The glasses were almost empty.
Words flowed more freely, smiles lingered longer, and the world began to feel slower and more fun.
Luna swirled the last drop of her feminine beer as if analyzing a universal secret.
"Guys..." said Victória, her eyes slightly glazed. "...we're way too fabulous to just sit here."
Nikoly pointed with her empty glass. "Agreed. We're on the wrong floor for this level of drunken beauty."
Lumine was already on her feet, smoothing her hair with the care of someone who knew the mirror would always compliment her. "Second floor. The dance floor. Rumor says it's where aristocracy's heirs lose their composure—and dignity, sometimes simultaneously."
Luna stood up with controlled imbalance, like a tipsy feline in 12-inch heels. "Let's see if this club deserves our footprints."
The elevator was an experience in itself: mirrors on all sides, soft lighting, and ambient music that sounded like electronic flirtation.
The four of them were silent.
The ding of the second floor was like a divine gong.
The doors opened.
An explosion of colored lights. Pulsing bass. Bodies moving in perfect (or imperfect) harmony. Digital chandeliers floated on the ceiling like constellations in ecstasy. Screens displayed real-time footage of the dance floor—with filters that made even the clumsiest look like pop stars.
Noblemen and women, rich, young, some famous heirs, others just mysterious.
Fitted suits, body-hugging dresses, perfumes worth more than apartments.
But everything froze for half a second when the four women stepped in.
The DJ dropped a heavier beat without even realizing it.
The lights leaned toward them, involuntarily.
Victória in a metallic wine-red dress, violet hair swaying like party smoke. A spoiled, dangerous girl's smile.
Nikoly with asymmetrical black hair, leather boots, and eyes that seemed to scan everything in real time.
Lumine in royal blue organza, an ethereal silhouette, the aura of a princess who could order an execution with a snap of her fingers.
The moment they hit the dance floor, the stares began.
Groups of men adjusted their ties. Others approached as if walking toward an altar.
But...
They were ignored.
The four exchanged glances, laughed in complicity, and started dancing together—as if no one else mattered.
Fluid, perfect movements. Bodies molding to the electronic beat, hands in the air, carefree smiles.
Luna tossed her hair back with a spin that drew a collective gasp from the male audience.
Victória climbed onto a side ledge and danced with her arms raised, staring at the ceiling as if summoning sensual thunder.
Nikoly kept her movements precise, elegant—even drunk, she danced like a warrior who'd just conquered an empire.
Lumine simply floated, always a second lighter than air.
They danced for each other. For freedom. For the night. For the sheer fact of being incredible.
The men, rejected with class and indifference, tried to play it off.
Some returned to their groups.
Others... stayed, just watching, hypnotized.
One muttered under his breath, "Who are they...?"
His friend replied, "The ones who own this party."
Luna, glistening slightly, smiled with her eyes closed. The music's pulse thrummed in her chest.
She opened her eyes. Looked at her friends. All laughing, dancing, living.
"This is it," she thought. "I am the moment."
Elsewhere in the club, from the VIP balcony, a man watched—a discreet drink in hand, his gaze as calm as it was dangerous.
His real name was locked behind seven seals. His face? Too handsome to ignore, yet his expression was always measured, as if he'd learned early never to show his thoughts.
He dressed well but not loudly. His navy-blue suit had no logos, just impeccable tailoring. A white-gold watch on his wrist. No ostentation. And yet... he radiated something. Presence. Weight. Lineage.
But right now, none of that mattered—because his eyes were fixed on one woman.
Down below, amid strobe lights and deafening electronic beats, she danced as if the world had vanished.
It was Luna. Hair loose, spinning in the air. Steps uncoordinated yet so naturally graceful they bordered on sorcery. And that smile... half-drunk, half-triumphant, as if she were too happy to care about any dynasty's opinion.
The man tilted his head. "She's dancing to be free."
And that... intrigued him more than any princess trained in 14 languages and three types of curtsy.
He made a decision.
Left his glass on a tray. Descended the stairs calmly, dodging curious glances. Moved through the crowd as if bodies parted by instinct.
