Elara Wynn

Eight o’clock in the evening, and the air in Black Hollow was colder than usual. The chill pierced through to the bone. The Lune Noire nightclub looked deserted, like a beast lying in wait for its prey. Shivering with fever and struggling to stay upright, I had finally returned.

I stood at the back door of the club, wrapped in an old coat Sasha had lent me, the still-painful bullet wound on my shoulder hidden beneath a fresh tattoo. The tattoo should now fully cover the scar.

If shifters only needed seconds to heal from wounds without leaving a mark, I—having lost my wolf—required at least a week to recover, and the scar might remain forever.

It had been ten days, yet the pain still lingered deep within. Maybe it was because my body was weak and starving that the wound was taking longer to heal.

Before stepping into the club, I’d deliberately made my makeup heavier tonight. Not to attract attention—just the opposite: to bury who I truly was. If the bastards who shot me were still looking, this club would be an obvious stop. I couldn’t afford to be recognized.

Besides, it was an unspoken agreement between me and Ronan. He allowed me to work at the club, but I was forbidden from showing off my “advantages.” According to Sasha, I had some mysterious beauty and allure—even without makeup. I couldn’t care less about appearances. That wasn’t why I was back.

Sasha greeted me with a look of relief… and tension.

“You came. The guest is already upstairs. And… the boss is waiting for you. In his office.”

Sasha’s expression gave it away. In Black Hollow, a place ruled by money and power, no one dared offend Ronan Voss. One wrong move, and he could kill without hesitation. Everyone around him knew it—including the waiters and bartenders at this nightclub. They bowed, obeyed, and tried to stay out of trouble.

Everyone but me.

I came back tonight to challenge his dominance.

I was ready to head to Ronan’s office, but Sasha stopped me.

“77, where do you think you’re going? Ronan said you have to serve the VIP guest before seeing him. Go now,” she said.

“What?” My hand trembled. I looked down the hallway—the bright light at the end seemed ready to swallow everything.

“So, he still wants to make me kneel to him!” I hissed.

“Our VIP tonight is… different,” Sasha muttered. “Kael Draven. They say he’s a rogue Alpha. But... he looks at everyone like a predator.”

Kael Draven? The name felt familiar. Draven... I repeated it in my mind.

“Why do you look so shocked? Don’t tell me you know him. You barely socialize!” Sasha teased.

“I just want to get tonight over with,” I said flatly.

Sasha handed me a tray of red wine.

“Go to the main room. But listen, Elara… don’t offend him. He’s not the kind of wolf you can fight.”

I shot her a sharp look. I had a reputation as the most defiant among the club staff. I was the one who often refused the strange requests of clients. And Sasha had always envied me, claiming Ronan forgave me too easily.

I ignored her jabs. I had to focus on my goal—getting my friends out of Ronan’s prison. All I had to do was serve the VIP guest, then find the right moment to act.

I stepped into the elevator heading to the VIP suite upstairs. Outside the room, the servers were already lined up. I joined them, standing in silence, waiting for the door to open.

Now that she was manager, Sasha inspected us one by one and gave firm instructions:

“Hold the wine steadily. Keep the tray high—above your head. Remember, once inside, you all must remove your clothing and show your shoulders.”

“Take off our clothes?” I blurted, frowning. “You’re kidding me, right? We’re servers, not escorts!”

Sasha just grinned.

“He only wants to see your shoulder—not your whole body. You know very well how many insane client requests we get here. But what can we do?”

She glared at me, riding her new authority.

“I don’t like it either, but listen up. This guest isn’t some random guy. I heard one tip from him could keep you comfortable for months! He rented out the entire club tonight. Can you imagine how rich he is?”

Tch. I scoffed. I wasn’t giving in that easily.

Then Sasha whispered, “Just don’t make trouble. Just for tonight, I beg you. I heard he’s a wandering Alpha—a prince from some black-market entertainment empire. He visits elite clubs, though no one knows what he’s really looking for. Don’t be selfish!”

I let out a long sigh. Finally, the heavy wooden door opened. We all walked in slowly, calmly. Just as it was my turn to enter, my vision blurred and my head spun a little.

Damn it. Hold it together. You can’t let a fever bring you down now, I told myself.

The VIP room opened. Loud music pounded, and the stench of heavy cologne filled the air. Sasha entered first, her smile seductive, hips swaying flirtatiously.

“In!” Sasha ordered the next server in line.

One by one, they entered carrying wine trays. Two men in black suits monitored and guided them inside. I couldn’t see clearly. I vaguely heard the men telling each server to lower their clothing and expose their shoulder. This felt insane.

The first server exited just five minutes later, carrying a stack of dollar bills, grinning. The next server went in without hesitation, drawn in by the promise of the same reward.

“Did they do anything bad to you?” one of the girls waiting asked.

“Nope. They just looked at our shoulders and tipped us big!”

I stood there, stiff from fever, my expression flat. I watched everything from a distance. This nightclub was proof of how dignity could be sold for cash. In Black Hollow, common folk had only two choices: submit, or vanish.

Eventually, it was just me. Tray in hand, I stepped inside. On the stage, a pole dancer was performing. Across from her, a man sat silently, watching the show. I squinted, trying to make out the Alpha’s face, but his heavy hood concealed it.

One of the servers tried to get his attention, but he didn’t look up. Only the dancer beside him quietly stacked wine bottles onto the tray.

With just a look, he signaled for the next girl to reveal her shoulder. He rested his leg on the table. After inspecting the shoulder from his sofa, he seemed unimpressed, but still tossed a wad of bills onto the tray.

“You may go.”

“Thank you, sir.”

The server immediately knelt and backed away to the door, then stood up and left, adjusting her cash.

Now it was my turn.

I took a deep breath, walked in with my head lowered, tray in hand. I avoided eye contact with anyone. I stopped at the same spot the last server had, setting the tray on the table.

One of the guards gestured for me to turn around and remove my clothing. But my hands stayed frozen at my sides. I couldn’t move. Even in this lowly position as a server, there was still one thing I hadn’t given up—my dignity. Maybe to others, it seemed foolish or naive, but to me… it was all I had left. My body was mine.

Then, behind me, I heard the respectful voice of a guard:

“Sir, please come in.”