards him. "Do you know what I'd give to taste you right now?"
Dina shivered — disgust or desire, Nora couldn't tell.
Pascal didn't wait for an answer. He dipped his head, mouth hovering so close Nora felt her friend's panic spike.
Then Dina did something Nora would replay in her head for weeks.
Dina closed the gap and kissed him first.
It was clumsy — more shock than passion. Pascal's hand tangled in her hair, deepening it. For a heartbeat, the entire club seemed to hold its breath.
Then Dina pulled back just as fast — and slapped him so hard the sound cracked like a gunshot over the music.
Silence. Even the DJ choked on his mix.
Pascal's head snapped sideways. Slowly, he turned back, eyes wide, one hand pressed to his cheek.
Nora grabbed Dina's wrist. "What the hell, Dina?!"
Dina's eyes brimmed with tears — rage, regret, shame. "Take me home. Now."
Nora hissed out an apology to Pascal, whose shocked expression was already curdling into something darker, meaner.
"Wait— Dina, what did he do—"
"Please, Nora. I want to leave. Now."
She didn't argue. She dragged Dina away from the table, weaving through frozen onlookers as whispers chased them to the door.
Behind them, Pascal sat very still.
One of his suited bodyguards leaned in, murmuring, "Boss. Should we handle them?"
Pascal didn't answer at first. He touched his burning cheek, then his lips. The corner of his mouth twitched — but it wasn't a smile.
It was a promise.
"No," Pascal said softly. "No one lays a finger on her."
His eyes flicked to the club's exit, where Dina's figure disappeared into the night.
He leaned back, picked up his half-finished glass, and downed it in one furious swallow.
"Let her run," he murmured, voice cold as the ice in his drink. "She has no idea who she just slapped. She'll learn."
A cruel smile cut across his handsome face as the bass kicked back in.
"In this city," he said to no one, "I own everything. Even her."