She'd hit my weak spot, and she knew it. I closed my textbook with a sigh.
"I don't have anything to wear."
Lila's smile was triumphant. "That's why I brought options."
Two hours later, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, barely recognizing myself. The dress Lila had finally convinced me to wear wasn't the original scrap of fabric, but it was still more daring than anything in my closet—a deep navy silk that clung to my curves before falling to mid-thigh, with a neckline that plunged just low enough to be interesting without being vulgar.
My hair was loose, falling in blonde waves down my back, and Lila had insisted on smoky eyeshadow that made my blue eyes look almost violet in the dim light.
"See?" Lila appeared behind me, resplendent in a crimson dress that matched her lipstick. "You clean up nice, counselor."
I rolled my eyes, but couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my lips. There was something liberating about looking like someone else for a night. Someone who didn't carry the weight of the O'Sullivan name. Someone who could just... exist.
"One condition," I said, turning to face her. "No phones. No social media. No evidence."
Lila raised an eyebrow. "Worried Daddy will find out his perfect daughter knows how to have fun?"
"Something like that."
She shrugged, dropping her phone into her clutch. "Fine. Our secret. Now let's go before I change my mind about bringing you. The Uber's waiting."
The ride downtown was filled with Lila's chatter about people I didn't know and parties I hadn't attended. I half-listened, watching the city lights blur past the window, an unexpected flutter of anticipation in my stomach.
One night. One night away from law books and family expectations and the constant, crushing pressure to be perfect. Just one night to be anonymous in a crowd of strangers.
Tenebris was housed in what had once been St. Augustine's Cathedral, a Gothic monstrosity of stone and stained glass that had fallen into disrepair before being purchased by some anonymous investor. From the outside, it still looked like a church—solemn, imposing, its spires reaching toward the night sky like accusing fingers.
The only indication that it was now something else was the discreet line of people at the side entrance, all dressed in dark colors, many wearing elaborate masks that glinted in the moonlight.
"Are you sure about this?" I asked as our Uber pulled up to the curb.
Lila's smile was wicked. "Not even a little bit. That's what makes it fun."
We joined the line, Lila immediately striking up a conversation with the couple in front of us—a tall man in a tailored suit and a woman whose silver mask covered the upper half of her face, leaving only crimson lips visible.
I hung back, suddenly self-conscious. This wasn't my world. These weren't my people. I belonged in libraries and lecture halls, not exclusive clubs in converted churches.
"First time?"
I turned to find a man watching me, his expression amused. He was older, maybe mid-thirties, with salt-and-pepper hair and the kind of confidence that came from old money.
"Is it that obvious?" I asked, forcing a smile.
"You have that deer-in-headlights look." He extended a hand. "James."
"Grace." I shook his hand briefly, noting the expensive watch on his wrist. "Is it worth the wait?"
He smiled, the expression not quite reaching his eyes. "That depends on what you're looking for."
Before I could respond, Lila grabbed my arm, pulling me forward as the line moved. "Stop flirting with strange men," she hissed in my ear. "We're almost in."
The entrance was guarded by two men in black suits, their faces impassive as they checked IDs and scanned a tablet. When we reached them, Lila gave her name and mentioned her cousin's boyfriend. The guard's expression didn't change, but he nodded and stepped aside, gesturing for us to enter.
The interior of Tenebris was nothing like I expected.
The nave of the church had been transformed into a sprawling dance floor, the original stone floors polished to a high shine that reflected the pulsing lights above. The altar was now a DJ booth, massive speakers flanking it like modern gargoyles. The stained glass windows remained, but they'd been backlit with colored lights that cast eerie, shifting patterns across the dancers below.
What struck me most, though, was the balcony level. The original choir loft had been expanded into a full mezzanine that wrapped around the perimeter of the space, dotted with privatebooths and secluded alcoves. From up there, you could see everything happening below, while remaining largely hidden in shadow.
