CHAPTER TWO: VELVET MIRAGE

The ride to Velvet Mirage was a blur of neon lights and fear. My head throbbed as I tried to piece together what just happened. My package—my lifeline—was gone. I kept replaying the attack in my head: the rough shove from behind, the way my knees scraped against the pavement, and the speed at which they snatched it from my grip. I should have fought harder. I should have done something. But what could I do against two men?

The bus jolted to a stop, and I staggered out, the sticky night air clinging to my skin. The club's glowing red sign loomed ahead. “Velvet Mirage,” it read, flickering slightly, just like the stability in my life.

I shoved the door open and stepped inside, greeted by the familiar scent of sweat, cheap perfume, and the faint smell of spilled alcohol. The bass of the music vibrated through my chest, and the chatter of customers blurred with the click of heels against the shiny floor.

I was late—again.

The manager, Ricardo, was perched at the bar, his sharp eyes scanning the room. He spotted me immediately, his expression souring.

"Cassie, in my office. Now," he barked, his voice cutting through the noise.

I winced but nodded. Shrugging off my jacket, I made my way past the dancers and waitresses, each of them casting me curious or annoyed looks. I could feel their judgment like pinpricks on my skin. My uniform was half-crumpled in my bag, and I was far from ready to hit the floor.

“Rough night?” Lexi, one of the strippers, asked as I passed her. She was fixing her makeup in the mirror, her ruby-red lips pursed.

“You have no idea,” I muttered.

I ducked into the tiny staff locker room, quickly pulling on my uniform: a sequined top and black shorts that clung to my skin. The fabric itched, but I didn’t have time to care.

Ricardo’s office was cramped and dimly lit, papers scattered across his desk. He leaned back in his chair, his arms crossed over his chest.

“You’ve got five seconds to explain why you’re late,” he said, his dark eyes narrowing.

I hesitated. My mind scrambled for an excuse, but all I could think about was the package—the way it was ripped from my hands, the sharp sting of humiliation as I hit the ground.

“I...I got held up,” I said finally, avoiding his gaze.

“Held up?” Ricardo raised an eyebrow. “Cassie, this isn’t the first time. You’re one of my best workers, but even I have limits. What’s going on with you lately?”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly. Too quickly.

He didn’t buy it. I could see the suspicion in his eyes, but he let out a sigh and rubbed his temples. “Just get out there. And pull yourself together. I’ve got enough problems without you adding to them.”

Relief flooded through me, and I nodded. “Thanks, Ricardo. I’ll make it up to you.”

I grabbed the tray from the bar and stepped onto the floor, forcing a smile as I weaved through the crowd. The music was deafening, and the lights flashed in a dizzying array of colors. I tried to focus on the task at hand—serving drinks, taking orders, and staying invisible. But my mind kept drifting back to the attack, the weight of what I’d lost pressing heavily on my chest.

"Hey, Cass!" one of the bartenders called, sliding a glass of amber liquid across the counter. "This one's for the owner. Table seven."

I grabbed the drink, balancing it carefully on the tray. Table seven was a private booth near the back, reserved for VIPs. I had barely taken two steps when someone bumped into me, and the glass wobbled dangerously.

“Careful!” I snapped, steadying the tray. My heart was racing, my nerves tight to the point of snapping.

As I approached the booth, my stomach dropped. Olivia Steele was sitting there, her perfectly styled blonde hair shining under the dim light. She was a regular—one of the club’s most influential and temperamental clients. Olivia was the kind of woman who commanded attention with a single glance, and she reveled in making everyone around her squirm.

I swallowed hard and stepped closer, holding the tray with trembling hands. “Your drink, Ms. Steele,” I said, my voice barely audible over the music.

But as I set the glass down, my hand slipped. The tray shook, and the drink spilled, splashing across Olivia’s designer dress.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop.

Olivia’s eyes widened, and then narrowed into slits. “What the hell is this?” she hissed, her voice dripping with barely controlled anger. She stood up, the fabric of her dress clinging to her skin, ruined.

“I—I’m so sorry,” I stammered, grabbing a napkin and trying to blot the stain. “It was an accident.”

“An accident?” Olivia snapped, her voice rising. “Do you have any idea how much this dress costs? You stupid, clumsy—”

“Ms. Steele, please,” Ricardo’s voice cut in as he hurried over, his face pale. “I deeply apologize for this. I’ll personally cover the cost of the dress—”

“I don’t want your money,” Olivia interrupted, her glare fixed on me. “I want her gone. Now.”

My stomach sank. “Wait—please, it won’t happen again. I swear—”

“You’ve already done enough,” Olivia said coldly. She turned to Ricardo. “Fire her. Tonight.”

Ricardo looked torn, his gaze shifting between Olivia and me. The height of her power hung high in the air, and I knew he couldn’t afford to lose his business.

“Ricardo, please,” I whispered, my voice shaking. But he wouldn’t meet my eyes.

I lost the package and I am yet to find out my punishment when the owners come looking for me. Now, I am faced with this. Today couldn't get any worse. 

The room felt like it was closing in around me, the music pounding in my ears as I feared what his decision could be.