Twilight Zone - 2

Liora's fingers curled around the strap of her purse, and she placed it down on the nearby smooth black leather couch. The room was quiet, vast, and luxurious, yet Liora did not feel any comfortable in it.

She exhaled slowly, her gaze wandering around; in such a fidgety situation, sitting in one place felt impossible. The nerves buzzing under her skin wouldn't let her stay still. Instead, she decided to walk, letting her feet carry her through the space, taking it in. She looked at the time. It was 10:30. Nova still had half an hour to come.

The room was designed for indulgence. Every detail spoke of exclusivity. As her eyes travelled around the room, they fixed on a pole. Liora felt a wave of discomfort upon seeing the pole for reasons she couldn't understand. A subtle throb emerged in her head. She placed a hand on her forehead and shook her head, trying to dispel her unease. An odd, disquieting feeling washed over her. It wasn't fear. It wasn't sorrow. But it was something—something that made her wish she could remove that pole from the room.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her skirt as she took another step closer to the pole and continued to gaze at it.

"Did Nova set up a show for them to see?....He did mention that he wanted to treat me well today as his apology...Maybe!"

Her earlier anxiety faded into a faint smile. That didn't last long, however, when a loud noise behind her startled her. It sounded as if an ancient wind instrument had been blown. She turned immediately, only to find a door or a structure resembling a door—an inset frame built into the wall. But it wasn't simply a picture. Perhaps it served as a decorative piece?

A silver-metal decoration covered in ornate carvings adorned it, making it appear stunning under the dim red lighting. It seemed oddly out of place in such an environment. Then she noticed the writing. Something was engraved in gold, sprawling across the metal in flowing, graceful strokes.

She moved closer to take a better look.

"What spell has been written on this?" Liora smiled as her fingers glided over the golden engravings, following the curves and sharp angles, trying to decipher the script. Not that she was familiar with all the languages. Yet this writing definitely conveyed a sense of antiquity.

While Liora was exploring the room at the entrance, the manager exhaled slowly, taking a slow drag of his cigarette. The manager exhaled slowly, dragging out the last wisp of his cigarette, the ember burning low as he tapped the ash onto the pavement. The night was still young. The real crowd—the ones who mattered—wouldn't start arriving until after 11:30 pm.

The bouncer beside him stood tall, hands clasped in front of him, his gaze fixed on the road like a watchtower. The manager rolled his shoulders. Another long night of playing host to the elite, to the wolves dressed in silk and shadow.

Then, a sleek Porsche glided to a stop in front of them. The sound of the engine humming to a halt was smooth as if the car had been crafted for a commanding presence, just like the woman who stepped out of the car.

She emerged with a slow, effortless grace. The first thing that hit them was her scent—an intoxicating blend of jasmine and musk, bold yet delicate, the kind of fragrance that lingered long after she was gone.

She was in a black mini-dress, hugging her curves like it had been sewn onto her skin. Every line of her body was sculpted, her toned legs elongated by the towering five-inch heels she wore with ease most women could never master.

She didn't rush. She let them look at her and feel her through their thoughts, and she enjoyed it.

Her movements were precise as she stretched out her arm to hand over the keys. The manager caught the teasing smile playing at the corner of her lips—the kind of smile that made men weak and women envious.

It took the manager a second too long to come back to his senses.

He swallowed, flicking his cigarette to the ground and signalling the bouncer with a silent nod to take the keys and park the car.

The woman didn't need to introduce herself. He already knew.

The most awaited guest of the night had arrived.

The manager's lips stretched into a smooth, practised smile—one that concealed the intrigue burning in his chest. "We have been waiting for you, ma'am." His voice carried reverence. "Now that I see you in person, I finally understand why special orders were given for your arrival."

She tilted her head slightly, watching him, amusement flickering in her eyes. She was used to this. The attention. The lingering glances that men tried—and failed—to hide. "I know.."

With a polite bow of his head, the manager gestured toward the entrance. "Please, follow me."

The moment she stepped inside, the atmosphere of the Twilight Zone changed. The women had been to many clubs, but to enter the Twilight Zone, one must have an invitation, be part of a wealthy family, or belong to an exclusive circle of privilege. Even social media celebrities cannot enter the Twilight Zone. It is a place reserved for those with generations of wealth and power.

She followed the manager up the first-floor staircase, her heels clicking against the polished marble, echoing softly in the dimly lit corridors.

This was where the real players sat.

The exclusive lounge overlooked the dance floor below—but remained separate and private. It was designed for one group only, a space for those who didn't want to mix with the crowd.

Inside, red leather couches curved around a sleek black table positioned for quiet conversations and undisturbed observation. 

A private bar stood in the corner, stocked with the finest liquors, waiting to be served. Two waitstaff—a woman and a man—stood at attention, ready to cater to every request without question.

