The light smacked me right away.
Camera bursts lit up the dim space - sharp, sudden, dazzling.
Each pop made the gems on my arm spark, flinging tiny rainbows over the glossy stone below.
I kept my eyes wide open. When everyone's staring, you don't look away - you hold your ground, head up, grin ready.
"Selina! Selina, over here! One for Vogue!"
"Ms. Vega, tell us about the inspiration for Shadow Kiss!"
I spun around, showing off my better side - left cheek forward, sunlight slicing across my jawline just so.
On me: a dress pricier than my childhood home, slick silver fabric draping over every curve like molten metal. Felt like lead on the body, yet moved like breeze. That's the job. That's how it works - you hold the load without flinching. Keep everything tight, never show strain.
"It's about duality," I purred into a microphone that was shoved in my face, my voice smooth as top-shelf cognac.
"Every woman has two sides. The face she shows the world, and the secrets she keeps in the dark.
Shadow Kiss is for the dark."
The crowd loved every second. Filled with bloggers, partygoers, and trend hunters - all crammed into the rooftop spot at The Standard, drinking my bubbly, soaking in my vibe. Eager to grab attention, they pushed near, drawn like moths to flame.
To them, I was Selina Vega - boss of the brand, queen who built everything from a tiny shop in Queens, now ruling downtown.
They had no clue at all.
If they saw where that silk came from - the kind draping their shoulders - and what it took to line their nostrils with shimmer, they'd bolt like smoke when the alarm screams.
I slipped through the people, quiet but sharp, like something out of place. Someone grabbed my arm briefly, another pressed a hollow smile to my face.
Maya stayed close, acting like she had everything under control. Her hair was perfect, outfit snug, yet something about her vibe didn't sit right. It hit me sudden, like a tiny zap you can't ignore.
"We're hitting capacity, Lina," Maya shouted over the bass of the DJ set. "Security is holding the line downstairs."
"Let 'em wait," I said, scanning the room.
"Anticipation sells better than access."
I spotted a bouncer by the VIP zone - Big T. Then he barely nodded back at me. That meant it was go-time.
"Keep it together, May," I said, dropping my champagne glass on a nearby tray. Because I've got to grab five
"Where you going? The investors are asking for—"
"Five minutes, Maya." I spoke quieter, rougher. For a sec, the boss act faded - you could see the real grit under.
"Get this done."
I didn't stick around for her reply. Instead, I slipped past the velvet rope and moved fast down the back hall. The music dropped to a low pulse in the walls, and the temperature dipped right away.
My shoes tapped on the rough floor - tap-tap, tap-tap - a beat I'd memorized way before today. That noise? Just part of the job.
I shoved the thick metal door wide after walking down the corridor.
The room felt empty.
Not a hint of soft light in sight. Harsh overhead bulbs instead, along with a cold steel table - three guys sat there, each seeming eager to leave.
"Ms. Vega," the main man spoke - his face damp. That's right.
"Skip the small talk," I told him, moving toward the table.
Nope, wasn't planning to take a seat - sitting means you intend to stick around.
Dropped my purse on the wood - real croc hide, worth at least fifty grand - right beside a dark gym bag.
"A dozen packs. Pure stuff. Straight from Peru, like you wanted."
The dude went for the bag, yet I slid my polished hand on top. Those nails? Painted dark crimson - main shade from the fresh collection.
"Money comes before everything," I told him.
He gave a nod to the man beside him - right away, that guy tossed down a fat envelope. I grabbed it, sensing how heavy it was.
No point flipping through each note; hundred large's heft? Same as knowing my own heartbeat.
"Clean?" I asked.
"Laundered through the construction firm, just like usual."
I nodded and slid the bag toward them.
"Shadow Kiss isn't just lipstick, gentlemen. It's a guarantee. You step on this product, you dilute my brand. If I hear this is hitting the streets cut with fentanyl or baby powder, we're going to have a conversation that doesn't end with a handshake.
You feel me?"
The boss gulped, holding the sack tight - like it kept him alive. "We get you, Selina. Real talk."
"It's Ms. Vega."
I spun around, left fast - before anyone even gasped. It only lasted a few minutes. By then, I already had way more cash than the whole crowd outside spent drinking.
I paused in the hall - just a breath to steady myself. Off the shiny cover of a fire alarm box, I saw my face. Hair on point. Lips sharp.
But my eyes? Dull.
So I shook it off, lit them up again, slipped into the polished version. Not some boss lady today. Just the front everyone sees.
I moved away from the crowd, yet sound hit hard - like water crashing down.
Maya stood exactly where I'd seen her last, chatting with some fashion writers. As soon as she spotted me, that grin returned - just a beat too late. Her gaze stuck on my sparkly wristband before jumping to my expression. A glance I'd seen before. Not joy. More like craving. Like jealousy.
"All set?" she said, passing over a new drink.
"Perfect," I said, tapping my glass to hers.
"Here's to the kingdom."
To the empire," she said quietly, lifting her glass. Yet her gaze slipped away - drifting behind me, searching corners I hadn't noticed.
A chill hit my back, nothing to do with the cold air. That gut feeling - the one that saved me during late-night deals in the Bronx - kicked in hard.
Someone is watching.
I turned slow, eyes moving across the space from behind my drink. Beyond folks snapping pics for attention, beyond money backers eyeing timepieces, through drifting smoke and big personalities.
Then I spotted him.
He leaned on a post near the back, shaded by the balcony's edge. Not dressed in a tux - just a suit, sharp enough to be custom, yet faded like it'd seen years.
Didn't hold a drink. Never cracked a grin. His eyes stayed clear of the models, away from the liquor.
His eyes locked onto mine without a blink.
His eyes were deep, sharp - somehow quiet in a scary way.
Not the look of someone who admires. More like a predator locking onto prey out in the open.
He drank from a glass that probably held whiskey, gaze still fixed. A small tilt of his head, like he could peel off the dress, jewels, labels - and stare straight at what they hid.
He didn't seem amazed. Instead, his face showed deep focus - like working out numbers in his head. Weighing up the danger ahead. Figuring how to bring it down step by step.
My heart slammed into my ribs - sharp, loud, like thunder up close. Spotting a hunter?
Yeah, I've seen that look before. Reason is… I carry it myself.
I lifted my drink toward him, a quiet dare through the busy space.
He kept it down. Instead, he looked on.
The party blared around me, yet inside, total quiet took over. When the noise hit its peak, cash flowing, applause rolling in - suddenly it vanished.
All that stayed? A sharp sense someone had marked me. No escape.
The match had started.