The entire club held its breath.
Not because they had to.
But because Luna had that effect.
A dress sculpted to her body as if woven by stars.
Delicate sandals that faintly chimed against marble.
Perfume that danced through the air before she even spoke.
And eyes carrying a silent glow—as if knowing something the world would never discover.
She crossed the room with unhurried steps.
When she reached their table, the three women stopped what they were doing.
No words.
Just looks.
Victória straightened in her chair with an 80% charming, 20% trying-not-to-look-hypnotized smile. "Wow... Had I known you'd arrive like this, I'd have called an emergency stylist."
Nikoly simply raised her eyes, analyzing Luna with mathematical precision. "Impressive. No visible labels. No logos. But this cut... this drape..." She leaned slightly forward. "Custom-made by someone who understands the feminine soul. Or by magic."
Lumine smiled calmly but with clear admiration. She was accustomed to princesses, actresses, aristocrats... But Luna? Luna was another category entirely. "You arrive, and suddenly my €40,000 dress seems ordinary."
Luna paused before the table, offering each woman a delicate cheek kiss. "Forgive my delay. Had to negotiate with the mirror before leaving."
Their light, enchanted laughter followed.
She took the last empty seat. Crossing her legs elegantly, chin resting on her hand, she asked: "So... what's the deities' plan tonight?"
Victória spun her glass energetically. "Dancing? Toasting? Stealing attention and maybe some security footage?"
Nikoly whispered: "Perhaps hunting... information. Foreign investors are present. Some with shady pasts."
Lumine added: "And rumors say a crown prince is here incognito tonight. Observing. Choosing future allies."
Luna arched an eyebrow. "And you think he'll still look at anyone else after my entrance?"
Their laughter answered.
Victória grinned: "You could cause diplomatic incidents just by smiling."
"Or start wars for attention," Nikoly teased.
"Or end dynasties with a wink," Lumine concluded.
A waiter approached respectfully. "Your order, miss...?"
Luna took then immediately returned the menu unread. "Surprise me. But make it something befitting a woman with a Bugatti in her garage and a bad habit of dominating ballrooms."
The waiter gulped. "A-absolutely, miss."
Soon, glasses clinked gently. The imperial beer's foam shimmered under amber lighting as conversation flowed like they owned the world—which, frankly, they did.
Luna reclined, observing.
Victória, on her third drink, abruptly changed topics with sparkling eyes: "Girls... heard about the Mass heir scandal?"
Nikoly's eyebrow rose with interest. "Vincent Mass? Asia's hotel golden boy?"
Lumine, seemingly already informed, sipped elegantly with a contained smile.
Victória leaned in conspiratorially: "Caught red-handed with two escorts... in his own presidential suite. The kicker? His fiancée opened the door."
"Oh no," Nikoly gasped with cynical amusement. "Footage and everything?"
"Everything. The girl had tracked his card. Recorded it ALL. Threatening to leak it if his family tries silencing her or offering hush money."
Lumine shook her head with noble composure. "The Mass family always had this rot beneath their charity galas and magazine covers."
Victória added: "The poor girl... was campaigning alongside him. Their engagement photos were so perfect I almost believed love existed."
Nikoly crossed her arms impassively. "Men like him don't cheat out of desire. They cheat from arrogance. Thinking they'll never pay."
Luna, silent until now, raised her glass. The chilled drink refreshed, but the bitterness rising wasn't from alcohol.
Her face remained neutral.
But internally: "Tch. Scum. Same old story. Expensive suits, perfect teeth, polished speeches... and the loyalty of a moth-eaten sock. Even with dream women, they self-destruct just to stroke their golden egos."
She inhaled deeply as the conversation continued.
Victória speculated the Mass family was buying media loyalty to bury the scandal under Dubai's new billion-dollar project.
Nikoly suggested the fiancée publish everything to "watch the Masses melt under social media's spotlight."
Lumine calmly countered: "She needn't expose anything. Simply letting everyone know she knows makes the scandal's threat the perfect leash."
Luna smiled inwardly.
These women...
So wealthy, so influential...
Yet here, she felt at home.
Not because of bank balances—but how they navigated the world without letting it consume them.
The club's side entrance lights dimmed momentarily.
Luna blinked, glancing around discreetly.
Then the side door opened.
A tall blond man in a tailored suit and practiced smile entered with two discreet bodyguards.
He scanned the room like someone searching.
For something.
Or someone.
Luna idly spun her glass. "Well well... the scum has arrived."
Resting her elbows on the table, fingers interlaced, she feigned boredom until—with an almost imperceptible gesture—she raised one finger, capturing the others' attention.
Victória, Nikoly and Lumine followed her gaze.
And there he stood.
Vincent Mass.
Heir to Mass International Hotels.
Tailored suit.
Textbook smile.
Luna arched an eyebrow, smirking. "The golden peacock arrives."
Victória hid laughter behind her glass.
Nikoly rolled her eyes with blade-sharp subtlety.
Lumine crossed her legs gracefully, murmuring: "Hypocrite #143 of. Now featuring fresh scandal."
Vincent spotted the quartet.
Paused.
A microsecond of hesitation.
Then the mask returned.
He approached their table.
Arriving, he offered that crooked smile with a slight bow. "Good evening, ladies. The beauty gathered here violates at least three international laws. I hope you're not plotting anything dangerous..."
Victória fired first: "Just global domination. One glass at a time."
Nikoly sipped pointedly.
Lumine simply smiled—which in these circles meant "I won't pretend to like you."
Luna remained silent.
Studying him like a counterfeit item in a luxury display.
Vincent, ever the charmer, persisted: "Miss Lancaster, it's been too long. Should I consider this a gift?"
Victória matched his oily tone: "Or a warning."
Luna bit her straw, stifling laughter.
Nikoly whispered to Lumine: "He thinks he's charming."
Lumine's lips barely moved: "It's pathetic in a cute way."
Vincent then attempted the classic maneuver—leaning closer to Victória as if sharing a secret: "If I may... there's a private room in the back. I'd appreciate a word. Just minutes. Matters of mutual interest."
The table froze for half a second.
Not with tension—but with pure amusement.
Luna tilted toward Victória, whispering conspiratorially: "Go with him, friend. Ask if the suite still has other women's DNA on the sheets."
Victória nearly choked on her drink laughing.
Nikoly raised her glass mockingly: "At least he's consistent. Always trying to book something."
Lumine calmly concluded: "Perhaps he thinks 'private' cures public scandals."
Vincent's jaw tensed visibly, though his smile stayed. "I see the wit remains sharp."
Luna finally spoke: "Oh darling. With your reputation, wit's the bare minimum for survival."
Their laughter followed.
Vincent raised surrender hands. "Message received. But my offer stands."
Victória reclined serenely: "Sincerity... is a dangerous word, Vincent. Use it less. Might contradict those hotel surveillance tapes."
He didn't respond.
Just smiled with hidden irritation and bowed out. "Enjoy your evening, ladies."
As he disappeared, the table erupted in laughter.
Luna fanned herself with a napkin. "My God, he actually thought that brochure-quality charm would work."
Nikoly blinked. "He probably still wears his boarding school cologne."
Lumine simply concluded: "No class. No awareness."
Victória raised her glass: "To the scum who try. And the women who decode them before the first syllable."
They toasted.