In an apartment building in the middle of the city, dim streetlights seeped through half-closed blinds, casting long, broken shadows across a small, cluttered room. A young man lay sprawled on a bed, the faint hum of distant traffic barely audible over his steady, rhythmic breathing.
Suddenly, he bolted upright, his eyes snapping open in panic. His chest heaved as his breaths came in short, frantic bursts. His gaze darted around the unfamiliar room, scanning the peeling wallpaper, the cluttered desk in the corner, and a flickering lightbulb above that cast an eerie glow. Sweat trickled down his temple, soaking into the thin sheets tangled around his legs.
"Where the hell am I?" he muttered, his voice hoarse and cracking as his wide eyes fixed on the door across the room, half expecting it to burst open at any moment.
...
[Montréal Restaurant]
At the highest floor, a lavish dining space overlooked the city skyline, its floor-to-ceiling windows providing a stunning view of the glittering lights below. The room had been privately booked by three of the youngest and most influential entrepreneurs in the city. The soft hum of classical music played from hidden speakers, and the warm scent of truffle oil and aged wine lingered in the air, adding an intoxicating richness to the atmosphere.
Yet tonight, the focus wasn't on business deals or partnerships but on old ties and familiar faces. The attendees? None other than Kael's past friends.
Amara Blackwell sat at the head of the table, her raven-black hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders like a silken waterfall. Her piercing blue eyes, framed by long, fluttering lashes, seemed to shimmer under the ambient lighting, reflecting the candle flames on the table. Her poise and elegance, coupled with her flawless hourglass figure wrapped in a velvet black dress that hugged her curves with lethal precision, made her the kind of beauty that turned heads wherever she went — and kept them turned.
To her right was Lyra Everhart, the golden-haired enchantress whose every movement seemed calculated to allure. Her mischievous glint was more pronounced tonight, almost daring the world to try and tame her. Her curvy figure filled her crimson gown deliciously, the silky fabric clinging to her every curve as she crossed her legs with slow, deliberate grace. The subtle glint of diamond jewelry at her neck and wrists caught the light as she toyed absentmindedly with the stem of her champagne flute, her aura radiating effortless, almost predatory confidence.
On Amara's left sat Selene Duskwind, an enigmatic figure whose rare pink hair fell like a silk curtain around her sharp, delicate features. She wore muted silver tonight, a maxi dress that clung stubbornly to her lithe frame, drawing small movements of discomfort as she tugged at it with slender fingers. Her icy blue eyes carried a detached aloofness, her posture rigid and upright as if distance was armor. Even the way she breathed seemed careful, controlled, as though she were perpetually calculating how little of herself she could offer the world.
These three women—once part of the infamous group Alpha and Omega—had climbed their way to prominence through cunning, ambition, and sheer will. Their friendship, forged in the fires of manipulation and mutual benefit, had endured where most others would have collapsed under the weight of ego and betrayal. Now, they thrived, basking in the success that only sharpened their already lethal allure.
"I expected better from one of the best restaurants in the city," Lyra remarked, her voice carrying just the right amount of dissatisfaction as her gaze roamed over the elaborate, albeit understated, décor. She tapped a manicured nail against her glass, the sound sharp and rhythmic.
"Can you ever appreciate something?" Amara shot back with a teasing smile, swirling the dark red wine in her glass until it left lazy trails on the crystal. "You always have something negative to say."
"Well, yes. I thought you'd know that by now." Lyra smirked, leaning back into her chair with the casual elegance of a queen surveying her court. She turned to Selene, her golden hair catching the light. "Selene, you agree with me, right?"
Selene blinked slowly, her face carved in cool disinterest. She shrugged with casual detachment. "I genuinely don't care. I just hate my dress. It's too tight," she muttered, tugging the clingy fabric down slightly with a grimace.
"Come on, girl. It's only for a few hours," Amara said, rolling her eyes but with a soft chuckle, her tone betraying the underlying warmth of someone who knew exactly how Selene worked.
