I stepped out of the bathroom, steam still clinging to my skin, and pulled on a charcoal-grey tailored shirt and slim-fit black trousers. It was the kind of look that screamed "discreet wealth"—sharp enough for a VIP booth but effortless enough to handle whatever trouble Sasha was brewing.

​"I'm ready," I said, checking my reflection. "You sure I don't need a tie for this mystery spot?"

​"Dress for the club, Druski. But dress for a club where people forget their names," she called back.

--------

​Minutes later, the bathroom door swung open, and the air in the room seemed to vanish. Sasha stepped out looking absolutely stunning.

​She was wearing a floor-length, shimmering mesh dress that was practically a second skin. It was completely see-through, woven with thousands of tiny silver crystals that caught the light with every move of her hips. She was brazenly braless; the sheer fabric offered zero protection, leaving her full, heavy breasts and those prominent brown nipples on full display for anyone with eyes.

Beneath the mesh, she wore only a tiny, high-cut black thong that vanished into her curves. She looked like a walking invitation to a scandal.

​"How do I look?" she asked, her voice dripping with feline confidence as she stepped into a pair of silver stiletto heels.

​"Like you're trying to start a riot," I rasped, walking over to her. I let my hand slide down the open mesh of her hip. "If we go out like that, I'm going to have to break some jaws just to get to the bar."

​"Good," she giggled, leaning in to give me a quick, glossy kiss. "I like it when you're protective."

​We made our way out of the suite, my pulse quickening as we passed room 418. The hallway remained deathly quiet—no Volkov, no guards, just the muffled sound of a television from a distant room. It felt like walking past a sleeping dragon.

​We hit the lobby, ignored the lingering gaze of Camille at the front desk, and slid into the back of the waiting SUV. Sasha leaned forward and gave the driver an address in a gritty, industrial corner of Hollywood.

​"The location is 'The Vault'," she told him, then settled back into the leather seat, her thigh pressing against mine. "The owners are friends of mine. Tonight isn't just about fun, Druski. The people at this club... they don't care about rules. They only care about who's the biggest draw."

The moment we stepped through the heavy steel doors of The Vault, the bass hit my chest like a physical blow. I had expected a riot over Sasha's see-through mesh dress, but as my eyes adjusted to the strobe lights and the haze of expensive cigars, I realized we were in a different world entirely. This wasn't a standard Hollywood club; this was a playground for the untouchable.

​Beautiful women were everywhere, draped over velvet booths in outfits that made Sasha's dress look conservative. The strippers on the central stage were athletic, high-end fantasies—completely naked, their skin shimmering with body oil as they performed gravity-defying moves on floor-to-ceiling brass poles. Their bodies were flawless, arched in ways that showed off every curve and every bead of sweat under the neon pink lights.

​I scanned the VIP sections and felt a jolt of recognition. To my left, a world-famous pop star was laughing into a glass of vintage Cristal; further back, a lead actress from the year's biggest blockbuster was whispering into the ear of a tech billionaire. It was a concentration of fame and beauty that felt almost unreal.

​Suddenly, a high-pitched squeal pierced through the music.

​"Sasha! Oh my god!"

​A stunning blonde came charging through the crowd. She had her platinum hair pulled back into a tight, high ponytail that swung behind her, highlighting a face that was pure Hollywood royalty. She was wearing a tiny, cropped leather vest that barely covered her breasts and a pair of micro-shorts that showed off legs that went on for days. Her waist was cinched with a heavy silver chain, and she looked like a high-fashion biker's dream.

​Sasha let out a scream of her own, and the two of them collided in a frantic, hugging mess of blonde hair and shimmering mesh.

​"Druski, you have to meet Cami!" Sasha shouted over the music, finally pulling back but keeping her arm around the blonde's waist.

​Cami turned her gaze toward me. Her eyes were a piercing, electric blue, and she didn't just look at me—she appraised me. Her gaze swept from my boots up to my jawline, a slow, hungry smirk growing on her lips as she took in the man she'd clearly heard stories about.

​"So," Cami purred, stepping into my personal space and resting a hand on my chest, her fingers tracing the fabric of my shirt. "This is the 'star' everyone's been whispering about in the group chats. Sasha, you didn't tell me he was even better looking in person."

I leaned back into the red velvet, the bass of the club thrumming through my boots. Sasha leaned in, her lips brushing my ear so I could hear her over the roar of the crowd.

​"Cami and I go way back, Druski," she whispered, her eyes flickering toward the blonde. "We met in Dubai a few years ago. We were both on the high-end escort circuit—penthouse parties, yachts, the whole 'vacation' grind for the billionaire crowd. She played her cards right, married the man who built this empire, and now she runs this entire club."

​I looked at Cami with a newfound respect. She wasn't just a trophy; she was a survivor who had climbed the ladder from the sheets to the boardroom. She saw the look in my eyes and her smirk sharpened.

​"Dubai was a lifetime ago," Cami said, her voice cutting through the noise. She took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving mine. "But the skills stay the same. You learn how to read people. You learn who's a pretender and who's a god."

​She leaned over the table, her leather vest gaping. "So, Sasha... how did you manage to lock down the upcoming King? I've seen his scenes. The way he handles women... it's not just porn, it's a takeover. I've spent enough time with the world's elite to know a man who carries himself like he owns the floor he walks on."

​

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