Unraveled

Chapter 7: Showtime

People always assumed Agatha went into law for power, and sure, that was partly true.

But the reality was simpler.

Agatha liked boundaries.

She liked the law because, while its interpretation could be fluid, its roots ran deep—immovable and grounded in centuries of precedent. It could sway, but it never broke.

It was steady, predictable, and Agatha thrived on that steadiness.

She was accurately aware that she was a walking contradiction. A living, breathing oxymoron.

Outwardly, she was known for being wild, untethered, and completely unpredictable. That was her brand—what made her feared and respected in equal measure. But deep down, Agatha craved structure. Rules kept the chaos at bay, gave her control in a world that thrived on disorder. She needed boundaries—clear lines to draw and redraw as she saw fit.

So, as Agatha eyed the Red Light bar from the safety of her town car, she knew that she was about step into a world far outside her carefully controlled boundaries. The vibrant crowd and the unapologetic energy—it didn't take a genius to see what the Red Light was—a gay bar.

Only a gay bar would host a "Game of Thrones Drag Night," and only a place like this would have such an eclectic crowd gathered outside. Men in everything from skimpy outfits and stilettos to jeans and boots. Women in skin-tight dresses or rocking masculine wear with a swagger. Every damn letter of that acronym, LGBTQIA+, was out there in full display—an alphabet soup she could hardly keep up with.

And it wasn't just the terminology that tripped her up.

Out there was a world she didn't know how to navigate.

Give her a courtroom, a boardroom—hell—even a men's club, and she could walk in like she owned the place and leave owning it. But here—outside this place, with its carefree happiness, its freedom—it was like stepping into a scene from her worst nightmare.

Agatha stared out at the crowd, her fingers tapping anxiously against her leg.

She didn't want to go outside.

The thought of stepping into that world, where everything seemed so loose, so free—it unsettled her in ways she wasn't comfortable acknowledging. It wasn't the kind of place she belonged, and the idea of being in the middle of it made her stomach tighten.

But she knew she had to.

She refused to still be sitting in this car when Vidal arrived. Refused to let her see even a flicker of hesitation. Vidal would be walking into this place like she owned it, slipping into the chaos effortlessly. And Agatha couldn't afford to show a crack in her armor, to show Vidal she was uncomfortable. It was a point she wasn't willing to concede this game they have been playing with each other.

So with a deep heavy sigh that did nothing to settler her nerves, she shrugged off her coat, because this was definitely not the kind of establishment that had a coat check, and she'd be damned if she was going to hang her designer jacket over a barstool. Her Hermes purse stayed in the car as well; she wasn't to risk that in there. She grabbed only the essentials—cash, credit card, phone—before throwing her hair into a messy bun and looked at herself in her pocket mirror to make sure she looked acceptable.

She looked nervous, and she snapped the pocket mirror closed with a hiss. She closed her eyes, and then, with one final inhale, she opened the door and stepped out into the night.

No one even looked her way when her heels hit the sidewalk.

Which was rare—Agatha commanded attention when she walked into a room.