𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐒𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭 | 𝟏𝟖+

3

I teeter in my heels as we walk out of the apartment. I almost lose my balance, nearly falling face first into the concrete, but Star and Ivy quickly grab my arms on both sides, helping me stay steady as we make our way to the waiting taxi. We pile in, Gia up front, me sandwiched between Star and Ivy.

Gia passes the bottle back to Ivy, who takes a quick swig before handing it off to Star. Star takes a drink and holds the bottle out to me, but I shake my head.

"No thanks," I say, waving it away. "I shouldn't." Although this wouldn't be my first time trying alcohol, the last time I did–my husband made me kneel on top of uncooked rice for hours, reciting Bible verses about temptation and sin until my knees were bruised and my voice was hoarse. I never wanted to drink again.

But Gia isn't letting up. "Come on, Catherine," she urges. "Just take one shot. It'll help you loosen up, trust me."

I hesitate, biting my lip. The pressure is getting to me, and after the night I've had, maybe one little shot wouldn't hurt.

I glance at the bottle, then back at Gia. "Okay..." I mumble, reaching for the vodka. "Just one."

The girls cheer as I take the bottle, my hand shaking slightly. I take a deep breath, and tip the bottle back, taking a swig. The alcohol burns my throat and I cough and sputter, my eyes watering. The girls burst into laughter, and before I know it, I'm taking shot after shot, feeling the warmth spreading through my body.

Through the taxi window, the massive estate comes into view, and my jaw nearly drops to the floor. Towering walls and grand columns stretch up to the sky. There's a line of people snaking around the front lawn, all dressed to the nines. I can see strobe lights flashing through the windows, and hear the distant thump of music.

Suddenly, my nerves come rushing back. I reach for the bottle of vodka and take another quick shot without thinking. When the taxi comes to a stop, the girls and I stumble out, Star grabbing my hand as I wobble a bit stepping onto the pavement.

We make our way inside, and I'm hit with a wall of sound and controlled chaos. The place is packed with people, all of them lost in their own little worlds. Nude women, with perfect bodies and serene smiles that never falter, weave through the crowd, carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres and champagne flutes.

People are sprawled out on couches, some of them passed out cold, others engaged in sloppy makeout sessions. I even spot a few couples going at it right there in the open, not caring who sees. The air is thick with the smell of weed, alcohol, and sweat. I can see people hunched over lines of white powder, snorting it off each other's bodies like it's no big deal. It's all so overwhelming, so far removed from anything I've ever experienced. I feel like I've stepped into another world, one where the rules I've lived by my whole life don't apply.

I grab onto Star's arm, suddenly feeling very small and very out of place. She shoots me a reassuring smile and leans in close to my ear. "Stick with us, baby girl," she shouts over the music. "We'll show you how to have a good time!"

I nod, trying to muster up some confidence as we push our way deeper into the throng of bodies. I already know, this is going to be a night I'll never forget, for better or for worse. As we make our way to the dance floor, the music pulses through my body, the bass thumping in time with my heartbeat. Star grabs my hand and starts dancing with me, her body moving in perfect rhythm to the beat.

I try to let loose and have fun, but I feel so awkward. I keep having to tug at my dress, pulling it down every few seconds because it keeps riding up my thighs. I'm not used to wearing something so short and tight.

I suddenly get this feeling that someone's watching me. I glance around and that's when I see him, standing across the room, his eyes locked on mine. He looks like he just stepped off the cover of a magazine, with dark, tousled hair and dark eyes that seem to see right through me. He's got tattoos peeking out from under the collar of his black suit, which fits him like a second skin, hugging every contour of his arms.