Areston thinks he can shield me from his past, but what he doesn't realize is I'm already part of it.
The darkness that haunts him? It's the same one that's been chasing me for years.
I've given him everything-my body, my heart, my soul-and still...
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From: Attorney General - New York State
AG: All set. The team is ready whenever you are.
Me: Good job. Let's do it tomorrow. 😎 Excited!🤩
AG: You owe me your first born.😏
Me: 💩 If you're prepared to fight Jennifer Rothschild...
AG: Fuck you.
Me: I know. Millions of admirers want to. Get in the line and wait for it to never happen. 💁♀️
AG: What a narc.🙄
Me: I try.
The rim of my martini glass feels cool against my mouth, the olive brine's sharp tang mingles with the smooth gin and vermouth as I relish a slow sip. A mix of muted conversations, heavy laughs, excited yells and cheers, and the steady thrum of bass reverberates through the polished wood surface of the bar I'm seated at. I lower my phone on my lap and stare at the dance floor, watching the figures crush their bodies against each other, seducing each other, and letting themselves loose against each other in the faded, sultry light.
Devil's Den is the place where the world's most almighty transform into less defined objects, more primal, more normal, shedding their vigilantly tailored public personas and swapping it with something unguarded. Something raw. Something unhinged. It's a weird dichotomy—the manner they cling to their calculated facade with such powerful desperation in public, only to abandon it all along with any inhibitions the moment they step into this place, which Claire describes as Satan's lair.
It's an accurate description for this place is a universe apart from everything outside its walls—not even Legacy Lounge is its match because there people only add more to their facades unlike here where they come to shed it. I watch them—Hollywood big leagues, business titans, political kingmakers, diplomats, all diminished to mere mortals and behaving like the predators, the animals they are as they grind themselves against each other and groove—some in couples and some in groups— in the sway of expensive alcohol and music.
They're enjoying their freedom.
Me?
I am reminiscing about the last time I sat here alone. In the same seat, with the same drink in my hand, in the same dress, and in the same pair of Roger Vivier.
What has changed since?
Me.
Completely.
Back then I was single. Drunk. Contemplating my purpose in life. Jetlagged.
Fast forward to today, I am married to the man of my dreams, barely three sips of dirty martini down, and no more contemplating my purpose in life.
