DEMETRIA

“THE CLUB?” I asked Anastasia. She just told me that we're going to the club.

“Yes, girl. It's called THE ACE. It's here in West Hollywood. You'll love it.”

“How far is it from my apartment?”

“Five to ten minutes. Maximum. We'll not get too wasted. If it happens, I'll call my man to pick us up.” She winks at me.

She gives me full attention. “Now let's get you dressed.”

“Mhmmm. Nothing too revealing.”

“Girl, your body is banging. We need to show you off. You'll come home with a man, trust me.”

“Of course”. I scoffed.

“Okay, let's see what you have”.

Anastasia flung open my wardrobe like she owned it, fingers skimming through hangers until she let out a triumphant gasp.

“This. This is the one.” She pulled out my Sawyer Mini Dress, a black outfit I’d bought on a whim but never dared to wear. The fabric was simple yet sleek, hugging in all the right places without screaming for attention.

“Hmmm”.

“Yep, this is the one. You’ll thank me later.” She smirked, already digging through my shoe rack.

“What next, my fashionista?”

“Oooo, these heels. Yes! these”. Referring to my Rene Caovilla heels - The Margot embellished suede sandals. “And your golden clutch. Hair down, waves, glossy lips—classic, sexy, untouchable.”

“Untouchable, yes. Sexy? Questionable,” I muttered, though the corner of my mouth betrayed a smile.

She handed me the heels like a queen knighting her knight.

“Tonight, Demetria Hernandez, you’re not just a baker. You’re a goddess stepping into her empire. And trust me, if Marion Whitfield’s name even crosses your mind—”

“Anas! Allow me to think for myself for once”. I laugh. “He wouldn't even be there”.

“Mmmm…

“Do you know something that I don't know?”. I don't know why, but my gut tells me this girl is setting me up. “Anas…

“Girl, please, I don't even run in the same circle with him. My life revolves around you - you've forgotten so easily?”.

“Yeah, sure. Can we go already? I need to go to the bakery tomorrow.”

“Okay, let's go!”

The dress clung like it had been tailored just for me, every step making the hem brush dangerously against my thighs. Anastasia beamed at me as if she’d personally designed it.

“See? Told you. Bombshell.”

“Mhmm. More like I can’t sit without overthinking,” I muttered, adjusting the hem for the fifth time.

We stepped out into the night air, heels clicking against the pavement as her car pulled up. By the time we reached the club, the city lights were glowing like jewels against the dark sky. Ten minutes felt like five with Anastasia hyping me up the entire way.

The Ace wasn’t just a club—it was an experience. From outside, neon lights washed over the entrance in deep purples and blues, music pulsing faintly through the walls like a heartbeat. A line of sleek cars and even sleeker people stood waiting, but Anastasia breezed past them with the confidence of someone who belonged.

The bass hit me first — heavy, low, and hypnotic. As Anastasia and I stepped into The Ace, the air vibrated with “Rose in Harlem” by Teyana Taylor. Dark, sultry beats rolled through the space, the kind of music that demanded your body sway without asking permission.

Men in tailored shirts and women in glittering dresses filled the space, their laughter carried over by the DJ’s heavy beat, with Teyana Taylor's song, Rose in Harlem, playing in the background.

Bartenders worked in swift, practiced movements, sliding dicktails across the counter while waitresses weaved through the crowd with trays of champagne.

I froze for a second, drinking it all in. “This is… intense.”

Anastasia slipped her arm through mine, grinning like the devil herself, glancing around. “This is life, baby. Welcome to The Ace.”

I could feel eyes on me. The prickling at the back of my neck, like heat rolling up my spine. I shifted where I stood, brushing it off at first, but it only grew stronger. Eyes. I could feel them, heavy and unrelenting.

Slowly, I glanced up.

The VIP section towered just above the main floor, cordoned off by velvet ropes and guarded by suited men. And there—seated casually on a black leather couch, whiskey glass in hand—was he.

Marion Whitfield.

He wasn’t laughing like the others around him. He wasn’t even pretending to enjoy the company of the women draped near his side. His eyes—those piercing greenish eyes—were locked on me.

My breath caught. I hated that my body reacted before my mind did — heat crawling up my neck, a shiver of awareness running down my spine.

Of course, he’d be here. In his city. In his playground. And of all the women in this club, he had to look at me like that—like he’d known I’d show up, like he’d been waiting for me all along.

Anastasia nudged me, following my gaze. Her eyes widened. “Girl… is that—?”

“Yes,” I whispered harshly, tearing my eyes away. But it was useless. That stare pinned me in place, scorching through the crowd, making the air between us hum like a live wire.

“Ohhh, girl. The way he’s looking at you? Forget the rest of this club. Tonight’s about him.”

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore the fire in his eyes. Marion leaned back slowly, lips curving into the faintest, most infuriating smirk. The smirk told me he already knew — I’d seen him.

And worse… he knew I couldn’t look away. Though the music roared around me, I swore I could hear his unspoken words:

Found you.

We moved toward one of the open bars, just close enough to the dance floor that the energy of it washed over us. My black dress suddenly didn’t feel so outrageous anymore—it felt right. Heads turned, eyes flickered, and I knew Anastasia saw it too.

She leaned in, voice barely audible over the music. “Told you. You’re owning this room already.”

I rolled my eyes, though the tiny rush of adrenaline buzzing through me said otherwise. Sitting here, I couldn't see him, but I still felt his eyes on me.

The music was louder here, the bass vibrating through the marble counter beneath my palms. She leaned in close, shouting over the beat. “Two shots of Don Julio, and a Cosmo for my girl!”

I laughed despite myself, letting the energy of the room settle into my bones. For a moment, I almost forgot about the Whitfields, the tasting, the stress. For once, I felt free.

Tonight, I wasn’t just the baker. Tonight, I was someone else entirely.

“Girl! This is our song. Let's dance”. Ecstasy by Ciara was now playing.

“Alright, let's go.”

We were dancing to the song with Anastasia hyping me up. I felt free and wild, smiling. For a while, I forgot that Marion Whitfield was in the room.

“Hey, can I have a dance with you?” I looked up, and a handsome young man was standing close to us. I looked in Anastasia's direction, she shrugged, and moved to find someone to dance with. This girl.

“Okay, why not?” I said to him. Just as we started, we got interrupted by someone else. No other, Marion Whitfield.

“She's mine”. He said possessively.

“Who do you-”. I started. Next thing I knew, Marion's mouth was crushing into mine. I refused to open up at first, but my heart couldn't let me, so I gave in to him.

The kiss was so intense that I was fighting for breath. It was hard, animalistic, and made my body erupt into ecstasy. Damn, he could kiss.

I moaned against his lips, closing my eyes, getting lost in his kiss. I felt like I was intoxicated in the sweetest way. Marion moved from my mouth and kissed his way down my chin, climbing up to my ear, he whispered.

“Follow me.”