We stepped through the curtain, confused, bewildered, and stunned. Each of us now had a black satin ribbon tied around one wrist. Dangling from it was a silver charm engraved with the letter V.

“Put these on and no one will bother you,” she’d said. “You’ll also get any drink from the bar without question. Order the most expensive bottle of champagne—I honestly don’t care. But do not, under any circumstances, remove it. Now get out of my sight and enjoy the evening… until I summon you.”

I felt sick with fear. The whole interaction had felt off, and warning bells hadn’t stopped ringing in my head since the moment we stepped into that throne room. The bass pounded through the club, each beat echoing in my chest, each thud sharpening the edge of my unease. Cold dread slithered down my spine when she’d called me ‘Lil Red’. No way that was a coincidence. I’d only been talking to Carter about that story at lunchtime—and that already felt like a lifetime ago.

We stopped at the balcony and stared down at the club below. Bodies of every shape and form moved with the music—writhing, swaying, lost in the rhythm. We stood there, blank-faced, until Iah—who was in the middle—suddenly burst out laughing.

That set Val off.

“Iah, what the hell?! Have you gone mad?” Val asked, blinking at her.

Iah only laughed harder.

“Your faces—oh my god, get a grip, girls! We actually made it!”

I raised an eyebrow. “You do know this could’ve ended with us kicked out and barred for life, right?”

Iah chuckled and slung her arm around me.

“But it didn’t. We’ve now got the whole club to ourselves,” she said, holding up her wrist—the silver charm glinting under the lights. “And free drinks to boot!”

I chewed the inside of my lip and sighed.

But at what cost?

What the hell could Valda want from the three of us? My mind wandered to all kinds of horrors, of course.

“Ugh, you are impossible, Iah,” Val grumbled.

“Come on, ladies. This is Elena’s night! Let’s do this right and let our inner demons out!”

Val shook her head.

“You really have no self-preservation, do you? You’d be the first to die in a horror movie,” she said with a smirk.

“Better than being the boring stick-in-the-mud virgin left behind,” Iah replied, sticking her tongue out. 

Val scoffed and rolled her eyes. Iah slung her other arm around Val, which was just hilarious since she was the shortest of the three of us. I couldn’t help but smile.

“Ladies, the night awaits us! I don’t know about you, but I fully intend to take advantage of this VIP treatment—more sparkling rosé and then grinding up against my best friends and complete strangers to some ostentatiously fabulous music in a glorious drunken stupor!”

As per usual, Iah’s wild energy was infectious, and Val and I couldn’t help but laugh as she led us to the spiral metal staircase and down toward the hypnotic dance floor of Club Dusk.

We reached the bar at the back of the club. Val was trying to catch one of the bartenders’ attention. I looked out across the room. The DJ was set up to the right, wearing skull makeup and a top hat. His mix of 80s punk and dance beats was strange—but somehow, it worked. I found myself tapping my foot to the rhythm.

Above, more dancers performed in the VIP boxes, each labelled with Roman numerals. Some danced to dark, pulsing tones, their movements sharp and primal. Others floated with ethereal grace, as if carried on light and mist. Each performance had its own theme, its own story, and I found myself enjoying the contrast.

Then I noticed the walls.

The club was designed to look like a forest—trees carved in intricate swirls rose up between the VIP boxes, etched into marble like something from a dream. It was stunning and strangely familiar. It reminded me of Silverwood Park.

Suddenly, a glass appeared in front of me, filled with pink sparkling liquid. Val and Iah stood before me, both grinning.

“Happy Birthday, Elena!” Val and Iah shouted over the music.

We clinked glasses and drank.

The pink bubbly I’d had before was nothing like this. This wasn’t just a drink—it was sparkling nectar, hitting the very centre of my heart... and my head.

We all paused for a beat, wide-eyed. Then we drank more.

It was delicious—sweet, fizzy, with an aftertaste of something otherworldly. My head felt light, my chest unburdened, like every worry had slipped away unnoticed.

Why had I been so worried about Valda? She probably just wanted new friends. And honestly, who better than us? We were fabulous! We were fun!

I drank again, and instead of the beat feeling like an ominous throb, my whole body gave in to it. I was the music. The music was me. I giggled at the thought, and a hiccup escaped me.

Oh man. This stuff was strong.

Val and Iah were clearly feeling it too—giggling, swaying, already half-dancing. Val raised Iah’s arm and spun her around.

I couldn’t just stand there and watch. I grabbed our empty glasses and dumped them on the bar, then seized Iah’s and Val’s hands. “Come on!”

We shouted with excitement as all our inhibitions shattered like glass.

