Emma's hand trembled slightly as Darla took the eyeliner from her. "Relax," Darla murmured with a small smile. "It's just makeup, not brain surgery."
Emma giggled nervously, the tension easing as Darla's steady hands expertly glided the pencil across her lids, enhancing her almond-shaped eyes. "There," Darla said, stepping back to admire her work. "You're gorgeous, Emma."
Emma glanced at her reflection, her cheeks blooming with gratitude. "Thanks, Darla. You're a lifesaver."
Darla returned to her vanity, the remnants of her shopping spree spread across the table. With deliberate precision, she applied her own makeup—a look far more modern than anything the other girls dared. She emphasized her striking green eyes with a bold blue shadow and sharp eyeliner, finishing with a gloss that made her lips shimmer like glass.
For her attire, Darla selected the centerpiece of her new wardrobe: a bodycon dress in shimmering sapphire blue with delicate silver ruffles. The dress hugged her curves flawlessly, the low V neckline framing her décolletage. She accessorized with a silver necklace that sparkled under the candlelight, a matching bracelet adorning her upper arm, and drop earrings that swayed with every movement. Her thigh-high heeled boots added a touch of dominance to her elegance. A final spray of the vanilla-scented perfume from the market completed the transformation.
When Darla stepped into the common area, the reaction was immediate. Gasps and murmurs rippled through the group. Isabella nudged Mia with wide eyes. "She looks... wow."
"She always does," Mia replied, her tone a mix of awe and envy.
Even the madam paused as her eyes swept over the assembled girls. Her gaze lingered on Darla longer than on anyone else, lips curling into a faint, approving smile. "You never disappoint," Lady Violet said softly, though her words seemed directed only at Darla.
Miss Vrim, standing behind the madam, let out a loud, frustrated sigh, her scowl deepening. Darla caught the look and smirked subtly, the faintest flicker of triumph in her eyes. It was a game she didn't mind playing.
The girls assembled, descending to the lower levels in practiced silence. The atmosphere thickened as they approached the door leading to the Silver Hall. It was an air charged with expectation, laced with the hum of music and muted laughter. As Lady Violet gave her customary speech about poise, performance, and opportunity, Darla stood straight, every inch the confident woman.
When the doors opened, the room came alive in a crescendo of noise. Music swirled, mingling with the clink of glasses and the low murmur of conversations. The scent of spiced wine, expensive cigars, and lingering perfume filled the air.
Darla took in the scene as they entered. Eyes turned toward them—hungry, curious, and assessing. The men were seated in clusters, their tailored suits a kaleidoscope of dark sophistication, punctuated by glimmers of jewelry and the occasional flicker of crimson eyes. The women, vampires and werewolves alike, lounged with practiced allure, their gazes predatory.
Darla's entrance did not go unnoticed. Her blue dress caught the dim lighting, shimmering faintly as if she were lit from within. The low hum of conversations faltered for a moment as several pairs of eyes—male and female—landed on her. Whispers rose in her wake.
"She's new."
"Human, isn't she?"
"Too striking for a human. Look at those eyes."
As they walked past the tables, the girls felt the weight of attention. Darla led, her strides purposeful and confident, though her friends followed nervously. A man seated at a corner table leaned back, his eyes glowing faintly as he let his gaze travel up Darla's figure. She felt it but didn't falter, instead offering the barest flicker of a knowing smile, one that both intrigued and challenged him. His companion chuckled lowly, their conversation momentarily forgotten.
By the time Darla reached her station, Mr. Simon was already observing her. He, like others, seemed momentarily taken by her transformation. His lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, before he masked it with his usual professionalism. "Waitressing again," he said simply, handing her the order pad. "You know the drill."
"Yes, sir," Darla replied smoothly, accepting her assignment.
She set off to the tables with practiced ease. One particular group of clients caught her attention—a gathering of men whose glances were unreservedly appreciative. As she approached, their conversation stilled, their eyes following the sway of her hips. Darla felt the intensity of their gazes, but she met them head-on, her demeanor calm and assured. When she spoke, her voice carried a warm, lilting charm.
"What may I get for you gentlemen this evening?" she asked, her tone effortlessly polite but with a hint of playful daring.
The men exchanged glances, one of them leaning closer. "You could get us a few things," he murmured suggestively.
