Page 4 of Fallen Heir
"Yes, I’ve been to a club before. I just... don’t know what to wear. The dress you brought was stunning, but I look like I’m trying to fit into something two sizes too small. I don’t want to be tugging at the back of my dress all night or accidentally flashing my ass to some poor unsuspecting soul."
Millie gave me a teasing look. "With an ass like that, I doubt anyone would mind. They’d probably try to take you to bed."
I cringed at the thought, but Millie just rolled her eyes and rummaged through my closet again. She triumphantly walked over when she found something she liked. "Here, try this."
She handed me a crimson red, high-waisted leather skirt and a black low-cut top with sheer sleeves.
I nervously waited for her to leave before I took off the robe and slipped into the clothes. Millie started shaking her head as she headed towards the door, making sure I saw her exaggerated eyeroll. After I pulled the clothes on, I didn’t entirely hate my reflection as I looked in the mirror.
This will work. “Thank you," I yelled at her, heading to the bathroom to touch up my hair and makeup.
Chapter 2
When Millie mentioned we had a VIP section, she left out the part about getting to skip the long line at the entrance. We walked right up to the bouncer, and with a simple nod from Millie, we were ushered into Club 42. As we passed, women in their barely-there outfits shot us glares, but I didn’t blame them. If I were wearing what half of them had on, I wouldn’t want to be standing outside either. Luckily, it was a warm evening.
There was a time I’d stood in lines like that. When I wore the designer dresses, flashed the right last name, and never waited for anything. Back then, it wasn’t velvet ropes that separated me from the rest of the world, it was money. Influence. Legacy. I should’ve felt at home in a place like this. But tonight, the separation felt different. Like I was walking into someone else’s life—one I’d borrowed for the night and would have to give back before morning.
The club sprawled before me, laid out in exclusive sections separated by red velvet ropes. It was nothing like the clubs back home—this was art. Large, white leather sofas filled the space, exuding a high-end, luxe vibe. The air pulsed with music, vibrating beneath my heels as if the floor itself had a heartbeat. Above us, the ceiling was a massive grid of angled mirrors, reflecting every corner of the dance floor below.
I glanced up at one, narrowing my eyes. For a moment, I swore someone was watching me from above, but the image flickered too fast to catch. Were they regular mirrors, or was someone behind them? I shifted, suddenly hyper-aware of every move I made. I tried to shake it off, blaming the nerves on the champagne I hadn’t even touched yet.
Millie tugged my arm and led me past the bar, up a small flight of stairs.
My eyes scanned the room instinctively—mapping exits, noting security cameras, the layout of the crowd. It wasn’t paranoia, not really. It was habit. A survival tic I hadn’t yet unlearned. I told myself I wasn’t in danger. That Bruce didn’tknow I was here. Thatthiswasn’t Alabama. But still, I couldn’t sit in a room without knowing the fastest way out. Trauma doesn’t just scar you—it programs you.
At the top, a private corner section awaited us. A secluded space with a glass table and two bottles of champagne already sitting in ice. White sheer linens framed the area, drawing back to reveal a little hideaway from the rest of the club. The space was large enough to host a group, but I had a feeling Millie was the star tonight.
From here, we had a perfect view of the crowd below. The hypnotic glow of the bar, paired with the kaleidoscope lights from the ceiling, made everything shimmer like a dream. The DJ shifted beats seamlessly, keeping the energy high, and the crowd was a perfect mix of high-end fashion and polished charm. Whoever built this place had impeccable taste.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling. That someone—somewhere—was watching me. Every so often, I glanced up at the mirrored ceiling again, half expecting to see eyes staring back. But all I saw was the fragmented reflection of myself, surrounded by strangers.
Despite that—despite the heaviness in my chest—I didn’t feel panic. Not tonight. Maybe it was the champagne, or the lighting, or the way Millie had a way of making me forget, even for a little while. Her energy pulled me back to earth like gravity. And with her next to me, I actually felt… calm.
It didn’t take long for the first set of men to approach. They were handsome and tall enough for someone my height. Millie, on the other hand, stood a good few inches taller than most of the guys here tonight. One slid into the seats beside her with ease, but the second guy hesitated when it came to sitting next to me. The shift in the air was instant, and my heart sank. He was waiting for me to invite him.
“Name’s Bryce,” he said, extending his hand toward me. His voice was smooth, though I could hear the hint of uncertainty beneath it. His presence was too familiar, too close to Bruce’s, and I immediately felt a wave of discomfort wash over me.
“Savannah,” I replied, returning the handshake, trying to keep my tone light, though my mind was anything but calm.
Bryce smirked, his eyes not quite meeting mine. “Are you from here?”
“No, just moved here recently,” I said, forcing the words out, trying not to sound too distant.
“Cute accent,” he said, his voice dripping with that exaggerated charm. The mention of my accent made my skin crawl. It was a point of vulnerability I hated, always making me feel smaller than I already was.
In my old life—just months ago—I’d had male attorneys laugh when I got angry in the courtroom. They’d smirk at my Southern drawl, make comments behind my back about how I’d probably won my cases with charm instead of skill. But when the gavel came down—and the judge ruled in my favor, inmy clients’favor—the laughter stopped.
I thought back to the day Bruce finally asked me out. Sure, I’d seen him around the country club—spoken here and there over the years—but that day was different. I had just won a massive case.
A woman, domestically abused and publicly scorned, stood her ground in court and testified against her husband—a high-profile socialite who thought his status would shield him. But when I called him to the stand, his testimony cracked under my pressure. She walked away with everything.
And me? I’d walked away with more than a verdict. I walked away with Bruce Starling waiting for me outside the courthouse, pride in his eyes as he finally asked me out.
I pushed the thoughts out of my mind and into the present.
Millie was quickly making herself comfortable with Trevor, her body swaying to the music as she chatted with him, but I couldn’t shake the tension in my chest. Bryce, now seated beside me, kept talking, but his words felt like background noise, muffled by my own thoughts. The longer I sat there, the more my mind spiraled, constantly reminding me that I didn’t belong here. I was surrounded by strangers who had no idea about the cracks in my foundation—the parts of me I kept hidden from the world.
Still, I stayed.
