Evan had thought the night would end like all the others—  

a few rounds of drinks, a few songs, the client pleased, everyone going home.  

He was wrong.  

This wasn’t just any client.  

This was *the* client—  

and men like him never stopped at one round.  

The lights in the lounge were dim, the music relentless.  

Bottles piled high, empty glasses disappeared only to be replaced by full ones.  

The manager hovered close to the client, his laughter too loud, his tone too eager.  

“Sir, I promise—you’ll have the best night tonight!”  

“Everything’s arranged for you, no worries at all.”  

The client, red-faced and drunk, slapped the table and threw a wad of cash across it.  

The women cheered and crowded closer, their laughter sparkling like champagne.  

The room pulsed with excess.  

Evan’s head was spinning.  

He’d lost count of the games, the drinks, the toasts.  

Rachel’s voice teased at his ear.  

“Evan, you always lose, huh?”  

Ivy refilled his glass without looking at him.  

“Rules are rules,” she said coolly. “Loser drinks.”  

He wanted to refuse, but the laughter, the eyes, the pressure—it all pushed him forward.  

He raised the glass again, swallowing the burn.  

The world swayed.  

Time blurred.  

He couldn’t tell who was singing anymore, or who was shouting “cheers.”  

The lights flickered, the sounds merged into one thick roar.  

Everything felt distant, like a film playing too fast.  

His last clear memory was of a glass tipping over—  

the cold splash against his arm—  

and then, nothing.  

When he opened his eyes again, it was morning.  

His small apartment.  

The same cracked ceiling.  

The faint smell of alcohol and exhaustion.  

His body ached. His throat burned.  

“How… did I get home?”  

He tried to piece the night together, but his memory was gone,  

like the last seconds before a blackout.  

Groaning, he reached for his phone.  

A single message lit up the screen.  

**[You drank too much.]**  

— *Sienna*  

Evan froze.  

His heart jumped, and the night came rushing back in broken fragments.  

He didn’t remember what he said, or how it ended—  

but this one line told him she’d noticed.  

He stared at the message, thumb hovering over the keyboard.  

He wanted to reply.  

But the words wouldn’t come.  

So he just sat there, staring,  

letting the silence fill the space between them.  

When he finally lowered the phone, he noticed something strange.  

Two new names in his contact list.  

**Rachel Moore.**  

**Ivy Brooks.**  

Evan blinked.  

When had he added them?  

He had no memory of it.  

He swiped through their names, their faces flashing briefly in his mind—  

Rachel’s laughter, Ivy’s calm, unreadable gaze.  

Now they were in his phone.  

In his life, somehow.  

A small knot tightened in his chest.  

He realized then—he was being pulled in.  

Drawn into a world that wasn’t his.  

A world of soft lights, easy smiles,  

and everything that could be bought if you knew the price.  

And he was just a man who’d wandered in too far.  

His eyes returned to Sienna’s message.  

He exhaled, slow and unsteady.  

The burn in his chest felt exactly like the last sip of liquor he couldn’t forget.