Chapter Nineteen
Serena
I’m definitely drunk. Not tipsy, not buzzed, drunk.
At some point, we met up with two of Sienna’s friends from the modeling world, Clara and Kylie, both gorgeous and effortlessly confident, like they walked straight out of a magazine spread.
The night has taken on a surreal edge, a kind of chaotic fun that only happens when you’re just sober enough to function but too far gone to care.
Oddly enough, my head feels clear, well, as clear as it can be after God knows how many shots. Clear in the sense that, for once, I’m not obsessing over a certain Italian psychopath. A very hot Italian psychopath.
Damn him.
“Shots!” Sienna shouts, her voice cutting through the music like a war cry.
I grab the glass without hesitation, and the burn hits my throat instantly, sharp, unforgiving.
I’ve lost count of how many I’ve had, but at this point, counting feels pointless.
We’re drunk. No, very drunk. We’re dancing now, and not just swaying mindlessly to the beat.
No, we’re moving like we’ve got a crowd to impress, hips rolling, hands in the air, laughing like we’re invincible.
We look good, too, hot enough to be mistaken for professional strippers, the kind that owns every inch of the stage.
This is why girls need girls’ nights. Nights to get drunk, dance like no one’s watching, and forget, forget whatever the hell’s been swirling in their heads.
Boys, jobs, life, none of it matters right now.
Still, something about the energy in this club feels off.
People keep whispering, glancing toward the VIP section.
A big deal about someone’s birthday? Seriously?
Who cares? It’s just a birthday. I take another sip, dismissing the thought.
Tonight, the only thing that matters is us ‘Who’s birthday it is?
’ I ask like three times for the girls to hear.
Clara turns to me, her face twisted into an exaggerated, almost comical expression.
“I don’t know,” she says with a lazy shrug, her words slightly slurred but still clear.
“Some rich businessman, I guess. Him and two of his friends, they’re upstairs, surrounded by girls. Like, a lot of girls. Crazy.”
She laughs, tossing her hair over her shoulder as her hips sway effortlessly to the music.
Her laughter is infectious, sharp and carefree, like she’s fully absorbed in the madness of the night.
With a mischievous smile, she shoots a playful wink at the barman, who’s been watching her like she’s the only person in the club.
It works, of course. The guy hands over another round of drinks, sliding three shots across the bar without a word, free of charge. Clara’s got that kind of charm, the kind that makes men lose their common sense. I don’t think we’ve paid for a single drink since we walked in.
“Cheers to that,” I mutter, clinking my glass against hers as the music pulses around us.
“Let’s play truth or dare!” Kylie declares suddenly, her voice loud and unsteady. Then she giggles, already amused by her own idea. “But without the truth. Only dares. Let’s dare ourselves to do stupid shit, like giving a random guy a lap dance.”
She bursts into laughter, and so do I. We’re both drunk, teetering on the edge of chaos, but somehow, this feels like the perfect kind of first.
“Me first!” I blurt out, swaying slightly as I turn to Sienna, my words tumbling out too fast. “Sienna, I dare you to kiss the hot guy sitting at the table next to the bar. And no, you’re not allowed to refuse!” I lean in, planting a quick kiss on her cheek for emphasis, as if that seals the deal.
Her eyes widen, and she frowns, her lips curling into a half-smile, one of those sad smiles that’s supposed to look casual but never does. “I never said I was playing,” she protests, shaking her head. “And you know I’m in some sort of relationship.”
Not tonight, though. Tonight isn’t for sad smiles or complicated feelings.
“Oh, fuck Knox,” I say, my tone sharp but teasing. I tilt my head toward another target. “Go kiss the hot, mysterious guy who’s been glued to his phone for the last hour.”
Her smile falters for a second, then returns, this time a little brighter, like the challenge is a distraction she didn’t know she needed. And honestly, I need this too. Tonight’s for us, for laughter, bad decisions, and dares we’ll regret in the morning.
Sienna didn’t hesitate. She marched straight over to him, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him into a kiss, a deep, unapologetic kiss that made my jaw drop.
His surprise melted away almost instantly as he slid a hand to the back of her neck, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss like he’d been waiting for this moment all night.
