Chapter Thirty-Eight — Warm Lights, Sharp Edges
The lounge was the kind of place you didn't accidentally end up in.
You chose it on purpose—because it hid you in plain sight.
From the street it looked like any other narrow doorway wedged between boutiques: black awning, soft gold lettering, a doorman who didn't smile unless your name mattered. Inside, everything was low light and quiet confidence—leather booths, amber sconces, glassware that caught the glow like jewelry. The air smelled like citrus peel and expensive cologne. A slow beat moved through the room like a pulse, not loud enough to drown conversation, just enough to make everyone speak closer.
Perfect.
Not sterile like a hotel. Not chaotic like a crowded bar. A place you could exhale without feeling exposed.
I got there early, partly because I couldn't sit still at home, and partly because I wanted to control the room before anyone I loved walked into it. I chose a booth in the back corner where the shadows were kind and the exit stayed in my line of sight. Old habits. New paranoia. Same girl.
My phone sat facedown beside my clutch.
I wasn't here to doom-scroll. I wasn't here to check for headlines or refresh court calendars or stare at the empty space where Julian's name used to light my screen.
Tonight was for the girls.
I slid my coat off, rested it beside me, and watched the bartender cut a lime like it had offended him. I ordered sparkling water first—just to give my hands something to do—and when it arrived, I took one sip and laughed quietly at myself.
You'd think a woman who'd been dragged through gossip blogs and court filings would be fearless by now.
But it turns out the scariest thing in the world is trying to do something good without expecting it to get punished.
Tasha was the first to arrive, of course. She always was. Not because she was early for everything—she wasn't—but because she didn't like the idea of me sitting alone in public anymore. She slid into the booth across from me like she was claiming territory, big hoop earrings catching the light.
"Okay," she said, eyes scanning the lounge like she was approving the set design. "Miss Rivera. Fancy."
"Don't start," I said, but my mouth couldn't hold back the smile.
"I'm starting," she replied, leaning forward. "Because you said, and I quote, 'Meet me somewhere quiet.' Then you send me a pin to a place where the doorman looked me up and down like he was calculating my net worth."
"You passed the vibe check," I said.
Tasha snorted. "Barely. I had to look serious. My face almost cracked."
She set her purse down and grabbed the menu like she was about to file a complaint. "They got snacks?"
"They have everything," I told her. "Including judgment."
"Ooh," she said, eyes sparkling. "My favorite."
When the server came, Tasha ordered like she knew the owner. I ordered a drink this time—something warm and citrusy. Something that tasted like I was trying, for one night, to be a normal twenty-five-year-old woman who met her friends at a lounge and didn't have to think about affidavits.
Janelle arrived next, slipping in with her calm presence and that soft face that always made me feel like I was both loved and being evaluated for life choices. She hugged me longer than usual.
"You look better," she murmured into my hair.
"Define better," I whispered back.
"More… here," she said gently. "Not floating."
I didn't have an answer for that, so I just squeezed her hand as she sat down.
Marisol was last—late, loud, and already irritated at the world for daring to exist. She arrived in a burst of perfume and fire, sliding into the booth beside me like she'd chosen the seat that gave her the quickest access to throw hands if needed.
"I had to circle three times," she announced, breathless. "And then the valet tried to tell me 'we're full.'"
Tasha's eyebrows lifted. "And what did you tell him?"
Marisol smiled sweetly. "I told him he was about to be unemployed."
Janelle sighed into her drink. "Marisol."
"What?" Marisol spread her hands. "I'm stressed. Let me be a menace in peace."
I laughed—real laughter, the kind that didn't come out brittle. For a second, my shoulders dropped. My chest didn't feel so tight. The lounge didn't feel like a hiding place. It felt like a bubble.
Tasha leaned back, eyes narrowing at me. "Okay. So. Why are we really here?"
I played dumb. "We're celebrating."
Janelle blinked. "Celebrating what?"
Marisol's gaze cut to me. "Amira, don't do that thing where you act casual right before you drop a bomb."
I took a slow sip of my drink. Let the warmth settle. Then I set the glass down carefully and rested my hands on the table.
"Check your accounts."
Silence.
Tasha's face pinched. "My what?"
"Your bank," I repeated, like I'd asked them to check the weather. "Just… check."
Janelle's eyes widened a little. "Amira—"
"Just check," I said again, more firmly. "Please."
Phones came out like reflexes. Three screens lit the darkness between us. Three sets of lashes fluttered in confusion.
Then—
Tasha's mouth dropped open. "No."
Janelle's brows shot up. "Is this—"
Marisol's eyes narrowed, and for a second I thought she was about to accuse me of money laundering.
