Page 33

REMI

I’m dressing to kill.

The first step in reclaiming my identity is to stop caring about what people think of me. They either take me as I am or not. I refuse to change who I am for anyone, and if they don’t like it, tough shit.

My closet is a battlefield of textures and color, every hanger a potential weapon. I sift through metallic fabrics, crushed velvet, inky denim—each piece sparking a memory, a version of myself I’ve tried on and sometimes outgrown.

Tonight, I want armor, not camouflage. A black dress with sharp lines and a low, unapologetic back. Boots that add inches and attitude. Hoop earrings—big enough to catch the light and the attention of anyone looking my way.

I swipe on lipstick, red as a dare, steady-handed and unflinching. Eyes darkened with liner, lashes thick, brows arched and deliberate. As I lean into the mirror, I let the reflection settle: chin lifted, gaze steady. This is not a mask. This is reclamation.

Perfume, spritzed at the pulse points—a scent that smolders, that says I am here, and I am not to be overlooked. Rings slip onto my fingers, one for each promise I’m making to myself: strength, defiance, joy, possibility.

Music thrums from my phone—my own soundtrack, the kind that quickens my heartbeat and sets my shoulders rolling back. I feel the anticipation fizzing beneath my skin, nerves and excitement tangled up together.

I grab my jacket, phone, keys, and step into the night, the click of my heels a declaration. I am ready for the world—unapologetic, unfiltered, and entirely my own. No one will break me. I won’t give anyone the power. I may have lost myself for a moment, but I’m determined to not lose myself again.

My phone dings with a message. My fingers curl around the phone, and as I glance down at the glowing screen, a grin tugs at my lips—quick, irrepressible, the kind that bubbles up from somewhere deep and defiant.

For a heartbeat, the world shrinks to this small rectangle of light, my reflection flickering in the glass, eyes bright with anticipation.

The message waiting for me is proof that I am not alone in this night, that there’s fun and freedom ahead.

Against the backdrop of everything heavy, this tiny piece of joy feels like a rebellion.

Windy: We doing this?

I smirk down at my phone, ready for anything. Exhilaration surges through me, bright and wild, a current I can’t contain. It’s more than nerves—a livewire hum that cuts straight through the ache of the day, sparking in my chest and reaching all the way to my fingertips.

The unknown stretches ahead, an endless road glittering with promise and trouble and laughter. Every beat of my heart is a drumroll for what’s about to unfold: the music, the lights, the possibility of running headlong into something unexpected, maybe even unforgettable.

For the first time in ages, the night isn’t something to hide from—it’s a wide-open invitation, and I’m ready to answer it. I find myself working too hard and not playing enough. I go through the day barely surviving, relying on my books to get me through. It’s time I start living.

Remi: You know it!

I’m supposed to meet her there at Luscious, the only nightclub in Cedar Hill. Letting my hair down and getting lost in the music and drinks is exactly what I need after a stressful week. Thinking about what happened last night has me needing this outing more than ever.

Windy doesn’t know what happened last night. To be honest, I’m kind of terrified to tell her. Windy isn’t the average best friend. She’s the type that will cut you first and ask questions later. She’s my ride-or-die. Out of all of my girls, she’s the one I turn to the most.

I know I won’t be driving tonight—no way am I letting a good time end in anything other than laughter—so, I slide open the rideshare app and order an Uber. There’s something oddly liberating about it, the simple, grown-up act of planning ahead so I can fully let go later.

I’ll be free to lose myself in the music, in the swirl and pulse of the club, and not worry about how I’m getting home. The Uber is two minutes out. I’m jittery with excitement when the car pulls up in front of me.

The city lights blur as we drive, the car humming beneath me, carrying me toward a night that’s already promising to be unforgettable. Considering I don’t have to work tomorrow, I’m going to live it up tonight. Completely get shitfaced, so I don’t have to think about anything.

The Uber rolls to a stop outside Luscious, its neon sign pulsing violet and gold in the darkness, letters flickering like a promise just out of reach. My nerves are a live wire as I lean forward, nose pressed against the cool glass of the window.

For a breathless moment, the world narrows—from the hum of the city to the spill of color and sound behind those darkened panes.

Through the glass, the inside glows with movement: bodies undulating in time to the music, laughter tumbling out with each swing of the door, light stroking the air with ribbons of pink and electric blue.

Everything is larger than life, dazzling and wild, and I am suspended outside, a spectator hungry for the story unfolding within. My breath fogs the window, the condensation blurring the edges of the scene, turning the night into something dreamlike and infinite.

For a heartbeat, I let myself marvel—at the possibility, the freedom, the chaos waiting just beyond the threshold. I’m not just arriving; I’m about to step through the looking glass and into a world where everything vibrates in technicolor.

After giving the driver a tip, I step out into the night, the cool wind dancing across my legs and arms. A shiver works its way up my spine.

But it’s not a bad shiver. It’s a feeling of euphoria at what lies inside the nightclub.

My heart pounds as I reach for the door handle, ready to trade awe for adventure.

I spot Windy immediately. She throws her hands up in the air and gyrates her thick hips from side to side. She squeals, but I can barely make it out over the music thumping in the background. We race toward each other and envelop each other in a massive hug.

“Hey!” she yells, trying to be heard over the music. “It’s been a while.”

I nod, smiling wide. “I thought it was time to let loose and have some fun.”

Windy looks at me closely, but I don’t allow her to see the feelings buried just beneath the surface. Windy knows me better than anyone, so she knows I’m not telling the entire truth.

