"Told you it was worth it," Lila shouted over the music, already swaying to the beat. "Come on, let's get a drink!"
She pulled me toward the bar, which had been built where the confessional booths once stood—a sacrilege that would have horrified my Catholic grandmother. The bartenders moved with practiced efficiency, mixing drinks that glowed under the blacklights.
"Two Fallen Angels," Lila ordered, leaning over the bar with a smile that had gotten us free drinks since freshman year.
The bartender nodded, reaching for bottles of clear and blue liquids.
"What's in that?" I asked, eyeing the concoction warily.
"Don't ask questions you don't want answers to," Lila replied with a wink. "Just drink it. It'll help you relax."
The drink, when it arrived, was electric blue and smelled strongly of licorice. I took a tentative sip and was surprised by the sweetness that gave way to a burning warmth as it slid down my throat.
"Not bad," I admitted, taking another sip.
Lila clinked her glass against mine. "To one night of freedom."
"To freedom," I echoed, the word tasting strange on my tongue.
We found a small table near the edge of the dance floor, perching on high stools that gave us a view of the crowd. The music was hypnotic—a pulsing beat that seemed to sync with my heartbeat, drawing me in despite my reservations.
I scanned the room, taking in the mix of people. Some were clearly regulars, moving through the space with easy familiarity. Others, like us, had the wide-eyed look of first-timers. Most wereyoung and beautiful, but there were older patrons too, watching from the shadows with the detached interest of those who'd seen it all before.
And then there was the balcony level.
From where I sat, I could make out silhouettes moving in the dim light above—figures leaning against railings, seated in booths, standing in alcoves. Watching. Always watching.
A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the air conditioning.
"Who's up there?" I asked Lila, nodding toward the mezzanine.
She followed my gaze, shrugging as she sipped her drink. "VIPs, probably. People who pay for privacy."
"They can see everything from up there."
"That's the point." Lila's smile was knowing. "Some people like to watch."
I took another drink, the alcohol warming my blood and loosening the knot of tension between my shoulders. The music changed, shifting to something slower, more sensual. Bodies on the dance floor moved closer, hands wandering, lips meeting in the pulsing darkness.
"Come on," Lila said, grabbing my hand. "Let's dance."
I hesitated, glancing at the balcony again. "I don't know..."
"It's dancing, Grace, not a blood oath. Live a little."
Before I could protest further, she pulled me onto the dance floor, weaving through the crowd until we found a small space near the center. The press of bodies was both claustrophobic and oddly comforting—a sea of strangers moving to the same rhythm, anonymous in the dim light.
Lila moved with the confidence of someone who'd never questioned her right to take up space, her body swaying to the beat, arms raised above her head. I tried to follow her lead, feeling awkward and self-conscious at first.
But as the music flowed through me, as the alcohol dulled my inhibitions, I found myself relaxing into the movement. I closed my eyes, letting the beat guide me, my body remembering rhythms I didn't know it knew.
For a few minutes, I forgot about law school and the O'Sullivan name and the weight of expectations. I was just a body in motion, existing in the moment, free in a way I rarely allowed myself to be.
When I opened my eyes again, the sensation hit me immediately—a prickling awareness at the back of my neck, the unmistakable feeling of being watched.
I scanned the crowd, looking for the source, but saw only other dancers lost in their own worlds. Then, slowly, I raised my gaze to the balcony.
In the shadows of an alcove, partially hidden by a column, stood a figure. I couldn't make out features, just a silhouette—tall, broad-shouldered, utterly still amid the movement around him.
