Friday night in New York was always a collective release, an explosion of pent-up energy spilling into the illuminated streets. After five days cooped up in that cramped Brooklyn office, playing shadow secretary to people who didn't even know my name, I needed noise, pulsing lights, friends to remind me I still existed, that my body and soul weren't just invisible gears.

The Vault was our regular haunt: a chic spot in Chelsea, with dark velvet booths that caressed the skin like a secret lover, low amber lights dancing across surfaces and creating inviting shadows, and a DJ who knew exactly when to crank the volume, syncing it to the quickened heartbeats. I was sprawled on one of those booths, gin and tonic in hand, the ice clinking against the glass as I watched Amanda and Samy bicker like usual. Those two were my lifeline. Without them, I'd probably have gone crazy by now, lost in a void eating me from the inside.

"Another round?" Amanda asked, shaking her nearly empty cosmopolitan, her red lips curving into a smile.

"For me, yeah," I replied, sucking the last drop through the straw, feeling the cool alcohol slide down my throat like a refreshing caress.

"I don't work tomorrow. Anyway, the boss doesn't even know I exist. To him, the 'best' are always the same two. I'm just the one who brings coffee and makes copies."

Inside, I was boiling, a frustrated heat spreading from my chest to my extremities. I believed in my abilities, I swear. I'd spent whole nights studying law that others didn't even touch, pages lit by the desk lamp while my body quivered from exhaustion and repressed ambition.

But nothing.

Zero recognition.

Amanda fixed me with those brown eyes that never let go, deep as pools of melted chocolate.

"Hold on. If I remember right, you solved the last legal action. You found that 2012 ruling everyone ignored."

I nodded, feeling the bitterness rise in my throat, a sour taste that made me clench my teeth.

"Exactly. And guess who took the credit in front of the client? The usual golden boy. He looked good, pocketed the compliments. Me? 'Good job, Matthias, great research.' Like I'm a first-year intern. If I'd known, I'd have been a secretary at a university. At least there someone would say thanks."

Samy, fiddling with his phone like his life depended on it, glanced up for a second, his dark eyes sparkling with irony.

"Come on, princess, don't get down."

Then he went right back to the screen, fingers flying fast, almost dancing.

I shot him a glare, but with affection. Samy was like that: a diva even when not in Samira Luxe drag. Tonight he was in "normal" mode, tight jeans hugging his long legs, black shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of skin, but his energy still filled the air, a magnetic aura drawing looks from every corner.

Amanda leaned toward him, her floral perfume brushing my nostrils.

"Samy, what the hell's with you tonight? You look possessed by that phone."

He shrugged one shoulder, not looking away, his lips curving into a knowing grin.

"Sorry, someone sent me... well, you know. A pic. Of his full arsenal."

Amanda's eyes widened, feigning scandal.

"Oh god. Between gays and straights, there's not much difference. You send dick pics like 21st-century carrier pigeons."

Samy burst into a loud laugh, a rich, vibrant sound that made me smile despite everything.

"Christ, Amanda, that's gold. I'm writing that down right now for my next Spotlight Lounge set. 'Carrier pigeons.' Perfect for my lipsync number."

I shook my head, chuckling softly.

These two could turn even my frustration into a show, a whirlwind of words and laughter wrapping me like a warm embrace.

Amanda turned back to me, ignoring him, her hair brushing her bare shoulders.

"Okay, setting aside the shitty job... how's the novel going, princess? I'm dying for the next part."

I took a long sip of gin and tonic, trying to hide behind the glass, the cool liquid caressing my lips.

The novel.

My little secret world.

The one where I was decently good, where no one stole my credit, where I could explore forbidden desires with words that burned on the page.

"It's just a hobby, Amanda," I said defensively. "Keeps me busy when I'm at the office doing nothing. In those dead-boring moments."

Samy finally set down his phone and leaned forward, his gaze piercing me with mischief.

"And your alternative to sex, let's be real. You get it out by writing, honey."

He winked at me, a gesture that made me blush.

"Anyway, I'm waiting for the new chapters like an addict too. That car scene between Lukas and Yuta? Matthias... my god. You gave me a literary orgasm. Sex in a car is so awkward, cramped, impossible... and you made it so realistic and hot that now I have this crazy urge to try it for real, feeling the sweat sliding down skin, breaths panting against the fogged glass."

I blushed to my ears, but couldn't help smiling.

"Thanks... I think."

