Chapter 3 Midnight Ballerina.

Cierra.

They called me Midnight Ballerina.

Yes. That was my name under the neon lights.

It was 11 p.m. and night duty called...not the kind where you clock in, sharpen pencils, or type invoices.

No.

The kind where you hold a pole and sway your ass like it's the last thing the world has left to worship.

The more sway, the more dollars. The more arch in your back, the more they rain. More desire, more currency. That was the trade.

I sat in front of the mirror in my room...applying the final stroke of red gloss that shimmered like sin under low light.

My hair, dark and voluminous, fell like a wave down my shoulders. My outfit? A black velvet two-piece - bikini-cut bottom with rhinestones that rode high on the hips, and a matching top that barely covered what men came here to stare at.

A silver thigh chain hugged my leg, clinking with every subtle move. Stilettoes, sharp enough to stab a man's ego.

I inhaled.

Exhaled.

Tonight wasn't just any night. It was my last night here at Flamingo Club.

The last night before I would step into a new world...a world where I was supposed to look polished, elegant, and married. A world where I would stand beside a polished, elegant man and pretend I belonged.

I stared at my reflection, head tilted as my chest tightened.

"Fuck," I whispered to myself. "Last night as a stripper before everything changes."

Right then, my phone vibrated. Blinky... my best friend, roommate, partner in chaos, FaceTiming me with that goofy Memoji of his that never matched the real him.

I picked the call, camera pointed at my face as I adjusted my gloss.

"Girl! No, no, no! Don't tell me you stepping out lookin' like anxiety and sadness mixed together," he scolded dramatically.

I laughed. "I'm almost done. Calm down."

"Almost done my ass. It's your last night here. You should be giving legendary! You should look like they'll cry when you gone!"

"I'm fine, Blink."

And I was... or I wanted to be. I wasn't supposed to tell him everything yet. Not about the man. Not about the wedding. Not about the life waiting to swallow me whole.

But Blinky? He wasn't just a friend. He was chosen family.

He popped gum loudly. "Anywayyy, come fast. We got big fishes tonight."

"How big?" I asked, raising a brow.

"It's somebody's birthday... rich men... men that change cars like you change your undies."

"Are you calling me dirty?" I gasped.

"I'm calling you high maintenance," he said, winking.

We joked, laughed, teased..our usual ritual, as I grabbed my bag and walked out of my room to order a car.

I leaned against the gate, eyes scanning the dark street. I am a dancer, I reminded myself. Not a prostitute. I touched a finger to my glossed lips. Pole dancing paid better than waitressing, better than anything legal I could get without a degree. And I needed money. Badly.

The wedding...

I couldn't walk into my mother's new life looking like the broke daughter who didn't belong.

A ride arrived. I hopped in, put in my headphones, and let the passing streetlights blur into streaks of gold. My reflection in the window stared back at me.

"Just tonight," I murmured. "Then everything changes."

***

The club thumped with bass so loud it shook the bones under your skin. I pushed the back door open to find Chelsea... my immediate boss, five-foot-nothing with a BBL that entered the room three seconds before she did. Black American queen with a mouth that never rested.

"Oh look who finally shows up," she snapped, arms folded, nails glittering. "Miss too-good-to-text-back."

"We texted like... twenty minutes ago?" I blinked.

She rolled her neck. "Tonight ain't regular dance, baby. We distributing girls personally to the VIPs. Birthday boys got money with extra zeroes."

"So... I'm not needed?" I tried.

Her laugh was petty and long. "You? Of course you needed. But ain't nobody tipping no pole tonight. You makin' out for money instead."

I stiffened. "You know I don't do that, Chelsea."

She clapped sarcastically. "Then guess who ain't getting a dime!"

My jaw tensed. "I dance. That's what I'm paid for."

"And tonight," she leaned close, breath minty and mean, "you doing more than that."

We were seconds from war when Blinky slid between us like a sparkly referee.

"Okayyyy ladies, claws down." He turned to me softly. "Cee, just tonight. I promise. Last night. Okay?"

I swallowed hard.

Because he was right.

I needed the money.

To not look like a poor bride beside a king.

"One night," I whispered. "And that's all."

He cheered quietly, kissing my cheek.

Chelsea strutted off with that I-won attitude. I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out. Blinky squeezed my hand.

"You got this. And hey... mask party tonight."

Two joys hit me;

'Mask party = super wealthy clientele.

'I wouldn't see who I was assigned to.

Perfect.

***

In the dressing corridor, Chelsea bumped me with her hip, then eyed my curves.

"You got the ass, the waist, the everything," she said with fake sweetness. "Shape like that... only good for decoration."

"At least mine is real," I fired back. "No monthly BBL maintenance needed."

She gasped like I stabbed her pride. "Keep playin' with me, ballerina."

Before she could start more drama, Madame... our club director...entered. A composed Latina woman in a satin suit who never smiled but paid well.

She handed me a sleek silver card.

Room number: V92

VIP Floor.

No name.

Just a location.

"Do well," Madame said with a tight nod before exiting.

Chelsea smirked. "Better learn quick, princess. Maybe watch a YouTube tutorial.... 'How to satisfy a masked millionaire 101.'"

"Fuck off, Chelsea."

"I plan to," she winked and walked away laughing.

Blinky hugged me again. "You're safe. I'll be nearby."

I nodded, heart pounding.

I tied the velvet black mask over my face...lace trimming my features, added one more coat of lip gloss, and steadied my breath. Then I strutted through dim corridors, each strobe light flashing like warning signs from fate.

Up the golden staircase to the VIP hall... men in tailored suits, all masked, whispered behind black bottles of champagne and cigars that cost rent.

Wealth had a smell.

Sharp. Intoxicating. Dangerous.

I found door V92 and reached for the gold handle.

One twist and the rest of my life could shift.

My fingers hovered... breath frozen.

"Hello, princess," a voice said behind me.

Slow. Dark. Velvety.

The kind of voice that made your knees second-guess their purpose.

I turned.

And my entire existence halted.

The man was tall. Broad shoulders under a fitted midnight suit. A black mask covering half his face

... but his jawline, sharp as a blade, was unmistakable. His hair... dark, thick, styled back like wealth itself kissed every strand. His presence hit the hallway with a silent command.

My heart attempted to leap out of my chest.

He smiled, and it was slow... dangerous... familiar.

"Can I know where this room number is?" he asked, eyes dipping briefly to the silver card in his hand.

I tried to speak.

Nothing came out.

Because I knew that voice.

I knew that stance.

I knew that energy.

He belonged to the world I was about to enter.

The world where I had to pretend to belong.

My lips parted.

"What..." I breathed.

Then louder...my confusion spiking into panic..

"What the actual fuck?"

His head tilted, interest flaring behind the mask.

The air between us tightened...electric, wrong, magnetic.

He took a step closer.

And that was when I noticed something unmistakably strapped beneath his suit jacket...

A wedding ring.

On his left hand.

And my entire soul dropped.

Because tomorrow...

my mother would be marrying a man with a ring just like that.

And I prayed to God it wasn't who I thought it was.

His eyes traced my body...slowly...deliberately.... like he already owned what he saw.

A smirk carved into his lips.

"Well," he murmured, voice dripping danger,

"this night just got interesting."