Page 52 of The Mirage Guild

And that was a hell of a lot scarier than I wanted to admit.

TWENTY-THREE

ISABELLA

“Looking good, guys,” I said, carefully placing the brushed brass tabletop nameplates Dom had specially engraved.

I ran my fingers over the embossed letters, pausing for a second to take it all in. It was the grand opening of the Mirage Guild, and the air was thick with anticipation. Dominic and Liam heaved cases of wine, their muscles flexing under the strain, laughter escaping them in short bursts. Emma, ever the perfectionist, adjusted the pillows and scrutinized every angle of my interior design masterpiece. Jessie, with my keen eye, polished each glass to sparkle, ensuring every reflection shone as bright as the future of this place.

Max stood behind the bar, his hands moving deftly as he stocked it with the new bottles we’d tasted together. His face was a picture of concentration.

I felt bad that we hadn’t chatted yet, but I hadn’t trusted myself last night after one too many cocktails. And, like the coward I was, I had avoided him, slipping away as everyone else had said good night.

I did one final sweep of the lounge, ensuring everything was perfectly in place. The rich jewel tones of the furnishings looked striking against the dark wood accents. Overhead, the antique lighting cast a sultry glow across each booth and table. I stood for a moment on the small stage, picturing it coming to life later: the buzz of conversation, the tinkle of glasses, the energy of people out to enjoy themselves.

“It’s really coming together,” Max said, coming up behind me.

Normally, he’d place his hand on the small of my back. A subtle gesture I didn’t realize I missed until now that he hadn’t done it.

I forced a smile. “It is. I can hardly believe this is real.”

We both gazed out at the room. This vintage circus, secret speakeasy vibe had been quickly coming together for the last few months. Seeing his excitement now made my heart swell.

“Gather round, everyone!” Dom called out, waving us over. “I’ll be heading over to the Prism Society tonight to make sure things run smoothly there. I trust that you all will handle the opening tonight perfectly.”

We clustered around the bar, giddy with anticipation. I was happy my brother wouldn’t be here tonight. He’d let Liam take the lead on this space as he spent more time at Prism. Dom popped open a bottle of Champagne with a theatrical flourish and began filling flutes.

“To the Mirage Guild!” He held his glass aloft. “To new beginnings and to Max, for not only passing his sommelier exam but truly embodying what it means to excel in his craft. Here’s to raising the bar higher.”

“To new adventures,” Jessie chimed in, clinking her glass against Emma’s.

Max lingered near me, yet there was an unspoken distance between us, a tension that felt heavier than the air around us. It was clear what I’d said last night had landed poorly, his usual warmth replaced by a careful, measured silence. The moment passed, and the conversation flowed around me, but I couldn’t shake off the disquieting feeling of Max’s withdrawal. It hurt more than I expected, the absence of his casual touches, his smiles directed elsewhere, avoiding any interaction that might bridge the gap between us.

The instinctive need to maintain a façade of indifference in front of our friends had driven my actions, but at what cost? Max and I hadn’t defined what was happening between us, true, but the connection, the unspoken understanding we’d shared, seemed fractured now.

And it was my doing.

Max’s hurt, his deliberate isolation, was a reflection of my own fears, my own uncertainties about what we were to each other. I brushed the anxieties away. Now wasn’t the time to spiral about this—not minutes before the grand opening. I had worked too hard and invested too much of myself into this project to have it derailed. The conversation with Max would have to wait.

Max cleared his throat, pulling me from my inner turmoil. “To new beginnings!” he announced, his voice steady, but I sensed the underlying strain.

“To new beginnings,” I repeated mechanically, my voice barely above a whisper, my glass clinking against his a little too sharply. As I watched Max mingle with the others, laughter, and lightness in his demeanor, a part of me ached to pull him aside, to explain, to bridge the gap I had widened. But fear held me back, fear of what acknowledging my feelings for Max meant, fear of stepping out of the safety of “casual.”

Why does this feel so complicated? I thought, taking a deep breath and trying to focus on the night ahead. But no matter how hard I tried, my gaze kept drifting back to Max, and with each glance, the knot in my gut tightened, a silent reminder of the internal conflict I couldn’t escape.

Not yet, I pleaded silently, glancing at Max’s handsome face. Give me tonight.

* * *

Within the hour, the energy in the club had shifted dramatically. From behind the hidden bookshelf door, a stream of elegantly dressed guests flowed into the intimate space, their faces alight with anticipation and curiosity. Couples clasped hands, friends whispered excitedly, their eyes sparkling under the dim, golden lighting that bathed the room in a warm, inviting glow.

Soft music drifted from the sound system and the clinking of glasses could be heard around the room as people sipped on Max’s signature cocktail. He was held up behind the bar, pouring glass after glass of the purple and gold drink.

Liam navigated the crowd of VIP guests with ease, shaking hands and explaining the concept of the new space. Unlike the Prism Society, the Mirage Guild gave the opportunity for more public displays of lust and passion.

Everyone’s eyes kept drifting to the center stage where the entertainment for the evening was set up. I’d planned circus-themed vignettes to grace the stage to entertain our guests. It was a play on the circus acts that traveling shows put on, but instead of traditional juggling or trapeze artists, we had topless jugglers walking around the lounge, on-stage masturbation, and aerial sex.

Right now, the stage showcased a woman lying back on a red velvet chaise. Her brown hair was pinned back with gold clips and a deep red stain marked her lips. Her body was draped in a black, sheer mesh fabric that bunched at her hips in waves as she moved. She cupped her breasts with slender hands and trailed red-painted fingernails down to her inner thighs.

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