The bass was still thumping when they wheeled June out on a stretcher.
Selene stood by the exit, arms crossed, her jaw locked. The crowd didn't know what happened. Most thought it was part of the show. Just another dramatic number with a fainting dancer.
They didn't see the needle mark behind June's knee.
Cam came up beside her, face pale.
"She's stable," he said. "Paramedics think it was fentanyl."
Selene turned slowly. "She doesn't use it."
"I know."
"She's one of ours. One of mine."
"I know that too."
Her throat burned.
She hadn't felt that in years.
She handed Cam her phone. "Trace the messages. Pull the security footage. Every second. Every damn blink."
He nodded, already moving.
Selene walked back into the club.
The lights were too bright now. The music was too loud. The bodies grinding below her felt like a threat. Her dancers were still performing, unaware. Girls in lace and heels moving for money, moving like nothing had happened.
Because nothing ever happens here—until it does.
And then everything breaks.
She sat in her office, staring at June's locker. It was open now, scattered with glitter, lashes, peppermint gum, and a small bag of almonds.
Nothing suspicious. Except for the absence of one thing.
Selene turned to Cam. "Where's her emergency Narcan?"
"Gone."
"Who had access?"
"Just the staff."
Her jaw clenched.
"Then someone on staff tried to kill her."
Cam's eyes widened. "We don't know that."
"She doesn't use it. That dose wasn't meant to scare. It was meant to silence."
He didn't respond. Just shifted, like his skin didn't fit right anymore.
She closed the locker and locked it.
"No one leaves tonight without going through me," she said. "Phones, keys, bags—must be all searched. I want this place to be clean."
"I'll start now."
She nodded.
Then she pulled the chain from around her neck.
A small silver key hung at the end.
It opened the drawer only she had ever touched.
Inside was a black envelope marked For Rainy Days.
And tonight felt like a fucking storm.
Upstairs, the private lounge was empty and quiet. The only sound heard was the low hum of music leaking from the speakers.
Selene sat on the edge of the couch and her heels tapping against the polished wood.
She lit a cigarette. Took one drag. Didn't inhale.
A memory hit her before she could shove it away.
Her brother. Sitting on this same couch. Drunk. Laughing and Alive.
He used to say, "You never see the bullet coming when it's wrapped in a kiss."
She hadn't listened back then.
She listens now.
"Boss," a voice said behind her.
Cam again.
She turned. "Tell me you have something."
He handed her a paper.
The text messages came from a burner phone pinged off a tower five blocks away.
"No camera footage. No ID."
But there was one name flagged in their systems from a background check request run yesterday morning.
"Honey," Cam said, grim.
Selene blinked. "My Honey?"
"She ran a search on June. That's how she found out about her med history. She was trying to find dirt."
"Why?"
"She was getting replaced. You made that call this morning."
Selene placed her cigarette into the ashtray.
"Bring her to me."
Honey looked like sugar. Baby voice. Big eyes. Soft curls.
But Selene knew better. Pretty girls broke quieter—but they broke hard.
"Sit," Selene said.
Honey did.
"You searched June's file. Why?"
"I was just—curious."
Selene smiled. It didn't reach her eyes.
"Curiosity gets people killed, Honey."
Honey moved in her seat. "I didn't touch her stuff. I didn't do anything—"
"I didn't ask what you did. I asked why you did it."
Tears welled in Honey's eyes. "She was taking my spot. I worked hard for that stage. I earned it."
"So you drugged her?"
"No! I swear. I just wanted something on her. A scandal. A weakness."
"Congratulations," Selene said coldly. "You found a body bag."
Honey sobbed. "Please, Boss Lady. I didn't mean—"
Selene leaned forward.
"I don't care what you meant. You moved in my house without knocking. You lifted skirts you had no right to touch. And now one of my girls is in the hospital because of your ego."
She stood up.
Honey shrank back.
"You're done here."
"Don't fire me—please—"
"I'm not firing you."
Hope flashed in her face.
"I'm exiling you. There's a difference."
Selene turned to Cam.
"Give her five thousand. Strip her keys. Send her to Vegas. She sets foot in Florida again, she disappears."
Honey froze. "Selene, please—"
Selene didn't respond.
She just walked out.
The sugar had melted. All that remained was ash.
Later that night, the club finally emptied.
Selene sat alone in her booth, lights dimmed, body still tense.
The space felt wrong now. Polluted.
Like someone had touched her without her knowing.
Her phone buzzed again.
The Unknown Number: You removed the wrong girl.
She didn't blink.
Instead, she typed back.
Then come tell me yourself.
The typing bubble appeared.
Then paused.
Then vanished.
No reply.
Just silence.
Cam returned around 3 a.m.
"We traced more footage. June wasn't alone backstage."
"Who was with her?"
He hesitated.
"June… she was messing with someone. Someone that's not on staff."
Selene's eyes narrowed. "Name."
"Can't see his face. But he had the staff pass."
Her jaw twitched.
"Someone's faking our IDs."
He nodded. "Yeah."
She stood, walked to the safe, and pulled out a thin manila folder.
Inside were photos. Faces. Men she'd vetted for weeks. Some she'd blackmailed. Others she'd broken.
She paused at one photo.
"I hired seven new dancers last week," she said.
Cam nodded.
"But I only interviewed six."
Cam's eyes widened. "Wait—you think—"
"I think someone's already dancing under our roof who never belonged."
Cam cursed under his breath.
Selene flipped to the last page. An unsigned contract. A profile with no full name. Just "Ace."
"Find him," she said. "Now."
That night, she didn't sleep. Rather, she stood at the top of the spiral staircase in the club, gazing at the empty stage.
The lights were off. The music silenced.
But she could still hear it.
The pulse of betrayal.
The echo of unseen footsteps.
She lit another cigarette. It shook between her fingers.
"Don't let them see," she whispered to herself.
Never again.
She had built this empire with blood and heels and venom.
And now someone wanted to burn it down.
Not with fire—but with love.
And that scared her more.
Because love makes people stupid.
Love made people slow.
Love made people trust.
She crushed the cigarette and walked away.
But the smoke still followed.
The next morning, a note waited on her desk.
Not a text.
Not a call.
A real note, folded neatly, placed beneath a single black rose.
It said,
Don't trust the mirror. He's already in the reflection.
And for the first time in a long time, Selene Vale looked up—
—and didn't recognize her own eyes.