The Day I Walked Away My Empire Began novel Chapter 12

She was poured into a tight, low-cut minidress, the skirt hugging every curve. Black stockings encased her legs, and her heels were sky-high. She looked dangerous, sexy, impossible to ignore.

“I had no idea what to wear,” Lucie admitted.

“Whatever! Just get in there!” Mira grinned, tugging her forward.

Neon lights exploded in every direction as they stepped into the club, and the music—deep, thunderous, relentless—hit Lucie like a tidal wave. The dizzying swirl of color and sound left her breathless.

Inside the private suite, the noise dulled to a manageable roar.

“Some of our friends are here too,” Mira said, lacing her arm through Lucie’s and pulling her in. “Everyone, look who finally came out to play! Our good girl is gracing us with her presence!”

Lucie glanced around.

The suite overflowed with beautiful people. Besides Yolanda and Angela, a few other friends lounged on the plush couches, each surrounded by one or two strikingly hot young men.

Every guy looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine—designer suits, perfect hair, eager to entertain and impress.

Lucie’s eyes widened. “Is this really how you guys party now?”

“Look at Lucie! That dress could shut down the whole club,” someone teased.

Flustered, Lucie tugged at the hem of her dress, and someone pressed a cocktail into her hand.

“Try this—‘Crimson Kiss.’ One sip, and your problems will vanish.”

“Tonight, we’re going until sunrise. No excuses!”

Lucie took a cautious sip—and nearly coughed it right back up as the liquor scorched her throat.

“Pick a guy to drink with you. See anyone you like?” someone called.

She shook her head, cheeks burning. “No, really, I’m good.”

Lucie, tipsy and grinning, let her gaze roam. In the corner, sprawled across a leather sofa, sat a man who seemed to exist in his own gravity.

His dark blonde hair was slicked back in that effortlessly rebellious style, giving him a striking, almost cinematic presence. With sharp, sculpted features, he looked like he’d walked right out of a graphic novel. A single earring caught the light in his left ear, perfectly complementing the designer chain resting against his collarbone. Clad in a tailored black shirt and an expensive watch, he lounged with one long leg casually draped over the edge of a crystal coffee table—every gesture exuding quiet confidence.

He radiated something wild and untamed, a dangerous swagger wrapped in the cool confidence of old money.

He lit a cigarette, smoke curling over his lips. A lighter danced between his fingers, flickering like a magician’s trick.

Lucie couldn’t look away. The words slipped out before she could stop them. “Wow. That one’s seriously gorgeous. Is he the top escort here?”

The raucous room went dead silent.

The man’s eyes, sharp as blades, turned to her—slow, deliberate.

Angela nearly choked. She leaned in, voice trembling. “Are you insane? He’s not an escort. That’s Elio Pitts, the richest man in Elmridge!”