We stormed the dance floor like it was ours, maybe it was. The beat pulsed through us. We danced around each other with reckless joy, wild, free, and totally alive. Iah twisted and dropped with dramatic flair, her locks bouncing with every move. Val rolled her hips like she was in a perfume ad—and knew it. And me? I gave in completely. No overthinking. No hesitation. No fear about being seen like this. Maybe this was the real me—just sweat, rhythm, and euphoria.

Other clubgoers joined in, and we welcomed them. Iah hopped up, wrapping her legs around a guy in a bowler hat, then stole it off his head with a grin as he spun her around. Val curtsied to a bearded Marie Antoinette in a very short skirt revealing a lot of leg (and bulge). He… she… they spun her into an elegant waltz.

Someone grabbed me by the waist and pulled me through a couple holding their arms in an arch. Suddenly, I was in the arms of a punk rocker with a rainbow mohawk and a skull tattoo covering his face. He spun me hard and shoved me laughing into the arms of a girl in a dark red tartan dress with gothy makeup. She grinned, and we danced like lifelong friends. Then a guy in mesh and towering platform heels grabbed my hand, dipped me low, and winked.

I was thrilled with every new face. Even though I lost sight of my friends, I felt safe. Everyone was here to live. No secrets. No agendas. Just joy.

The music intensified, swirling higher. I felt like I was spinning across the entire floor.

Fishnets. Mesh. Corsets. Top hats. One person might have been dressed as an actual cat. Labels didn’t matter. Nothing did. It was all movement and music—the kind that drowns out every fear and fills your soul with pure light.

Drunk on music. Drunk on sweetness. Drunk on freedom.

Then, the music reached its crescendo—and cut.

A beat of silence.

Sparklers burst above us. Confetti rained down like stardust from the heavens.

We threw our hands into the air and cheered.

The lights snapped off. Gasps rippled through the club.

Then—boom—a spotlight hit the stage.

A masked figure stood at centre stage, framed by deep purple curtains and a flurry of falling confetti. He wore a white and gold embellished cloak that oozed elegance, draping over his head and body like a regal creature presenting himself to his subjects. His full-face mask mirrored the same level of opulence, with only two black eyes visible beneath the ornate design, peering into the crowd.

My breath caught as I realised—this was him. The figure I’d seen before we followed Valda into the club.

He scanned the room, the mask turning slowly in my direction, and a shiver ran down my spine. It felt like those black eyes weren’t just looking at me—they were looking through me.

With a swift flourish, he threw his cloak open, revealing a violin.

The crowd exploded in excitement so suddenly it made me jump. Screams of recognition and thrill filled the air.

He began to play. The melody was haunting, seductive, hypnotic – and the audience loved it. I loved it! I felt a sense of ease as the melody delicately washed over us. The audience cried out again, their bodies moving as if possessed by the tune.

Beneath the opulence of the cloak, he wore a sheer black mesh shirt, cinched with patent leather braces that added a formal edge to his otherwise provocative look. Tight black leather trousers clung to him like a second skin, completing the ensemble with unapologetic boldness. A striking contrast. Dark. Dangerous.

Then he stopped. Silence fell like a held breath.

His voice rang out—rich, clear, and commanding. It had a striking range, gliding effortlessly from a smooth, sultry low to a piercing, spine-tingling high. Every word was precise yet emotionally charged, as if the sound alone could seduce or shatter. The mask should’ve muffled it—but it didn’t. Somehow, impossibly, the sound reached us like he wasn’t wearing one at all:

Tongue like silk,

Mirrored skin

Velvet leash

Painted grin

The crowd roared. Goosebumps rippled across my arms, and a flush bloomed over my cheeks. A shiver ran straight down my spine. This must be him, I thought. Howl, Iah had said—the lead singer of Howl by Night.

Taught to touch

Devil’s kiss—

He raised a hand to his mask and, with dramatic grace he pulled the mask away and flung his head back to remove the cloak hood.

And there he was.

He wasn’t just beautiful – he was impossible. No one I’d ever seen came close, and my brain refused to accept him as real.

His black hair tumbled to his shoulders in loose waves, swept back with the kind of careless intention that whispered danger. The ends curled rebelliously, as if defying restraint. Dark liner rimmed his eyes, with sharp, jester-like points drawn precisely at the centre of his lower lids—an audacious, tongue-in-cheek nod to the golden mask he’d worn earlier. His nose bore a slight, boyish bump at the end, giving his face a lived-in charm rather than sculpted perfection. And those lips—neither full nor thin—were striking in their own right: expressive, sensual, utterly real.

Bound to you—

A borrowed sin!

He lift the mask up above his head and crushed it in his hand—and it turned to dust. Gone was the princely façade.