Despite their bickering, the bond between them was undeniable, woven into the very marrow of their beings. From their college days filled with games of seduction and power plays to the chaotic whirlwind of early adulthood, they had built a connection few could comprehend, let alone break. Even amid the luxury and chaos of their current lives, they found something pure in each other's company — pure in the way fire is pure: destructive, beautiful, consuming.
As their meals arrived—plates adorned with extravagant arrangements of steak tartare, seared scallops, and wild truffle risotto—the conversation drifted to one of their favorite recurring topics, the kind that never failed to ignite laughter and playful cruelty.
"Do you think Travis dropped the soap in prison?" Lyra asked, a wicked grin stretching her lips, her voice loud enough that a waiter passing by briefly stumbled.
The question was met with bursts of laughter, rich and unrestrained, echoing against the high ceilings.
"Come on," Amara said, wiping a tear from her eye as she struggled to catch her breath. "We've talked about this so many times. Yes, he probably did. I mean, as annoying as he was, the guy was ridiculously good-looking."
"If I had a dollar for every time you said that," Lyra said, cackling, before leaning in conspiratorially. "Still can't believe you sucked his dick. What I'm mostly still shocked by is that you said he was big. Man, I wish I had gotten him."
"Shut up," Amara shot back with a huff, though the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. "I was being a nice person, giving him his last taste of pleasure from a woman, you know."
Still, deep inside, she thought privately, ' I haven't found a man who's made me horny the way he did. My ex that day couldn't walk for a day after I was done with him.'
Lyra quipped, raising an eyebrow and swirling her drink lazily. "So you still think he's the most handsome? I thought you'd feel different since you dated last year's 'Most Handsome Man.'"
"Oh, that dick," Amara groaned, stabbing a piece of asparagus with unnecessary violence. "Sure, he was cool and ridiculously handsome, but let me tell you, he was terrible in bed. All looks, no skill. Honestly, now that I think about it, I haven't gotten laid since we broke up."
"What?! You're lying, right?" Lyra asked, nearly choking on her drink, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"You guys are way too casual with your sex lives," Selene cut in dryly, her voice matter-of-fact as she took a measured sip of her wine. A sly, prideful smile ghosted over her lips. "Luckily, I married the man of my dreams."
"Oh, your hubby, James Kim. You've always been obsessed with Asians for some reason," Lyra teased, leaning back languidly in her chair, a mischievous twinkle in her eye. "Never understood that, honestly."
Selene shrugged, her frosty demeanor melting just slightly. "I think they're cute. But now that I'm married, only one person is cute in my eyes." The genuine warmth in her voice was enough to briefly thaw the room's sharp, biting energy.
"I wonder when I'm getting married," Amara mused aloud, peering into her wine glass as if it might hold the answer.
"Girl, don't even mention that," Lyra said with a dramatic wave of her hand, the diamond on her ring flashing like a warning. "I'm just going to keep fucking every guy I find hot. Less drama, more fun."
The three of them dissolved into laughter again, their voices carrying through the private room like the decadent final notes of a symphony.
After the laughter subsided, Lyra's tone shifted, her smile dimming just slightly. "Have you heard anything from the guys?" she asked, her fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against her glass.
"Nope," Amara replied with a casual shrug, leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs elegantly. "It's been months since I've heard from any of them. Especially Lucian. Not surprising, though—he's a vice minister now or whatever."
"Ha! Who would've thought he'd end up a politician?" Lyra said, shaking her head with a low chuckle. "Then again, he always had that leader vibe. Funny how we used to make Kael think he was our leader back in the day."
"I used to feel bad about that," Selene admitted, her voice cool and detached, the ghost of a smile curving her lips. "But now? I don't really care."
Their laughter this time was quieter, heavier, tinged with something colder, more brutal. It wasn't youthful cruelty anymore — it was the polished ruthlessness of women who had learned to feast on their regrets until they no longer tasted like anything at all.
TO BE CONTINUED