I don’t want to focus on them tonight. Windy would surely make this about talking out my feelings and letting it all out. I just want to dance and lose myself in the alcohol.

She leans toward me, pressing her lips right against my ear. Anything I should know?”

I lean back and look at her. Whatever she sees in my gaze causes her eyes to narrow slightly.

I shake my head, not wanting to tell her how those three men nearly made me lose all the hard work I put in over the years.

I don’t want to tell her I crumbled, sleeping with Tripp because of the connection we share with each other.

Thankfully, she doesn’t push the issue. Instead, she grins at me mischievously while doing a little shimmy of her hips.

Windy has always been a beautiful woman.

She’s just like me, a little thick around the middle with large breasts and thick thighs.

However, unlike me, she’s always been confident in her body.

She’s a take-me-as-I-am kind of woman, and she’s unapologetic about it.

Grinning, I throw my arm around Windy’s shoulders and tip my head back, letting the pulsing bass charge me up. “Let’s go get some drinks and then dance!” I shout, my voice rising above the music in a wild, reckless burst of energy.

The words spark between us, electric and contagious, and for a split second, I feel lighter—untethered, unstoppable.

The promise of neon lights and laughter hangs in the air as Windy whoops in response, our excitement swirling with the dizzy rhythm of the club.

This is the night we claim for ourselves, one shot and one song at a time.

After stopping and getting a few drinks, we make our way to a table at the edge of the dance floor. We watch bodies gyrate as people lose themselves to the beat of the music. Strobe lights flicker and flare at various points throughout the room. As I watch, my smile starts to grow bigger.

The heat inside the club is thick and tangible—a living, pulsing thing that clings to our skin and wraps around us like an invisible blanket. Bodies press close on the dance floor, twisting and moving as if the music itself is a current pulling them along.

The air is heavy with the scent of sweat and perfume, a heady musk rising from the collective energy and abandon.

It fills my lungs with every breath, sharp and intoxicating, laced with hints of cologne and the unmistakable saltiness that only comes from a room packed with people losing themselves to the beat.

The combination is dizzying, almost primal, amplifying the wildness of the night until I feel like I could melt right into the crowd, becoming just another blur of motion and heat beneath the swirling lights.

Downing my drink, I put the glass on the table. I grab Windy’s hand and pull her onto the dance floor. I can barely hear her laugh over the sound of the music. I glance back, seeing that she still has her drink in her hand and she’s sipping at it. I laugh at her.

I laugh, even if the feeling inside of me isn’t happy. I laugh, even when I want to cry.

They say to always pay close attention to your loved ones who always make jokes, always laugh, and smile. That’s true. On the inside, they could be just as dead as I feel at the moment.

Pushing through the onslaught of sadness, I keep a smile on my face.

Dragging Windy behind me, I plunge deeper into the crush of bodies, weaving past outstretched arms and the blur of laughing faces.

The music thickens here, beating against my chest so hard I feel it in my bones, my heart syncing with every pulsing note.

We spill into the center of the dance floor—here, the world dissolves into little more than movement and sound. Heat radiates from every direction, and the lights spin in dizzying patterns, painting us in flashes of electric blue and pink.

I close my eyes for a moment and surrender.

Hips swaying in time with the rhythm, I let the music guide me—back and forth, side to side—until there is nothing left but sensation.

My hair sticks to my forehead and neck, but I don’t care.

I lift my arms above my head, feeling the pull in my muscles and the rush of sweat down my spine, my body moving, not for anyone else, but for me.

Each shift of my hips feels like a small rebellion, a declaration of freedom in the thick, living mass of dancers. For a few glorious minutes, I lose myself completely—no past, no future, just the wild, reckless now, spinning beneath the neon haze.

The scent of alpha pheromones in the air has me reeling in a sea of emotions. It’s heady, thick—almost cloying. It’s the scent of alphas on the prowl, looking for an omega to spend the night with. Something is exciting about possibly being a choice in the sea of random women.

Suddenly, I feel hands land on my waist—broad palms, warm and confident, anchoring me in the middle of the storm. A large, muscular body presses close against my back, the heat of another person sinking through the thin fabric of my dress, making my skin tingle in its wake.

The sensation is immediate and electric—unexpected, yet not unwelcome. The pulse of the music vibrates between us, his chest rising and falling in time with my own ragged breath.

For a moment, the whole world narrows to the spot where we connect: his fingers splayed gently over my hips, the steady pressure of his body molded perfectly against mine.

My senses sharpen—the air thick with desire and wild possibility—leaving me suspended in a fevered hush, every nerve ending alive, waiting.

“I haven’t seen you around here before,” a rich, velvety, smooth voice whisper-yells in my ear.

I lean back against him, relaxing my head against his pectoral muscle. I tilt my head to the side, seeing bright, vivid green eyes staring down at me with longing. A chiseled jawline with just a hint of stubble graces his handsome face.

“I don’t usually go out,” I yell back, hoping he can hear me.

He must because he breaks out into a sneaky little smile. “Must be my lucky day.”

Nothing more is said between us. His arms wrap around my body, his hand spanning against the front of my stomach, pulling me into him. He shifts his hips from side to side, seeking a rhythm only we’re privy to. My eyes meet Windy’s, seeing a smirk on her face as she dances with her own mystery man.

I don’t know how long we dance, but several songs play through before I’ve had enough and need a drink. The mystery man connected to me, an alpha on the prowl, hasn’t let go of me the entire time. He’s staking his claim for the night, and you know what …

I’m just hurt enough to allow it.