Page 80 of Rhys: and the girl who was always his

ALLY

The Castle is everything I thought it would be—and nothing like I expected. When Arden and Ella told us they were funding the opening of an exclusive sex club, we were shocked. But then they told us it was Mady’s mums idea. It all made sense.

We walk through the fancy iron gates like something from a creepy fairy tale. The gold crown shines dimly in the lantern light. Rhys’s hand is warm and steady in mine, and I’m already grateful to have him by my side. It’s our first official outing as a couple.

My heels are too high, my dress is too tight, and I’m at least 60% convinced we’re about to step into an underground vampire lair.

“Is it weird I’m both turned on and mildly afraid?” I murmur.

Rhys grins down at me, his bow tie perfectly straight despite the mess that is his hair. Arden forced him and Chase into wearing bow ties along with him, and it’s freaking funny. Rhys looks sexy as hell in his tux. “That pretty much sums up my feelings about tonight.”

The interior is all shadows and candlelight, moody music pulsing low like a second heartbeat. Gold sconces flicker against velvet-lined walls, and somewhere deeper inside, someone laughs—soft and sultry, the kind of laugh that makes your spine tingle. This place doesn't scream “welcome” as much as it purrsenter if you dare.

The others are already here. Yasmin and Chase stand by the bar, arguing over cocktail names. Chase is gesturing wildly, holding something that looks like it might be both on fire and edible. Yasmin rolls her eyes and sips from a black-stemmed glass like she’s in a Bond movie.

“You made it!” Ella beams, gliding over in a black jumpsuit that’s about ten times cooler than anything I’ve ever owned. Arden trails behind her, dramatically swirling a glass of red like he's judging a wine competition. I’ve never seen Arden drink wine before.

“Took you long enough,” he says, giving Rhys a pointed look.

“Ally was doing her eyeliner,” Rhys deadpans.

I elbow him, but I’m laughing. “I was perfecting my wings. There is a difference.”

We slide into the group, drinks appearing in our hands like magic. The cocktails are extravagant—flavoured smoke, glittering foam, and fancy garnishes I can’t pronounce. I sip mine and instantly regret it. “What the hell is in this?”

Yasmin shrugs. “Desire and a poor understanding of personal limits.” I laugh before having another tentative sip, letting the burn of alcohol calm my nerves.

The night unfolds in a warm blur of music, low lighting, and the kind of laughter that feels stitched into your bones. Every corner of The Castle is dripping in dark elegance, from the black marble dance floor to the velvet-draped alcoves that are clearly not for casual conversation.

Chase, ever the instigator, leans over dramatically. “I swear I just saw someone getting a massage with a feather.”

Rhys leans down, lips brushing my ear. “Ten bucks says they weren’t using it for their back.”

I choke on my drink and smack his arm, trying to hide my blush. “You're terrible.”

“You love it,” he murmurs, nuzzling into the crook of my neck.

Ella sidles up beside me, muttering conspiratorially, “If Arden doesn’t try to pitch a themed alcohol menu, I’ll be shocked.”

Sure enough, across the room, Arden is already holding court. “Ladies and gentlemen, I propose a Castle Collection. We open with a blood-red cabernet and finish with something that tastes like sin.”

The music shifts to something a little slower, the bass pulsing like a heartbeat. Couples begin drifting onto the marble dance floor, lit from beneath in a glow that looks like moonlight trapped under glass.

Rhys raises an eyebrow. “Wanna dance?”

I glance at the crowd, already swaying in sync, all confident and fluid. “Only if you’re prepared to watch me trip over my own feet.” Rhys doesn’t dance, so his question takes me by surprise.

“I’ll catch you,” he says simply, and somehow that’s all it takes. My hand slips into his.

We sway slowly, his arms around my waist, my cheek resting against his chest. The music hums around us, but all I hear is his heartbeat. Everything else fades—the velvet curtains, the murmured laughter, the occasional moan from one of the upper balconies. This moment is ours.

Eventually, when the others break off—Chase disappearing with Yasmin to investigate the masked bartender, Ella, and Arden vanishing up the staircase with matching grins—Rhys tugs me gently upstairs and towards the balcony.

The second floor overlooks the dance floor below. From here, the whole room shimmers. Masked figures move like liquid shadows, lit by the soft lighting. There’s music, rich and slow, and the air smells like roses and smoke.

Rhys steps behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist, chin resting on my shoulder.

“You doing okay?”

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