"Trust me," Elias said, buttoning his sheer black shirt with one hand and fixing his hair in the reflection of a tinted car window with the other. "You haven't lived until you've done New York nightlife with someone who sleeps with club owners."
Valeria rolled her eyes from across the backseat. "We've done Paris. This better impress."
"Oh baby," Elias grinned. "Paris is foreplay. New York is the bite."
The car slid up to a dark, almost unmarked building in SoHo. No signage. Just a door. A single bouncer. And a line of hopefuls so long it looked like a runway casting call.
Eliana leaned forward, staring through the window. "This is it?"
"This is it," Elias confirmed.
Renee raised an eyebrow. "Looks like a loading dock."
Elias smirked. "Exactly."
Inside: The World After the Curtain
Once the car pulled around and they stepped out, Elias approached the velvet rope with the kind of confidence that made people part for him without a word.
"Leo in?" he asked the bouncer casually.
The man gave him a once-over, then nodded. "Upstairs. VIP three."
Without looking back, Elias waved the group forward.
They slipped through the velvet rope like ghosts. Eliana swore she heard someone behind them whisper, "Wait, was that Valeria fucking Moreau?"
They descended into another world.
The club wasn't loud. Not in the way people imagined clubs to be. The music was low, seductive, bass-heavy, like it was vibrating under your skin. Lighting was barely there—deep burgundy shadows, gold flickers, moving like candlelight across the floor.
The air smelled like tobacco, oud, and thousand-dollar perfume.
Everything was velvet or leather or marble. No cheap gloss. No neon. Only shadows and money.
Their heels tapped against polished obsidian as a hostess with silver hair and no smile led them up a hidden staircase, through a sliding mirrored panel, and into VIP 3—a room lined with crimson booths, gold-trimmed tables, and windows that looked down on the dance floor like a throne room.
A tray of drinks was already waiting.
"Eliana," Luca whispered, brushing past her, "don't scream if you see Beyoncé. She comes here sometimes."
She almost laughed—until she turned and saw him.
No. Not him.
Him.
An actor. The kind who's always on magazine covers. Always "rumored to be dating." With cheekbones sharp enough to slice and a whiskey glass in his hand. Sitting with a model who was so beautiful it almost hurt to look at her.
Eliana inhaled sharply. "Is this real?"
Renee slid in beside her. "This is where they go when they don't want to be seen—but want the right people to see them."
Across the room, a famous fashion photographer toasted a group of musicians wearing leather jackets and secrets. A supermodel kissed another girl on the mouth. Someone who looked like a prince from Monaco danced with a drag queen in couture.
And somehow, they fit in.
Valeria already had a cocktail in hand. "Told you to wear the dress with the slit," she said to Eliana.
"I'd be naked by now."
"Exactly."
They sank into the booth, bodies melting into velvet, drinks arriving like magic. Elias leaned over and whispered, "Leo says we're good to order anything. Even the 'off-menu.' That means thousand-dollar tequila and maybe caviar. You want?"
Eliana blinked. "Is that... normal?"
"In this room?" he said. "Normal is letting Elon Musk light your joint."
Celebrities, Whispers, and Unspoken Power
Everywhere she looked, there were people she half-recognized—faces from runways, streaming platforms, film festivals, Olympic podiums.
But no one said names.
You didn't name-drop in this club. You didn't even whisper. You just watched.
One man walked past in head-to-toe Balenciaga, greeted Elias with a cheek kiss, and left behind a trail of something expensive and dangerous.
Luca was in his element—reclined like a Roman emperor, fingers dancing along the rim of his glass, eyes scanning, knowing. "This is what fashion buys you," he murmured. "Not the clothes. Access."
Nicky, of course, was in a corner seat, legs crossed, sipping something neat. He looked like he'd been carved from cool marble, until the light hit his eyes and you realized they burned.
Eliana sat beside him. Close. Careful.
"I feel like I'm dreaming," she said.
"You're not," Nicky said. "But you'll think about this night forever."
She smiled. "You're good at saying things that feel like truth."
He turned his head slightly. "That's because I only say them when you're around."
She looked away. Too quickly.
The Night Unfolds
Valeria ended up at the bar with two male models—both of whom had crushes on each other and didn't know it.
Renee traded lipstick shades with a popstar's girlfriend and ended up dancing in a circle of heels and glitter.
Luca was now deep in conversation with the actor from earlier, talking silhouettes and Oscar fashion like they weren't both demigods.
Elias pulled Eliana onto the dance floor just to twirl her once and dramatically dip her. "You're ours now," he whispered in her ear. "Let us ruin you in diamonds and midnight."
She laughed. Loud. Unapologetic.
And when she turned to look back at their table, Nicky was watching.
Eyes burning.
Mouth unreadable.
Glass untouched.
And somewhere between the champagne, the music, and the shadows of people who ruled the world without needing to prove it, Eliana realized something:
She belonged here.
Not because she was rich.
Not because she was famous.
But because they chose her. Because she showed up. Because she stayed.