Amanda clapped her hands, enthusiastic, her red nails catching the light.

"Aside from the sex scenes, which I love, make no mistake. But I go crazy for Miky, the Brazilian. Tell me the truth: you based him on your ex, right? Don't deny it. Those descriptions of his body, his passion..."

I sighed, defeated, remembering my ex's touch, his warm skin under my fingers. "Yeah, fine. It's him. All him."

"I knew it!" she crowed triumphantly, her laughter echoing like a melody.

Samy arched an eyebrow mischievously.

"I love Miky too. Especially for his... generous size. Was your ex that hung, princess? Imagine it, that pulsing heat in your hands..."

Amanda elbowed him hard.

"Samy! You have a pathological fixation on other people's dicks."

"Honey," he replied unfazed. "Everyone has their hobbies, like dicks. You with cats. Keep it up and you'll be the classic single cat lady, with twenty cats and zero dates, zero nighttime caresses."

"Fuck you!" Amanda snapped.

"Hoping to soon!" Samy shot back, with the most satisfied grin in the world.

At that point, I burst into real laughter, the kind that frees your chest, makes your whole body vibrate.

"Thanks, you guys. Seriously. You always know how to lift my spirits when I'm about to drown."

Samy winked at me. "It's our superpower."

Amanda smiled sweetly, her hand brushing mine in a light touch. "Anyway, setting aside the dick discussion... why not publish the novel on BookWriting? Tons of authors started there. Some got famous, Matthias. Imagine your words igniting desires in thousands of readers."

I shook my head, feeling the usual resistance. "I don't know. I write for fun, not to be a writer. I have a law degree, remember? It's enough if they don't fire me."

"At least think about it," she insisted, squeezing my hand, her warmth transmitting energy. "Try uploading the first chapter. What does it cost? You might surprise yourself."

"Okay," I conceded finally. "I'll think about it. Promise."

I looked around, letting the place envelop me, the air thick with mixed scents, sweat, alcohol, repressed desire. Guys kissing in the darkest corners, lips brushing with urgency, groups of friends laughing too loud, shy glances between strangers promising unforgettable nights, first dates loaded with electric tension. The air was charged with possibilities, with stories starting right there, in that moment.

Then my eyes stopped on him.

At the far end of the bar, a platinum blond guy. Short hair, catching the light like golden silk. Pearl gray jacket open over a white shirt clinging criminally to his chest, outlining tense, inviting muscles. Casual but elegant, the type who enters a room and everyone turns, his body exuding an aura of sensual power. He was typing something on his phone, focused, long fingers scrolling across the screen with grace.

He looked up.

Our eyes met for a second, just one, but it was like an electric jolt straight to my stomach, a heat spreading from my lower belly. Intense green eyes, tearing into me like sharp claws, promising dark pleasures. I looked away first, feeling my heart race for no reason, blood pumping harder, a sudden desire making me clench my thighs.

"So..." I said, trying to regain control of my voice, which came out hoarse. "What are we doing tomorrow?"

Amanda shrugged. "I'm free in the morning."

Samy, glued to his phone again, muttered: "I work from 11:00 on."

"Samy, can you go without your phone for five straight minutes?" Amanda scolded.

"Shh, quiet for a second. I'm looking for something."

"Come on, leave him be," I interjected, smiling, but my mind was still on that blond, on how his gaze had made me feel desired.

Samy exclaimed suddenly: "Found it!"

Amanda arched an eyebrow. "Another dick roaming Manhattan?"

Samy laughed heartily.

"No, dummy. I found something for our princess."

I eyed him suspiciously.

"If it's about guys..."

He cut me off right away.

"No, it's not about guys, princess. We all know you've turned into a nun lately. Total abstinence."

Amanda burst out laughing.

"He's not wrong. But your abstinence makes you write insane novels, so good for it."

"Bitch!" I grumbled, but without malice.

My phone buzzed on the table. A message from Samy: a link.

"Read it. It's a great opportunity for you."

"Opportunity?" Amanda and I asked together.

"Yesterday morning, at the Manhattan restaurant, I waited on a table of lawyers. And what lawyers, girls. One was totally my type, short hair, gray stubble, suit that fit him like a god..."

Amanda stopped him with a gesture. "Samy, we're not interested in your teenage crushes on daddies."

"He wasn't a daddy! Anyway, I heard their firm has an opening. They're looking for someone good."

Amanda lit up like a Christmas tree.

