Page 1 of Impure Love

1

ALIYAH

Ismooth down my white shirt and black pants, taking a deep breath. This is my first shift with Blue Ribbon Catering, and I’m not sure what to expect. The elevator dings, and the doors slide open to reveal a penthouse that looks like something out of a movie.

Holy fuck. Luxurious doesn’t even begin to cover it.

The wealth practically rolls off the shimmering gowns and sparkling jewelry. Laughter surrounds me, echoing off the marble floors and crystal chandeliers. I can almost taste the money, and it’s a little nauseating.

I step out of the elevator, feeling out of place and poor in this opulent universe. Every detail screams extravagance, from the intricate moldings on the walls to the grand piano in the corner, softly playing itself. As I weave through the crowd, it’s like I’m walking through a different world, one that’s both mesmerizing and suffocating.

"Aliyah, over here!" my supervisor, Carmen, waves me over. She’s a no-nonsense woman with a clipboard and a permanent frown. "You’re on drink duty. Keep the champagne flowing and make sure no one’s glass is empty."

"Got it," I say, grabbing a cold bottle of champagne.

As I weave through the crowd, I catch snippets of conversations.

"Did you see the new yacht Charles bought?"

"Oh, darling, the Hamptons are just dreadful this time of year."

"Money can’t buy taste, apparently," I mutter under my breath.

A woman with a dress that costs more than my entire wardrobe holds out her glass. "More champagne, please."

"Of course," I say, pouring with a steady hand.

"Are you new?" she asks, eyeing me like she’s inspecting a new handbag.

"First day," I reply, forcing a smile.

"Good luck," she says, not unkindly, before turning back to her conversation.

I continue my rounds, my heart racing faster with each step. Something about this party feels off, like danger lurking just beneath the surface, ready to strike at any moment. I can't shake the feeling that I'm out of place, a pawn in a game I don't understand.

"Hey, you missed one," a deep voice says behind me.

I turn to see a man with piercing blue eyes and an expensive suit. He’s holding an empty glass, and his smirk makes my skin crawl.

"Sorry about that," I say, filling his glass. "Enjoy your evening."

"Maybe I will," he says, his eyes lingering on me a moment too long.

I move away quickly, my heart pounding. Carmen catches my eye from across the room and gives me a nod of approval. At least I’m not screwing up.

As I refill glasses, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched. I glance around, but no one’s paying attention to me. Still, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I force the feeling down, resolving to keep an eye out for trouble.

With the bottle now empty, I toss it and grab a tray, making another round and ensuring that everyone has a drink. Balancing a tray of champagne flutes is easier than it looks, especially with the tips flying in like this.

Thank God Sophia got me this job. Sure, these rich folks give me the creeps, but when they’re tossing twenties like confetti, I can ignore my discomfort and deal with the occasional leer.

I glide through the crowd, my tray held high. “Champagne?” I ask lifting my eyes just enough to make eye contact. I catch a glimpse of her shimmering jewelry and look away.

“Please,” she says, barely glancing at me.

I hand her a glass, moving on to the next guest. The room hums with conversations about yachts and art galleries. These people are in a different world, and I’m just a ghost drifting through it.

After another nauseating round, I take a moment to breathe. Everyone seems content with their refills and drinks..

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