Darla raised an eyebrow, her lips curving into a smile that was neither shy nor dismissive. It was a look that said she was in control, even as they tried to unsettle her. "Drinks first," she replied lightly. "Everything else is negotiable later."
Her response drew low chuckles and murmurs of intrigue. As she moved to another table, she caught snippets of their conversation.
"She's not like the others," one said.
"Confident," another remarked. "Interesting."
"Dangerous," a third added, though there was a note of admiration in his voice.
As Darla moved confidently across the opulent hall, her every step resonated with purpose. The soft sway of her hips, accentuated by the shimmering silver ruffles of her dress, drew the attention of the most disinterested eyes in the room. Conversations dulled to murmurs, and the melody of a violin faltered for a brief moment as one of the musicians became distracted by her presence.
Darla was no stranger to the weight of gazes; she welcomed them, wielding their attention like a weapon. While her appearance was striking, it was her unwavering poise that made her magnetic. She exuded the confidence of someone who belonged, despite the lurking danger that surrounded her.
She gracefully weaved through the tables, acknowledging glances with subtle nods and smiles. Even the boldest of men who might have otherwise reached out to touch her found themselves hesitating. Her aura was a mixture of allure and authority, a combination that left them intrigued but cautious.
At the far end of the room, a group of wealthy-looking vampires with pale, angular features and sharp eyes whispered among themselves, their gazes fixed on her. One of them, a man in an emerald-green waistcoat, leaned back in his chair, his silver goblet resting on his fingertips.
"Her confidence is unnatural," he muttered.
"She's human," another replied with a smirk, his fangs just visible beneath his lips. "Yet she moves like one of us."
Darla noticed their lingering stares but did not falter. Instead, she approached a nearby table of patrons, her demeanor shifting seamlessly from commanding to accommodating. She took their orders with a melodic voice, never breaking her calm exterior even as she felt their eyes trail her every move.
Nearby, Isabella, one of her room companions, struggled to maintain composure as a particularly rowdy group of werewolves teased and flirted with her. Darla's sharp eyes caught the exchange. She finished with her table and, in a calculated move, passed close enough to Isabella's group to shift their attention. Her presence distracted them, and the werewolves fell silent, captivated.
"Is everything to your liking, gentlemen?" she asked, her voice silky and inviting, but with a hint of steel beneath the surface.
The leader of the group, a broad-shouldered man with amber eyes that gleamed unnaturally in the dim light, leaned forward, his lips curling into a grin. "More than perfect now, darling," he said, his deep voice laced with a predatory edge.
Darla met his gaze without flinching, her emerald eyes sparkling with feigned innocence. "I'm glad to hear that. If you need anything else, don't hesitate to call." She stepped away before he could respond, leaving him staring after her in disbelief.
Mr. Simon observed her from the shadows, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "She knows how to play the room," he muttered under his breath. Beside him, Miss Vrim huffed irritably, her scowl deepening with every passing moment.
Darla's night continued, seamlessly blending moments of charm and composure. At one point, she found herself at a table surrounded by prominent figures—powerful men with the kind of presence that could make most humans crumble. She smiled as they bantered, skillfully deflecting flirtations while keeping their interest piqued.
One of them, a man with hair like spun gold and piercing ice-blue eyes, reached for her hand. His fingers brushed her skin, cold as marble, as he brought her knuckles to his lips. "You're fascinating," he murmured, his eyes searching hers.
"And you're perceptive," Darla replied smoothly, gently withdrawing her hand. Her polite tone carried a subtle edge, enough to make him pause and reconsider his next move.
The night continued with more of the same—Darla commanding attention, deflecting unwanted advances, and skillfully navigating the volatile energy of the hall. Every calculated step, every measured word, solidified her place as a force to be reckoned with in this dangerous world.
As the shift wound down, the tension in the air began to ease. Darla retreated to the bar to check in with Mr. Simon before finishing her duties. He acknowledged her with a small nod, his expression unreadable, but she caught the faintest hint of approval in his gaze.
The girls regrouped as they prepared to leave for the night. Darla could see the exhaustion on their faces, but there was also a spark of hope—something she'd inadvertently ignited in them through her actions.
Miss Vrim passed by, her scowl as sharp as ever, but Darla barely noticed. She was already planning her next move, her mind racing with possibilities.