Tasha shoved her phone toward me like I needed proof. "Ten thousand dollars."
Janelle's voice went soft. "Amira."
Marisol looked up slowly. "What the hell is this?"
I exhaled. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like the lounge could hear it. "It's for you."
Tasha's laugh came out sharp. "No. No, it's not. It's a scam. Somebody got my routing number."
"It cleared," I said.
Janelle glanced from her screen to my face, the concern in her eyes turning into something else—something like understanding mixed with fear. "Amira… you didn't have to—"
"I wanted to," I cut in, not harsh, but decisive. "I did."
Marisol pushed her phone back down on the table like it burned. "Okay. First of all, I love you. Second of all—are you insane?"
Tasha pointed at me. "We're not taking it."
"You are," I said.
Janelle shook her head slowly. "Amira—"
"Listen," I said, and my voice dropped. Not because I was ashamed, but because the lounge suddenly felt too public for what I needed to say. "You three have held me up. You've answered calls at stupid hours. You've sat in my living room while I tried not to collapse. You've talked me off ledges I didn't even know I was standing on."
Tasha's mouth opened, but I kept going.
"I couldn't tell you about the money I got right away," I added, and I felt that old pressure rise—the feeling of being watched, of being vulnerable because I had anything to lose. "Not because I didn't trust you. Because too much was moving. Too many eyes. I needed to be sure what was mine was mine before I… before I let anyone else touch it."
Marisol's face softened just a fraction. "So this is—what? A thank you?"
"It's not charity," I said quickly. "It's not me trying to play rich auntie. It's… me paying a debt I can't pay back any other way."
Janelle's fingers curled around her glass. "Amira, we don't do things for you because we're keeping tabs."
"I know," I said, throat tightening. "That's why it matters."
Tasha's gaze flickered with something like emotion she didn't want to show. "You're scared."
"I'm practical," I corrected, then sighed. "Okay. I'm scared too."
Marisol leaned in, elbows on the table. "Is this because you think something's about to happen?"
I didn't answer immediately. Because the truth was: I didn't know what was about to happen. I just knew Cassandra didn't lose quietly. I knew peace always came with a price. And I knew that when I finally had a little room to breathe, I wanted to use it to love the people who had loved me without conditions.
"I just…" I started, then shook my head. "I needed to know who stayed before I shared anything."
The words landed heavier than I expected. Even I heard the sharp edge in them. The truth in them.
Janelle's eyes glistened. "Oh, Amira."
Tasha reached across the table and grabbed my wrist. Her grip was warm and firm. "We're not going anywhere."
"I know," I whispered.
Marisol sat back, swallowing hard like she hated the softness creeping into her throat. "Okay," she said, voice rough. "Fine. We'll accept your criminally generous bribe."
Tasha laughed, wiping at the corner of her eye like it was a speck of glitter. "I still think it's a scam."
"It's not," I said, relief loosening my chest.
Janelle gave a small smile. "Then thank you."
The server chose that moment to appear with a tray of small plates—crispy things, saucy things, food arranged like it was art instead of survival. Tasha looked at the spread and said, "Okay, now I'm celebrating."
Marisol lifted her glass. "To Amira getting her teeth back."
Janelle lifted hers too. "To friendship."
"To rich uncles!" I exclaimed. "That's how i got the money after all!"
Tasha clinked her glass against mine. "To you never acting secretive like that again because I almost called my bank and accused them of supporting organized crime."
I laughed, clinking back. "Deal."
For the next hour, we let the night be lighter. We talked about everything and nothing, I told them all about my inheritance and my family's response. Tasha told us tales about a coworker who kept stealing her lunch, Marisol's neighbor who played salsa music at 7 a.m., Janelle's dating app horror stories that somehow always ended with a man asking her to "invest in his business idea."
"And you know what's crazy?" Tasha said, leaning in, lowering her voice like she was about to confess a felony. "I opened my account and I literally forgot how to breathe."
"Same," Marisol said. "I almost screamed."
Janelle's smile was quieter. "I thought I'd misread it. Like my eyes were making numbers up."
I watched them glow under the warm lounge light, and something inside me unclenched. Not the whole knot. Just one tight loop.
"This isn't the win," I reminded them, because I needed to hear myself say it. "Not yet."
Tasha rolled her eyes. "Let us have one hour."
"I'm serious," I said. "Cassandra isn't done. None of this is done."
Marisol's chin lifted. "And neither are you."
Janelle nodded. "We're proud of you, Amira."
That hit me in a place I'd been guarding.
I looked away, pretending to adjust my napkin. "Save the pride for when I actually… survive."