"What? Dickhead, why didn't you say so sooner? Matt, this could be perfect for you!"

"What firm?" I asked, my heart already beating faster, a mix of hope and desire.

"Harrington, Locke & Partners."

My eyes widened. "What?"

Amanda's mouth hung open for a second, then she exploded: "That's a dream spot, Matthias! The top in Manhattan!"

I sighed, feeling the enthusiasm deflate like a punctured balloon.

"I applied for an internship there years ago. They didn't even respond."

Amanda stared at me hard.

"Here we go again. You put yourself down before even trying. They rejected you once, okay. This is different: they're looking for a real junior lawyer, and you have experience."

"Experience that others take credit for," I reiterated, my voice more bitter than I wanted.

"Forget those assholes," Amanda said firmly. "Have some balls. Send your résumé and shove it up everyone's ass."

Samy chuckled. "I love when you talk like a Southern country princess."

I opened the link Samy sent me. Read the requirements, responsibilities, salary—holy shit, the salary—and for a moment I let myself dream, imagining a different life, with touches of luxury and passion. Then I got to the bottom of the page.

Preferably female candidates.

I cursed under my breath, closing my eyes.

"Shit."

"What's wrong?" Amanda asked, worried.

"This job... it's specified for a woman."

I leaned my head back, staring at the club's soft lights, which now seemed to mock me.

"And here's karma shoving it up my ass. Again."

The weight of the evening crushed me. Invisible job, vanished opportunity, and a repressed desire tormenting me. I looked around one last time, searching for that platinum blond who'd pierced me with a single glance at the bar.

Nothing.

Gone into thin air, probably already in someone more confident's arms, more handsome, more... worthy. I sighed deeply, feeling a tiredness beyond the physical, a void begging to be filled.

Tonight just wasn't my night. Better wrap it up and go home to write, where at least I controlled the endings, where I could vent my hidden desires.

Amanda stood up with energy.

"Okay, enough self-pity. I'm getting more gin and tonics. We all need them."

Samy was lost in his phone again, fingers dancing on the screen. I stood, legs heavy.

"I'm going to the bathroom to empty my bladder. Back soon."

The path to the back of the club was a slalom through heated bodies, clinking glasses, and hands brushing too close, every contact sparking on my sensitive skin. The bathroom door closed behind me, muffling the chaos into a hushed silence. Shiny black and white tiles, spotless mirrors reflecting my tired figure, a fresh scent of lemon and soap—someone had cleaned recently, leaving the air clean.

It was empty, thank god.

I approached one of the open urinals, those anonymous ceramic mouths, pulled down my zipper and let my cock out, still soft from the evening's frustration, but sensitive to the cool air. I relaxed completely, the warm flow giving me a moment of physical relief, a heat spreading from below while my mind obsessively returned to the ad.

Fuck, Harrington, Locke & Partners.

My absolute turning point.

Important cases, salary that would change everything, respect.

And instead... preferably female candidates. Another door slammed in my face. What had I done wrong to deserve this endless cycle of rejections? My body quivered with repressed rage, a desire for rebellion that made me throb.

Then, like an absurd thought born from desperation, a crazy idea flashed in my head: what if I really dressed as a woman? Wig, makeup, skirt... and showed up for the interview anyway? I laughed to myself, shaking my head.

What an idiot.

Impossible.

Ridiculous.

Yet, the idea excited me.

The door opened with a creak.

I composed myself quickly, shaking off the last drop, but didn't have time to zip up, my cock still exposed.

A scent hit me like a wave: something expensive and intoxicating, the kind of fragrance that screamed money, gym, and absolute confidence, wrapping me like a possessive embrace.

I snuck a sideways peek.

I nearly had a heart attack.

It was him.

The platinum blond from the bar.

Tall, broad shoulders under the open pearl gray jacket, white shirt taut over a chest that looked sculpted, muscles contracting with every breath. He positioned himself at the urinal next to mine, zero privacy, like always in these places, and pulled down his zipper with irritating slowness, making me swallow.

I heard the rustle.

Then silence.

He wasn't pissing.

His scent invaded me, mixing with my growing desire.

I couldn't resist.

I looked down for a fraction of a second.

Holy shit.

Even flaccid it was impressive: long, thick, with a pink head just peeking out. My eyes traveled up for a moment to his sharp profile, then to his hair—the roots were a shade darker, almost coppery, maybe a platinum blond touch-up to change his look, who knows.

My brain short-circuited.