Page 42 of Queen of Vice

“It’s one and the same, really,” Peyton pointed out. “Once you tell her, she’ll spill to your uncle.”

“Yeah, that tracks.” I sighed, glancing around the boutique.

"Eva used to shop here," I murmured, a wave of bittersweet nostalgia washing over me.

"I never saw much of her," Melody admitted. "She ran in different circles and knew I was your best friend—same with Peyton."

Peyton nodded, his expression darkening. "She avoided us. And let’s be real, I wasn’t exactly nice to her. I told her she had no idea what the fuck she was doing and that she’d end up getting involved with the wrong people."

"Well, that’s exactly what happened." The reminder of how everything had spiraled out of control hit me hard. I looked around, taking in the racks of expensive clothing surrounding us. "I suppose it’s time to find something to wear.”

Melody gave me a brighter smile. “We’ll be right there with you. Let’s get you into something that makes you feel like you can handle tonight, whatever it brings,” she said, her tone reassuring but tinged with the seriousness of the situation.

Peyton agreed. “Might as well make sure you look good while we all try not to piss off the king of the underground.”

I managed a weak laugh, appreciating their support more than I could express. I needed to get through tonight, one step at a time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The sun was setting when we departed. We’d spent the day at the boutique, leaving only for a light brunch that Mateo had arranged for us. The car glided smoothly down the street, the same luxury sedan that had dropped me off earlier. Now, it was taking us to the next step in this whirlwind of events.

I sat in the backseat, dressed to perfection, every inch of me groomed and polished to a level I had never experienced before. My hair felt like silk, straightened and styled to perfection. My nails were a neutral shade, perfectly manicured, and my makeup was flawless—smoky eyes that made my gaze look sultry, with just the right amount of contouring to accentuate my cheekbones. My lips were painted in a soft, natural pink that added a hint of color without being too bold. I barely recognized myself.

Thank God for Isabella hiding the marks on my body without uttering a word. Theboutique had doubled as an all-in-one beauty treatment center, and I had undergone a transformation I hadn’t expected. Peyton and Melody had received the same, though theirs was less extensive—they were used to this level of care, while for me, it was all new. I couldn’t help but feel like a factory doll, perfectly prepped and ready to be carted off to her new owner.

As the car continued its journey, I glanced at the driver, his face impassive, his attention solely on the road. I knew without a doubt that he would be relaying everything back to Mateo. I pulled out my phone from the clutch I had been carrying since the night before, pretending to text as I deliberated on my next move. With careful movements, I typed out a message and discreetly showed it to Melody, asking for her help with birth control and a morning-after pill. Mateo hadn’t used a condom the night before or this morning and I had lost track of howmany times he came in me. I wasn’t remotely ready to be a mother—now or ever.

Melody glanced at the phone, her expression unchanging, and then smoothly commented. “That sounds good, just remember to pace yourself tonight. You don’t want to get too caught wasted. And stick with us—we’ll keep an eye on you.”

Peyton nodded in agreement. “And don’t let anyone corner you alone. If you need to step away, take one of us with you. We’ll be your buffer. Not that your newfiancéwould allow anyone within breathing distance.”

That wasn’t even a legitimate concern of mine, but I hadn’t told them about the gift Mateo had sent me. I was still trying to process that on my own and how I’d discarded it. Mateo hadn’t asked where it was either. Thinking about it, that was odd. I smoothed my hands over the fabric of my dress, trying to keep my nerves at bay.

Peyton reached over and took one of my hands in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “You’ll be okay, El. Remember we’re here too.”

“And you lookdivine,” Mel added in an upbeat tone.

“So do you,” I shot back.

She looked like an absolute bombshell. Her dress was a deep, rich burgundy that clung to her curves in all the right places, an off-the-shoulder number that accentuated her neckline and flawless shoulders. Her dark hair was styled in loose waves that cascaded down her back, and her makeup was perfection—bold red lips, dramatic eyeliner, and just the right amount of highlighter to give her a glow that seemed almost ethereal. She looked like she had just stepped out of a high-fashion magazine. Then again, Melody was the kind of woman who could turn heads the moment she walked into a room--regardless of what she had on.

Peyton was dressed in a tailored suit that fit him like a glove, his shirt open at the collar just enough to give off a relaxed yet polished vibe.

“So, what do you guys know about where we’re going?”

“We’ve never been. To get in requires a decent amount of cash and a ticket of some kind that doubles as a reservation, and even that doesn’t get you in the door. But I have heard about it, of course.” He leaned back slightly. “Encore is one of those places where the elite go to forget their problems and flaunt their wealth. It’s flashy, exclusive, and expensive as hell.”

“I was told the whole place feels like something out of a dream.” Melody chimed in; her expression thoughtful.

Peyton laughed. “Or a nightmare, depending on how you look at it.”

"Thanks for that," I joked, trying to keep the mood light despite the nerves twisting in my stomach.

His comment about nightmares felt a little too close to the truth. When we arrived at Encore, however, it was nothing like what I had started imagining. The building was sleek and modern, bathed in a red glow that made it look almost ominous against the darkening sky. Behind it, a high rise with the name Encore Suites. Both sat atop a large hill, isolated from the rest of the city. Men were stationed at the entrance, taking what looked like tickets, just as Peyton had mentioned. Their guns were visible on their hips.

Luxury cars were split into two lines, each waiting to be admitted. Our car passed without being stopped, the men waving us through and signaling for others to move aside. As we approached the entrance, Peyton’s eyes widened. "Holy shit," he murmured.

For him to say that meant it was truly impressive. I swallowed, taking in the sight of the men and women entering the club. They were all dressed impeccably—suits, button-downs, and dresses that looked like they cost more than most people made in a year. The women were stunning, each one seeming to belong to this world in a way I couldn’t imagine ever feeling.

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