Heather stepped out of the mansion, the cool night air brushing against her skin, but it did little to cool the heat still lingering from that kiss.
She pressed her fingers against her lips absentmindedly, as if checking if they were truly as soft as Caius had said.
She hated him for that.
Not because it was bad—far from it. But because he had the power to make her feel things she wasn’t supposed to. She was already caught between trying to meet Alex’s ever-looming expectations and not spiraling too deep into whatever twisted game she and Caius were playing.
What if he asked for more? Something more... personal? More binding?
The thought made her squint, her stomach knotting at the possibility. But tonight wasn’t about Caius. Tonight was about presence. Making a statement. The party was one of the most anticipated pre-gala events of the year, and Heather refused to be the quiet name whispered in envy, she wanted to be the name spoken aloud.
Not for validation. Not because she needed them. But because she knew her worth—and she wasn’t going to let anyone reduce her to less than that.
Marcus, her ever-silent driver, pulled the limo smoothly to a halt at the venue’s entrance. Unlike typical red-carpet events, this one pulsed with the curated chaos of the social elite: celebrities snapping selfies, faux-candid laughter, staged group shots, and the silent flashes of paparazzi hiding behind velvet ropes.
The entryway was adorned with a long crimson carpet leading to a sleek black stanchion, guarded by towering bouncers in fitted suits. A floral arch pulsed with soft pink lighting, and house music spilled from inside like a promise of decadence.
As Heather stepped out, her heels met the carpet with precision. One of the photographers called her name. She turned, offering a small, graceful wave.
Heads turned. People whispered. Some smiled politely—others, more genuinely. But many simply watched, eyes calculating, jealous, intrigued.
Heather didn’t care. She knew she looked good. Good enough to live in their minds rent-free.
"Oh my G*d, Heather! You actually came!" Miguel shrieked with joy, rushing to greet her. He looked fabulous as always, outlandish and loud, with glitter on his lashes and a coat so oversized it brushed the floor.
Heather barely stepped inside before he was at the door like he’d been waiting all night just for her.
"Hi, Miguel." She air-kissed him, brushing her cheek near his. She smiled, polite but measured.
"I didn’t think you ever did these things! You’re always so... elusive."
"I go where I’m invited," she replied, her smile cool and calculated. Watching his words die in his mouth made her smirk just a little more.
"I have to introduce you to some people. You’ll love them."
He led her through the main hall, where the air shimmered with perfume, champagne bubbles, and polished vanity. The crowd was a living magazine spread, laughing, whispering, dancing.
Heather kept her poise, engaging with a few celebrities she’d once admired from afar. She took a couple of pictures. Some welcomed her warmly; others gave her cold glances or whispered behind champagne glasses. She let them. Their opinions bounced off her like raindrops on glass.
Heather spotted her the moment she walked into the private lounge. Lauren caught her gaze, then immediately looked away. The kind of turn you reserve for people you hate but must acknowledge.
Heather raised her voice. "Hi, Lauren!"
She waved, sweet and disarming.
Lauren hesitated. Then, with a roll of her eyes, turned back, faking a bright smile. "Happy married life."
She loved making putting people in positions where they had to pretend. Heather let out a dry laugh. "I wish it was."
"Why?" Lauren leaned in with that faux concern. "Did Caius cheat again?" Her tone was edged with amusement, eager to poke at a wound she assumed existed.
Heather tilted her head thoughtfully. Caius... cheating? She didn’t think so. Not with how he’d been lately.
Heather barely blinked. "I doubt it."
Lauren smirked. "Give it time. One pretty face, I bet. That’s all it would take before he serves you divorce papers again."
Heather just smiled. "I wouldn’t care. I’m not invested in that ridiculous marriage."
Lauren blinked, visibly intrigued. "Wait... you don’t love Caius?"
"No," Heather said plainly, turning away as if the conversation were as boring as the appetizers being passed around.
The singer on stage transitioned into a slow R&B number. Laughter and movement filled the air.
Suddenly, Lauren was surrounded by familiar faces, friends. Models, influencers, singers. One of them squealed.
They hugged and giggled before one of them turned, eyeing Heather curiously.
"Is she with you?" she asked.
Lauren glanced at Heather, lips tight. "She can come."
Miguel chimed in, "Yes, but only if she keeps it to herself."
Heather raised a brow. "What am I keeping to myself?"
Miguel winked. "You’ll see. Just... don’t be a snitch."
Heather shrugged. "I don’t talk about what I see. I talk when I’m seen."
Miguel laughed, then led the way. Heather followed at the back, unsure but curious.
They exited through a narrow hallway, quiet and sleek. The walls were lined with floor-to-ceiling mirrored glass. You could see your reflection—but not what was behind.
Miguel unlocked a door with a silver key hanging from his neck and pushed it open. The room inside was dimly lit, with plush V-shaped lounge chairs lining the sides. Small tables held bottles of champagne, untouched trays of fruit and chocolate.
Heather hesitated. It was empty. Too empty.
But everyone walked in, laughing. So she followed.
She barely had time to ask what the hell this was before they walked in.
Half a dozen boys—shirtless, all wearing tight, dark briefs. Strippers. The girls cheered, some clapped, others whistled. Shirtless, oiled, and clad in briefs that left little to myth. They prowled like wolves.
Even Miguel giggled, settling into one of the chairs like he owned the night. One of the boys straddled his lap with ease. She knew he was gay, even if he lied to the public that he was straight. "I’m bi," he admitted once, but deleted the tweet after being slammed online.
Heather turned to leave, but Miguel caught her wrist. "Stay. Just watch. You might like it."
She didn’t trust this. Not entirely. But something about the mix of adrenaline and rebellion kept her from bolting.
One of the boys approached her, young, with warm eyes and a less confident smile. He gripped her waist steering her down. She let him.
Around her, the girls were already getting into it. Lap dances. Flirting. Touches under dim lights. One of the girls were laughing, a boy on his knees in front of her, arms wrapped around her waist.
One straddled Lauren, who moaned like a bad actress. The boy in front of Heather didn’t touch her yet. He just looked at her, studying her face as if trying to decide if she’d let him. She stared back. She wasn’t sure yet either.
Her throat tightened. Mistake. Mistake. Mistake. She turned to door, but it was already sealed.