Page 58 of I'm sorry, Princess
I can’t say I’ve ever cared much for celebrations. But tradition is tradition, and every year I’ve made it a point to get fucked, just a way to mark the occasion.
And this year? This year will be no different.
“Happy birthday, brother,” Andres says, pulling me into a quick, firm hug. He’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to family, the only person I’d ever bother calling brother.
I nod, saying nothing, and start packing my things. Andres already parked his black Mercedes-AMG G-Class right in front of the jail, a blatant statement if ever there was one. I can’t help but wonder why he didn’t just walk in with her, the car’s sleek and imposing presence speaks for itself.
As I slide into the passenger seat, my eyes instinctively drift upward, catching movement in the window above. Ian. The bastard is watching me like he knows something, though he hasn’t got a clue.
If only he knew what I did to his precious Serena.
The thought makes my lips curl into a smirk. I wonder if she’ll say anything to him. Part of me hopes she won’t, it’ll make things simpler. But then again, it wouldn’t matter either way. After all, I made sure to record everything.
By the time we pull up to my place, it’s already 9 PM. The city glows in the distance, the night alive with the hum of possibility. The party was set to start soon, though I had no hand in planning it. Not like I had the chance, with everything that’s happened and what I’ve uncovered recently.
“Where are we going this year?” I ask, curious.
Andres glances at me briefly, his smirk faint but noticeable. “Lev’s nightclub. It’s the grand opening tonight.”
Lev’s nightclub. Of course. Leave it to Andres to align my birthday with something profitable, or at the very least, strategic.
CURSED.
That’s the name of Lev’s nightclub. Fitting, if you think about it. Lev is, in every sense of the word, cursed.
He’s been part of the Russian mafia since he was a teenager, forged in blood and vengeance. At sixteen, his parents and sister were brutally murdered. The tragedy turned him into a weapon, a relentless, ruthless killing machine. Lev spent years tracking down anyone who had even the slightest connection to his family’s death, erasing them with calculated efficiency. Ninety percent of those responsible were buried because of him, but the truth? He never found the one who orchestrated it all.
That curse, the weight of unfinished vengeance, has followed him ever since.
As we step into the club, “Party Monster” by The Weeknd erupts through the speakers, the bassline vibrating through the floors and into my chest.
CURSED isn’t just a nightclub; it’s a monument to excess and power. The ceilings soar impossibly high, giving the space an almost cathedral-like grandeur. Chandeliers drip from above, their crystals glittering like a thousand stars, casting a warm, golden glow over the room.
The walls are lined with heavy velvet drapes in deep crimson and jet black, their folds catching the light just enough to add depth to the shadows. The atmosphere is both intimate and theatrical, a perfect blend of seduction and danger. Every detail screams exclusivity, wealth oozingfrom every corner, from the polished marble floors to the gold accents on the bar.
This isn’t just a club. It’s Lev’s domain, a place that reflects the man himself: untouchable, luxurious, and cursed to its core.
In the center, there's a large stage with polished brass poles, where stunning striptease performers command attention with their elegance and allure. The air is filled with seductive music, a mix of modern beats and deep basslines, creating an electric atmosphere.
Lavish VIP lounges surround the main floor, with plush leather couches and crystal champagne glasses sparkling in the dim light. The clientele is impeccably dressed, sharp suits, designer dresses, and an unmistakable aura of importance. Conversations are quiet but intense, hinting at power moves and big deals being made.
But something caches my eyes. A petite blonde with a white mini dress that highlights her curves. She is dancing slowly and seductive in the middle of the club with her friend. They are touching each other while dancing. She is smiling, her white teeth on display while her little tits are bouncing. Her perfect ass is moving slowly on the beat, she is flushed, drunk. The girl next to her is her best friend Sienna, the model that has captured Andres’ attention. He is looking at me as confused as I am. What the fuck are they doing here?
‘I thought this was an exclusive nightclub.’ I stated annoyed with the sight of her. I despite her. The way my cock reacts when it sees her is painful. All I can imagine is her bent over the table while I take her from behind in front of everyone to punish the little brat for daring to dress like that.
‘I thought that so.’ Andres is staring at Serena’s friend. His jaw clenched.
Chapter Sixteen
Serena
Ihope that was a bloody nightmare.
My eyes snap open, and I’m greeted by the familiar sight of my bedroom. Soft morning light filters through the curtains, and I realize I’m clean, dressed in my pajamas, tucked neatly under my sheets.
Please, God. Let last night be nothing more than a cruel, vivid nightmare.
But the memories hit me like a freight train, his hands, his lips, the way he consumed every part of me. My stomach twists.
