She isn't fine like she pretends to be. On the contrary.
Liliana Storm Whitlock is shattered into a thousand pieces, used from the ones she loves, betrayed by the ones she loves, broken by the ones she loves.
So she lost herself.
And it all seems t...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Stretching my back on my chair, I look down at my computer for the twentieth time today. It's late, and Promise's upper level is closing, while the underground club beneath slowly fills with its usual late-night clientele.
This place that Rhys gifted me months ago, is now fully working and thriving. I am completely overwhelmed by the amount of requests I received from people who are dying to be part of Promise. It's special, one may only enter if they are a part of the club and if they are accepted. And the acceptance process is tightly controlled, giving access to only specific people -- Wealthier ones.
I changed the concept of Rhys's traditional club chain, giving it a little twist of myself in there to make it distinctively mine.
Promise has two faces. From mid-day and onwards, the first revenue stream comes from the upper floor, it is open for members to attend as a bar and open meeting place. Whilst the second and real business thrives at night. Once midnight passes, the bar on the upper floor closes, leaving the entry open to the fancy underground club.
It's extravagant, reserved, exclusive and impossible to film from the inside. Only an inner crowd can have access to it. It's secure. The whole idea is to keep it secure, a place where I can establish the right connections and where Rhys and the Knights can have a hidden advantage. It also serves as a trap for those who are drawn in by its opulence, giving us leverage over the wealthy predators. Once they're inside, they're easier to manipulate, and when necessary, easier to take down.
And sometimes, I like to get in on the action.
So, here I am now, working on a very specific mission tonight with my ass glued to this seat and my eyes settled on the computer that gives me access to the cameras of my club. My earpiece is settled in my ear, being my intermediary as Magnolia chimes into the source.
"Got eyes on them," She reports through the earpiece, and on my screen, I catch her glancing towards our target table.
"Good, keep your distance for now." I instruct. "Grab a drink, blend in. We never know who's watching."
I continue to watch her as she slowly but carefully makes her way across the floor, drink in hand. And each step, clumsier than the previous. If I didn't know better, I would think that she is wasted beyond repair as she approaches our target table.
"You're doing good. Stay there, Mags." I say, checking out the men who's attention starts to drift to the "drunk" woman dancing a few feet away from their table. "They've got their eyes on you."
As I finish my comment, my office doors open and in strolls Greyson with a familiar glass of whiskey in hand. "What did I miss?" he questions as he plops down on a couch next to me, a grin fixed on his lips.
His eyes gaze at the computers in front of him, , already fitting his earpiece in to tune into the mission. "Hi, sis. Keep the act up, you're doing great." He says, his eyes focused on the screen that displays his sister. At that comment, I spot the faintest hint of a smile on Magnolia's lips before she slips back into her role.