Oh Gosh. I asked her to kiss him, not to devour his soul.
It felt like it lasted forever, at least five minutes of hands, lips, and a tension that had half the room staring.
When she finally pulled back, she gave him a playful wink, leaving him dazed and breathless in his seat.
Then she turned on her heel and strutted back to us, her face flushed, a smug grin tugging at her lips.
“How’d I do?” she asked, panting slightly but still brimming with confidence.
“He was kinda hot, not gonna lie.” We all burst out laughing, the energy infectious and wild.
Sienna turned to Clara next, her eyes glittering with mischief.
“Your turn. Go kiss the barman so we get free drinks for the rest of the night.”
Clara didn’t need to be told twice. She threw her hair over her shoulder, smirked at us, and sauntered off toward the bar. Sure enough, minutes later, the barman was grinning like a fool, sliding drinks our way without asking for a dime.
It’s 1 AM, and we’re playing a reckless, booze-fueled game of dares in the middle of the club, like there are no consequences, no morning after.
Clara, now feeling bold, turned to Kylie and pointed at her with a wicked grin. “Okay, your turn. Take off your top.”
Kylie hesitated for half a second before shrugging, clearly too drunk to care.
With one smooth motion, she pulled off her top and tossed it at Clara, leaving herself in nothing but a black lace bra and a dangerously short skirt.
The crowd around us whooped and cheered, and Kylie just laughed, spinning onto the dance floor like she was born to be seen.
Serena’s turn!” Clara calls out, her grin devilish and triumphant, like she’s been waiting for this moment all night.
“I have the best dare for you. Go upstairs and give a lap dance to one of the three men up there!” She’s watching me closely, expecting me to stammer, blush, maybe even refuse. But no, not tonight.
I’m not as confident as they are, not even close, but after who knows how many shots I’ve downed, I can feel the alcohol pushing me, coaxing me forward. I square my shoulders, my voice steadier than I expect when I reply. “Fine. I’ll do it.”
A chorus of cheers and drunken giggles erupts around me as we make our way to the staircase. The bass-heavy music grows louder as we ascend, thumping through the walls and vibrating under my heels.
Upstairs is different. The lighting is lower, sultry shadows pooling around the edges of the space, and the air feels heavier, charged with something I can’t quite place.
The layout is just as decadent, five separate suites, each with ornate doors and an undeniable air of exclusivity.
This isn’t just a VIP section; it’s something else entirely.
A space for business, pleasure, or maybe both.
Deals made, egos stroked, people getting laid to celebrate their victories.
As we step into the hallway, a group of girls rushes past us, almost running. Their laughter echoes like bells, high-pitched and full of mischief.
“Wait!” I call out after them, my curiosity cutting through the haze of alcohol. “Which suite is the birthday party in?” One of the girls glances back, her lip gloss catching the dim light as she grins. “Suite five. We’re heading there now. But no men are allowed, only girls.”
Only girls.
Her words hang in the air, twisting into something both intriguing and unsettling.
Clara and the others are giggling beside me, nudging me playfully, their excitement contagious.
“This is going to be epic,” one of them whispers.
But my heart is hammering as we approach the suites, every step bringing me closer to something I can’t quite name.
A dare is a dare, and I’ll do it, I’ll push through my nerves and the pounding in my chest. I just hope I don’t embarrass myself.
We finally arrived. This is huge and are also lots of girls inside. The suit has three sofas, everything is just black. The furniture, the walls, is a huge chandelier at the middle of the celling. They don’t have staff members; they have women only in bikini.
The only thing they’re wearing is bikinis, tiny, barely-there scraps of fabric.
The birthday boy is right there, though it’s hard to see him.
He’s buried under a tangle of limbs and curves, ten boobs, to be precise.
Five girls are draped all over him like he’s the centrepiece of some sinful masterpiece.
I can’t even make out his face beneath the chaos of bodies and movement.
He’s lounging on the plush sofa, legs spread wide, exuding an unshakable confidence.
His legs are long, almost unnaturally so, and every inch of his skin is a canvas of ink.
His shirt is gone, exposing a carved, muscular torso that looks like it was made to be touched, and that’s exactly what’s happening.
The girls are relentless, hands roaming, lips tasting.