Saturday night in Santerra is warm and clear, as if the city has finally exhaled.
The moon hangs low, too white, like a silent witness that already knows what comes next.
Giselle and I step out of the dormitory, reeking of cheap coffee and sleepless nights. The contrast between the place and the way we look is almost ridiculous.
Giselle walks ahead with confidence: a short skirt, a provocative top—she glows under imagined spotlights.
I am her opposite. A long dress, covered shoulders, and only one high slit. Every step I take is a hint. And a warning.
And then—
a black limousine.
In our courtyard.
Seriously?
The door opens smoothly, and Finn steps out—polished, self-assured, far too handsome for an ordinary Saturday night.
"Come on," he says, his smile restrained but hot. "We've been waiting for you."
We?
I glance at Giselle. She just arches an eyebrow.
Is this some over-the-top surprise of the century?
And yet… I've always liked surprises.
I slide into the car first, slipping into the role as if I have rehearsed it all my life.
"Hi, Alex."
He smiles like he has forgotten how to breathe. A tailored shirt, expensive shoes—everything about him says dangerously likable.
The scent of cologne inside the cabin is thick, warm. I feel myself relax—and tense at the same time.
Giselle drops onto the seat beside us and casually swings her leg.
"So did you decide to spend all your money on this car?"
Finn chuckles.
"It's my father's. He let me take it."
Of course he did. Of course things work that way for them.
The limousine pulls away, and I feel it instantly—we are not just leaving the dorm behind.
We are leaving an earlier version of ourselves.
We are heading to the club called "Angel."
An innocent name. A not-so-innocent atmosphere.
Something hangs in the air. Something large. Sweet. Dangerous.
Giselle shines like a star. And beneath my ribs, a tremor stirs—pleasant, anxious.
What if tonight everything changes?
What if my dreams really do begin to come true?
Or…
Or this is the night after which there is no way back.
**
The crowd outside the Angel club hums like a hive beneath the moon.
The air is thick—perfume, alcohol, anticipation, nervous laughter. Girls in shimmering dresses pose, whisper to the bouncers, try to slip inside.
It's useless.
Two security guards stand at the entrance like stone idols. No one gets in. They don't even flinch.
And then—Theo and Sebastian.
Two stubborn idiots picking a fight with the system. They shove their way through the line with their elbows, drawing hisses, complaints, quiet insults.
Naturally, they pretend not to hear a thing.
Why tonight? Why now?!
They make it all the way to the door—small but painfully proud next to a guard who towers over them like a monument to common sense.
"Please present your club cards," the guard says, flat and routine.
Theo's eyes go wide.
"What cards?! Let us in. Now!"
Strike one.
Sebastian steps forward, turns on the drama.
"Our girls are inside. Two creeps could hurt them…"
He even inserts a tragic pause.
A few girls nearby snort with laughter.
The guard blinks… then smiles.
The kind of smile that makes it clear he actually enjoys his job.
"So you're knights in shining armor. Cute." He lowers his arms. "But this is a private club. Men enter with club cards. Women enter by invitation. Clear?"
Theo's face darkens.
"This is discrimination! I'll file a complaint!"
"Perfect," the guard replies calmly. "Please do."
Then he takes a step forward.
"And now step away from the entrance."
The crowd stirs—whispers, laughter, phones lifted, flashes popping.
People are openly laughing at Theo and Sebastian now.
**
The black limousine rolls up to the Angel club as if it's elbowing the night aside.
We step out—Giselle, Finn, Alex, and me.
The crowd of girls locks onto us instantly. Their looks are sharp, quick, appraising.
Envy. Irritation. Curiosity.
And honestly? I don't care.
There's something bright and hot burning inside me tonight, and it doesn't ask for permission to shine.
Finn and Alex approach the bouncer. He breaks into a respectful smile at once.
Okay. So they're not just guests here.
I step onto the carpet. The slit of my dress parts softly, revealing a strip of black lace along my thigh.
Several men near the entrance fall silent.
Yes. It feels good. More than I'm willing to admit.
We walk inside, and the world sheds its skin.
The music slams into my chest. Light slices through the space, throwing rainbows across the hair and shoulders of the girls on the dance floor.
They're all smooth, luminous, as if hand-assembled for this one perfect night.
On the raised platforms—sofas, champagne, rich men lounging lazily, watching the dance floor like an arena.
And I feel their gaze on me—heavy, assessing, almost like a touch.
Alex suddenly takes my hand.
Warm fingers. Very warm.
A shiver crawls up my spine—traitorous, sweet.
"Breathe, Victoria. Nothing special. Just a guy. Just a night," my inner voice murmurs.
My body doesn't believe it.
Our table is half-shadow, a soft chair, a perfect view.
I sit—and feel the seat mold itself to my shape.
Alex notices how I arch slightly. His gaze slides down… then snaps back up.
We both pretend nothing happened.
Giselle beside me is glowing, as if the entire dawn of the world has settled beneath her lashes. She's already dancing in her head, spinning at the center of attention.
And me…
I haven't been here in a long time.
Not in a club—in myself.
In that version of me that breathed music for eight straight years.
The dance floor is my element. My weapon. My home.
And now the music feels like it's calling me by name.
I lift my eyes. Alex is watching me.
He doesn't rush me.
Doesn't pull.
He just waits.
And in that moment I understand:
if I step onto the dance floor, everything will change.
For me.
For him.
For this night.
I inhale.
I stand.
And in the same instant—
someone on the dance floor suddenly screams.
The music stumbles.
The lights flicker.
And I realize:
the show is only just beginning.