Until he stopped in front of her.
Luna spun to the music, laughing to herself, when she felt it—Warmth. A presence.
She turned... and faced him.
A tall, handsome man, dark eyes flecked with gold. The posture of someone who'd sat on thrones... but now only wanted to be here, with her.
She blinked.
"Hi...?" she said, with a lopsided grin, as if doubting her own luck—or her drunken sanity.
He smiled, amused but with serene steadiness. "Care to dance?"
Luna hesitated for a second.
The lights flickered in slow motion.
Behind her, Victória, Nikoly and Lumine had paused, watching the scene like the finale of an international runway show.
The three smiled like wolves.
Victória made a heart with her hands. Nikoly bit her straw. Lumine simply nodded, as if saying, "Claim your crown."
Luna rolled her eyes, laughing, embarrassed.
But then she looked back at the man in front of her... and accepted. "Okay... but warning: I'm kinda off-beat."
"Perfect," he replied. "I hate choreography too."
The music swelled. And they stepped closer.
The man held Luna's waist with the delicacy of someone who knew his own power—and respected hers.
Luna let herself be pulled in. She still felt the alcohol, but now... there was something else. Adrenaline. Sparks. Magnetism.
Their bodies neared. Then parted. Then spun again, her dress flaring like a whirlwind.
She looked at him and, for a moment, forgot the club, her friends, the world.
Just him. Just her.
Just the sound pulsing between them.
From the sidelines, her three friends silently applauded, like fans of an unlikely couple they knew would spawn epic chapters.
Victória laughed. "If this man survives dancing with Luna, he deserves citizenship on her planet."
Nikoly watched as if analyzing his microexpressions. "He's not just handsome. His body control. Elegance. Probably royal nobility. But... different."
Luna, still lost in the dance, smiled with closed eyes.
And thought, "Okay... this one... isn't an idiot. And he dances well."
She opened her eyes.
He was still watching her, still smiling.
"Hmm. This might be a problem."
The Prince, until now unreadable, was visibly curious.
She danced like she owed nothing to anyone. And that gaze... that gaze... Wasn't ordinary.
He leaned in slightly, near her ear—over the noise. "What's your name...?"
Luna just smiled. A lazy, enigmatic, slightly drunk smile. She held his eyes, bit her lip... and said nothing.
The Prince arched a brow. He was used to being answered—with reverence, anxiety, or ambition. But here... Here, he was just another pretty face trying to impress a tipsy goddess.
"Not even a hint?" he tried again, lightly laughing.
Luna leaned in with a mischievous look, as if sharing a secret—then whispered, "You like mysteries, nameless Prince?"
He froze for half a second. Not quite confirmation she knew who he was. But not an idle question either.
"She knows... or she's bluffing."
Before he could reply, Luna stepped back, spinning, laughing with eyes half-lidded from alcohol and joy.
So he tried another angle. "Would you... like to go somewhere quieter? Talk properly?"
Luna paused mid-spin. Turned slowly, arching a brow. "Like... a hotel room?"
The Prince nearly choked. "N-no! Not like that!"
He coughed discreetly, scrambling to reclaim his dignity. "I meant... a different setting. Maybe a private lounge. Less noise."
Luna burst out laughing. A crystal-clear, slightly uncoordinated laugh that drew stares from nearby groups.
She took two steps toward him, planted her hands on his shoulders like steadying the world, and said, still grinning, "Relax, Your Majesty. I'm just messing with you."
She winked. "Maybe."
The Prince exhaled in relief mixed with embarrassment.
But there was something new in his eyes now: Genuine admiration.
Before he could respond, Luna turned back to the dance floor, flipping her hair with drunken grace, dancing like nothing had happened.
The Prince stood still for a moment. Watching.
Then he stepped forward and joined her—now silent. No more questions.
Just dancing with this mysterious, drunk, utterly uncontrollable woman.
And in her peripheral vision, Luna saw the subtle alert in the corner of her Tycoon System hologram:
Warning: Interaction with disguised royalty. Hidden rewards available upon deepening bond.
Luna thought, "Let him sweat a little longer."
And smiled again.