Where can she even begin?
Svet's outfit.
The gown was bright yellow, clinging awkwardly to her frame. It was sort of long, almost elegant, but Miranda had paired it with black fishnet leggings and shiny red heels that Svet could barely walk in.
She felt like a clown at a circus.
Miranda didn't stop there.
She'd tied Svet's hair into a high ponytail that made Svet's face look rounder than usual, and her makeup? It was a rushed mess of red lipstick and uneven eyeliner.
"I look like a confused sunflower," Svetlana muttered, catching her reflection in the car window.
"You look different, that's just it," Miranda corrected, grinning. "Besides, it's not about the outfit; it's about confidence. My presence is all the confidence you need."
"Sure," Svetlana deadpanned, wobbling in her heels as they approached the gate.
The interior of the not-so-pub-like looking pub was just as grand as the outside; chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, walls lined with expensive looking paintings, and a sea of people dressed to the nines.
Svetlana's heels clicked loudly against the polished marble floor as she followed Miranda, feeling more out of place with every step.
"What now?" she whispered, clutching Miranda's arm like a lifeline.
Miranda pulled out her phone, scrolling through a message. "We're looking for room 911."
Svet blinked. "Room what?"
"9-1-1," Miranda repeated, unfazed. "It's just a number."
"A weird number."
Miranda.grinned, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Exactly. And weird is what we need tonight."
As they wandered through the mansion-like place, Svetlana couldn't shake the feeling that they were stepping into something far bigger; and far more dangerous, than they'd signed up for.
But Miranda didn't seem worried. She never was.
And maybe, just maybe, Svetlana needed to borrow some of her recklessness tonight.
______
Svet stood there, staring at the door.
Her palms were sweating, and she was almost certain her heartbeat was so loud Miranda could hear it.
There was something about that muffled voice behind the door labeled '9-1-1', crying and begging, that sent a chill crawling up Svetlana's spine.
"I love you," she'd heard a female's voice behind the door sobbing. Her voice was trembling and desperate. "I said I love you A.D. Please... I love you. Please, don't leave me."
"Love wasn't part of the deal. You knew that. Stop begging." The response was cold, detached. A voice that sounded older, wiser, and completely fed up.
Svet swallowed hard, glancing at Miranda, who stood beside her with arms crossed like this was nothing.
Miranda's expression flickered, though, like even she wasn't expecting this kind of drama behind the mysterious door. "What the hell's going on in there?" she muttered under her breath.
But Svet just shook my head.
Before Svetlana could speak further, the sobbing girl's voice hitched, breaking into a gut-wrenching cry that made Svet's chest tighten. 'God, what was happening in there?'
Svet's feet itched to back away, but instead, she stayed rooted to the spot, eyes glued to the door as the muffled voices cut through the tension in the hallway.
Then, the door swung open with a sudden creak.
Svetlana stumbled back a step, nearly bumping into Miranda.
A woman stormed out, tears streaming down her face, streaking her makeup in jagged lines. She didn't look at Svet, didn't look at Miranda. She just kept walking. Her head down. Her shoulders trembling.
Her dress was elegant, expensive looking, clinging to her curves in a way that screamed confidence. But her expression? It was pure devastation.
She was older than Svet and Miranda by far for sure. Maybe late twenties, but right now she looked like a little girl who'd been broken.
Like how it was with Svetlana and West.
"What the hell is a grown woman like her crying over?" Svetlana blurted, the words slipping out before she could stop them.
Miranda's eyes narrowed. "I think I know her," she said quietly, almost like she was talking to herself. Then, louder, "What's she doing here?"
Svetlana didn't bother to ask who she was. Honestly, she didn't care.
Watching that lady wipe her face and walk away like she didn't care that the two young adults were staring, It made Svet feel something heavy settle in her chest.
Was that going to be Svet soon?
Was Svet going to end up like that; broken, humiliated, and running out of this place in tears?
AGAIN??!!
The door creaked again, drawing Svet's attention back.
A man stood there, his silhouette blocking most of the light from the room. He was tall, taller than Svetlana expected, and his presence filled the doorway like a shadow.
"What are you two girls doing here?" His voice was low, gravelly, and it sent a shiver down Svet's spine.
Miranda smirked, stepping forward like this was just another day for her. "What does it look like?" she shot back. "We're here to talk to him."
How did Miranda know who's who? Svetlana could bet her BFF doesn't.
Svetlana tried to find her voice so she could back her bestie up, even if with a 'yes'. But all she could think about was the way the man was looking at her… or not looking at her.
His eyes barely glanced Svet's way, like she wasn't worth his time.
"You both are too young to be here," he said simply, almost like it was a reflex.
Svetlana clenched her fists. Another rejection, that's two in one week.
Too young.
Too young?
He didn't even know them, didn't even ask their name, and already he'd written them off.
"No," Svet said. Her voice broke just a little, but she pushed forward. "I'm not. I'm not too young, and I can…."
He cut her off with a glance. Just one. Like Svet wasn't even worth the energy of a full attention or listening ear.
"Grow up first," he said.
Then, without another word, he turned to go back into the room.
No.
Angrily, and a bit instinctively, Svetlana slipped in with the little space the man's hand had created. Of course, leaving Miranda outside. No. Leaving her confidence outside.
Svetlana stepped inside, and the atmosphere shifted.
The dim light filtered through the smoke-filled room, casting shadows on the walls. In the center, a man sat in a leather chair, turned slightly toward them - Svetlana and the big guy who dared told her to grow up first.
His appearance struck Svetlana completely and instantly; he was an intimidating figure.
His hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, and his face was mostly hidden behind a sleek black fox mask that covered most of his features. What Svetlana could see was striking: his jaw was strong, angular, and his lips: thin, pink, pressed into a tight line as he studied them.
His eyes were the most unnerving part. Dark and intense. They were framed by the mask's slits, their gaze piercing and unreadable.
Svetlana froze for a moment, unsure of what to do. She noticed he froze too, for some reason. Maybe surprised to see a little girl, Svet, in his suite.
Svetlana felt exposed, as if the man could see right through her.
"Who let you come here? You're too young," he said, his voice cold, flat, and almost dismissive.
The words hit Svet like a slap.
Svet fought to keep her voice steady. "I'm not too young. I'm here. I'm ready for whatever. You didn't ask why I'm here."
He didn't respond to that. His eyes just scanned Svetlana again. And for a second, the room seemed to close in on her, suffocating her.
Finally, he stood, his movements slow and deliberate.
He was taller than Svet expected as well, easily over six feet, with broad shoulders that stretched the sleeves of his shirt. Tattoos peeked out from the edges, wrapping around his arms, his neck, his skin telling stories Svet wasn't sure she wanted to know.
"Go home."
Svetlana: "....."
She was stunned. What the hell?
She opened her mouth to say something, but the words got caught in her throat. He was already turning his back on her, dismissing her without a second thought.
A call came through Svetlana's phone. It didn't ring out, just vibrated. She took it out, it was Dad. She was sure he's worried and must have called Miranda as well.
But Svetlana couldn't pick up. Not now.
"Is that it?" she asked, fisting and fighting hard to hold in that tear that was definitely threatening to fall.
The man didn't respond. He just kept walking.
Rejected, yet again.
Svetlana stood there for a second, feeling the sting of rejection settle in her chest. But she wasn't going back. Not now. Not after everything.
'Go home,' he had said? Pffttt! But she wasn't ready to listen. Not yet.
So, what if he didn't even want to hear her out and freely take her virginity? For Free! Tsk, tsk. There are other men around. Hmmph!