"You're surviving now," Tasha said. "You're just dramatic about it."
I snorted. "Says the woman who threatened to key a valet."
"That was justified," Marisol said immediately.
Janelle shook her head, laughing softly. "Lord."
"Adonai help us," Tasha corrected, and I nearly choked on my drink.
Marisol smirked. "Look at you two, acting holy in a lounge."
"Don't play," Tasha said. "God sees us everywhere."
Janelle's gaze slid to me. "You okay?"
It was such a small question, asked so gently, that it cracked the surface again. I wanted to say yes. I wanted to say I'm fine, I'm good, I'm untouchable now.
But the truth was messier.
"I'm… learning," I said carefully. "How to not let what I feel decide what I do."
Tasha's eyebrows lifted. "That sounds like therapy."
"It's survival," I replied.
Marisol's eyes softened. "And it's growth."
Janelle's voice dropped. "So what's next?"
That question hung there. The girls' trip promise hovered behind it like a mirage.
"When this is over," I said, "I want to celebrate properly. I want a girls' trip. Somewhere warm. Somewhere nobody knows our names. Somewhere the only thing we have to worry about is if the sun is too bright for our sunglasses."
Tasha smiled wide. "Oh, you mean outside the United States."
"Exactly," I said, grinning.
Marisol snapped her fingers. "Beach. Drinks. Men who don't know we're traumatized."
Janelle laughed. "Or we could… rest?"
Marisol looked offended. "Rest? In a beach city? Janelle, don't start being responsible now."
Tasha leaned in, excited. "Where are we going? Mexico?"
Marisol pointed at me. "You're Latina. You have to pick something that honors your ancestors."
I gave her a look. "My ancestors want me to keep my job."
"Not anymore," Tasha said, waving her phone. "Ten thousand dollars says we're going somewhere with palm trees."
Janelle's smile faded slightly, and I saw the thought behind her eyes before she said it.
"Amira," she began, careful, "are you sure it's safe to move money right now?"
There it was. The undercurrent.
The room didn't change, but my body did. My shoulders tightened. My lungs held.
I forced a light laugh. "It's fine."
Marisol watched me. "Is it?"
"Yes," I said too quickly. Then slowed my voice. "It's not tied up. It's clean. It's mine. And it's not like I bought a yacht."
Tasha joked, "Not yet."
Janelle didn't smile. "I just… don't want you making yourself a bigger target."
I swallowed.
Outwardly, I stayed composed. Inwardly, I felt the truth press against my ribs: everything I do is a trail. Every move is a flare.
"I'm not scared of being seen," I said, and that was true. "I'm scared of being blindsided."
Marisol reached across the table and squeezed my hand. "Then we don't let you be."
Tasha nodded hard. "Exactly. We're your security detail."
Janelle finally smiled again. "With wine."
"With wine," I agreed.
The laughter returned. Not as effortless as before, but real enough.
I let myself breathe.
For a moment, the lounge felt like it was holding us. Warm lights. Soft music. My friends' voices like a blanket.
And then my phone vibrated.
Once.
Short.
A sharp little pulse against the table.
I glanced down, thinking it was a random notification—an ad, a calendar reminder, some app begging me to upgrade.
The screen lit.
A message preview.
PRIVATE INVESTIGATOR: We need to talk. Tonight. It's urgent.
My stomach dropped so fast it felt like gravity doubled.
I kept my face still. Forced my expression into something neutral. My mind tried to keep up: urgent about what? Cassandra? The firm? Something in her financial web? A pressure point?
Or something else?
I didn't ask. Not here. Not in the middle of the one night I'd promised myself I could be normal.
Tasha was in the middle of a sentence—something about Marisol flirting with a bartender "like she's collecting men for a scrapbook."
Marisol was laughing, head thrown back.
Janelle was smiling softly at them both.
And I sat there with my phone glowing in my hand like a warning sign no one else could see.
I turned the screen face-down.
Slowly.
As if the message would explode if I moved too fast.
Tasha noticed my pause. Her eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Nothing," I said, too smooth.
Marisol leaned in. "That's never true when you say it like that."
I took a sip of my drink, even though my mouth had gone dry. "It's fine."
Janelle's gaze sharpened, gentle but perceptive. "Amira."
I smiled. I made it look easy. Like I wasn't holding my breath.
"Let me have tonight," I said lightly. "Please."
The girls exchanged a glance—silent agreement to let me choose my moment.
Tasha lifted her glass. "To the trip."
"To the trip," Marisol echoed.
Janelle's voice was soft. "To you."
I clinked my glass against theirs.
And as the sound rang in the warm air, all I could think was:
Whatever that message meant, the quiet was over.