Secrets and Silver

POV Valerie.

I pull open my front door, standing there in my oversized cotton pajamas. A very sexy, fully glammed-up Bree, Fiona, and Gemma stare back at me from the bright hallway. They look ready to conquer the Vegas strip, wearing tight dresses and perfect makeup. Before I can even get a proper greeting out, Bree steps right into my personal space. She points her manicured finger directly at my bare neck.

"What the fuck is that?" she demands.

I curse inwardly, my hand flying up to my skin. I had forgotten about the massive hickey Sir had bitten into my neck during our intense BDSM session. The memory of his punishing mouth, the raw power of his grip, and the heavy sting of leather flashes through my mind. It sends a fresh, aching wave of heat straight to my core. The dark purple bruise is a glaring badge of my submission. It sits right there on my collarbone for my vanilla friends to see, exposing a dark side of me they know nothing about.

"It has nothing to do with you, Bree," I snap, trying to cover the mark with my palm.

"Oh, that is exactly why she does not want to go out tonight. She had a hookup last night," Fiona jumps in, her eyes lighting up with gossip as she pushes past me into the apartment.

Backed into a corner by their relentless staring, I sigh in defeat and drop my hand.

"Yes, fine. I hooked up with someone, and that is the only detail you guys are getting out of me," I admit.

Gemma steps in as the peacemaker. She knows how much I hate discussing the intimate details of my sex life with anyone.

"Okay, we will make you a deal. If you agree to get dressed and go out clubbing with us right now, we will drop the interrogation."

Desperate to keep Cassio and the dungeon a secret, I narrow my eyes at them.

"Hold up your right hands and swear on it," I command, making them raise their palms. "No more questions."

"Yes, fine, we swear," they echo in unison, treating the promise like a sacred oath before I finally shut the front door behind them.

They chase me into my sprawling master bathroom to start on my makeup while they raid my massive walk-in closet. Being the sole remaining heir to my wealthy father means he attempts to buy my affection with endless gifts. Ever since my beloved mother and brother passed away in a tragic car accident years ago, the distance between us has only grown. The massive mansion feels empty, and to bridge the gap, he showers me with high-end designer clothes. I refuse to live idly off his staggering wealth. I work grueling hours to make a great living running my own independent cupcake bakery. The bakery is my sanctuary. It is a place where my last name means nothing, and my hard work means everything. I earn my own money, pay my own bills, and stand on my own two feet. But my friends still love digging through the packed racks in my closet to see what outrageous pieces his personal assistant has bought me recently.

I sit on the velvet bathroom stool while Fiona expertly applies dark eyeliner and shimmering shadow to my lids. After tossing aside several expensive outfits, Bree and Gemma march back into the bathroom. They select a revealing, backless silver dress paired with matching designer heels and a tiny clutch.

"Put this on," Bree orders, tossing the shimmering fabric onto the counter. "It is going to look killer."

I know my father certainly did not pick this one out. Once I pull it on, the metallic fabric clings tightly to every curve of my body. The neckline plunges low in the front, revealing the swell of my breasts, and the back scoops down to my waist, exposing acres of bare skin to the cool air conditioning. Fiona finishes my hair, letting my blond curls frame my tanned face. I keep up my regular tanning salon sessions because my bakery hours leave me zero time to lay out in the sun.

I look in the full-length mirror and admit I look decent. But standing next to my bombshell friends, I feel like the plain, ugly duckling of the group. They possess an effortless, magnetic glamour. I always feel like I am just playing dress-up in my father's expensive gifts, trying to fit into a world I do not belong in.

When we are ready to leave, I grab my clutch and pause at the front door.

"Where exactly are we going tonight?" I ask the crucial, necessary question.

"Club Obsidian," Fiona says, pausing to wait for my reaction.

My stomach drops right to the floor.

"Fuck you guys, you know Trent loves that club," I groan, feeling the dread pool in my chest.

Trent is my manipulative ex-boyfriend, a relentless gold-digger who haunted the VIP sections of Vegas. He only dated me so he could exploit my father's endless money and lap up the lavish VIP perks that came with my last name. He loved flashing my status more than he ever cared about me. The thought of seeing his smug face ruins my mood.

"If we happen to see him, we will just ignore him, okay? There is a nice DJ playing there tonight," Bree insists, rolling her eyes at my visible anxiety.

I cross my arms over my exposed chest, refusing to turn the doorknob.

"If there is even a hint of drama tonight, we leave the venue. Swear it," I demand.

"Yes, fine, we will even leave with you," Gemma agrees.

I catch Bree giving her the evil eye, clearly intending to stay no matter what, but I accept the promise.

Bree orders an Uber on her phone, and we head down to the bustling street. I could call one of my father's private drivers to chauffeur us in a bulletproof SUV, but I prefer not to use his resources. I choose to believe my friends value me for who I am as Valerie, the baker, not the endless VIP privileges my powerful last name brings.

The drive through the flashing neon streets of Vegas is quick. When we arrive at Club Obsidian, the general admission line outside the massive venue wraps around the block. Hundreds of hopeful people stand shivering in the night air, waiting behind the velvet ropes to get inside.

The moment we step out of the Uber onto the curb, the massive bouncer standing guard instantly spots me in the chaotic crowd.

"Miss Thornton, please come through," he says, his voice booming over the street noise.

He unhooks the thick red rope and opens the heavy double doors for us. The waiting crowd glares in obvious envy, whispering about who we might be. Before we walk in, Bree wastes a full minute slipping her phone number to the huge, clearly gay bouncer. I sigh and grab her wrist, pulling her inside the venue before she can embarrass herself further.

We step inside the thumping, neon-lit venue. The heavy bass of the club music vibrates through the soles of my designer heels, echoing deep in my chest. Strobing laser lights cut through the dark room, illuminating the packed, sweating dance floor.

"Okay, first thing first, tequila!" Gemma screams over the deafening music.

She links her arm through mine, dragging us through the sweaty crowd toward the glowing main bar.

"You guys remember I have my mandatory lunch with my father every Sunday, right?" I yell back, reminding them of my strict, unavoidable schedule. Showing up to that massive dining table smelling like a brewery is a death wish.

"Yes, so just do it hungover tomorrow," Gemma replies with a wicked grin.

She flags down the bartender and slams the lined-up glasses of tequila down on the sticky bar counter. I stare at the burning liquid, knowing tomorrow is going to be a nightmare if I let loose tonight. But the lingering sting on my neck and the phantom memory of Cassio's dominant touch push me over the edge. I need a distraction to burn him out of my mind.

"We will see," I say.

I lift the small glass, tilt my head back, and down the burning shot of tequila in one fluid gulp. The alcohol sears down my throat, settling with a warm, heavy weight in my stomach. I slam the empty glass back onto the counter.

Dancing over the pulsing, heavy bass of the club music, Fiona screams into the crowd.

"This is going to be an interesting night!"