The lounge was encased in floor-to-ceiling glass, providing a perfect view of the dance floor below without letting the noise seep in too much. 

She took a slow step inside, her gaze sweeping the room. "Are you sure this is the place?" the women asked in puzzled, not sure if the room was right.

"Of course, mam, Mr Donovan Magnum itself asked to keep this place reserved for him and you, ma'am."

The moment his name left the manager's lips, she froze.

"Donovan Magnum?"

It wasn't just any name. It was a name that carried weight, whispered in the shadows of the underground world where power was currency, and pleasure was an expensive addiction. Her breath caught, her fingers curling slightly as a rush of thoughts of him and his cousins flooded her mind.

"Is there a private party happening here tonight?" she asked the manager, her voice smooth and cautious.

"Yes, ma'am. Mr. Roland Lamborni is getting married in two days. Tonight is his bachelor party. They have booked the exclusive room for the event."

"Ah!" She cleared her throat, keeping her voice composed. "I'm sure they've arranged for a pole dancer as well. Mr. Lamborni and his friends have quite the reputation." She winked at the manager, biting her lip seductively.

The manager swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. Thank God for the dim lighting—if anyone saw the way his face flushed, Donovan Magnum might just kill him for looking at his guest with anything other than professional courtesy.

"Yes," the manager confirmed sheepishly. "The dancer has already arrived. She is waiting for Mr Lamborni and his friends to arrive."

A smirk tugged at the woman's lips.

"Good. Then everything is settled," she murmured under her breath.

Then, her smirk deepened, her eyes gleaming with ruthless amusement.

'Donovan Magnum will have a woman by his side tonight, and those freaks into BDSM have another one.... Lucky me!' She exhaled slowly, stretching her arms as she sat down on the red leather couch as if easing into the role she had just stolen for herself.

"All the best, girls. Satisfy those beasts." Her voice dropped into a whisper, thick with venomous delight. "I'm counting on you."

She didn't care what would happen to the woman who was supposed to be Donovan Magnum's guest tonight. That wasn't her problem.

This was her chance. And she wasn't about to miss it.

"Thank you, Manager. You may leave now." A corner of her lips curled up in satisfaction.

"Sure, ma'am," the manager bowed slightly before turning to the waitress and waiter standing nearby. "Take care of our esteemed guest's needs," he instructed before leaving.

The waitress hesitated for a brief second before lowering the menu, her eyes flickering with quiet curiosity. The woman's confidence was almost overbearing, as if she had already claimed something that wasn't hers yet.

"No need," she repeated, her voice dripping with arrogance. "Bring me the most expensive bottle you have."

She didn't need to glance at the menu. She already knew the kind of alcohol men like Donovan Magnum surrounded themselves with—aged, rare, and worth more than most people's rent. If she was going to play in his world tonight, she wouldn't settle for anything less.

The waitress bowed slightly before hurrying away.

Leaning back into the plush leather couch, the woman crossed her legs deliberately, letting the high slit of her dress fall open just enough to tempt but not reveal.

This was it! Her chance!

How many nights had she performed in front of a group of men who thought they owned the world? Men who burned their wealth on flesh, stripping women bare under soft lights, using them like disposable entertainment before discarding them for the next thrill?

She had danced at private parties where the air was filled with cigars and sex, where wives waited in grand estates, oblivious to the orgies their husbands and boyfriends indulged in. She had seen it all—watched men fuck women right on the velvet sofas while their friends laughed. She had seen and slapped by women walk in on their husbands with their legs spread open for someone else.

She did not mind any of this. She enjoyed her job, relished tons of sex, and appreciated the thrill that different men brought to her life. She loved the expensive gifts and the excitement of taking a man away from his wife. She delighted in playing with their hearts and minds while they also enjoyed her body. It was a win-win situation.

But Donovan and his cousins?

They never played. They never indulged in group sex. They have attended many secret parties, but they, unlike others, sat back in their tailored suits, untouched by the lust around them, drinking whiskey and talking within themselves while desperate whores begging for a glance. And yet, not once did they look. Not once did they touch.

She had stripped herself bare in front of men who couldn't keep their hands to themselves. But those Trio had never given her so much as a second glance.

And that had driven her mad. Tonight, that would change. She wasn't the woman Donovan was expecting. But why waste an opportunity like this? It was not her fault that the manager mistook her for someone else, and places were switched.

Her lashes lowered, masking the sharp glint in her eyes. If fate had handed her a private moment with Donovan Magnum, who was she to refuse it?

"Let's see if you can resist me tonight."

She was one of the high-class escorts who sat on many men's laps. She had seen many pole dancers who flashed their breasts and the married women who threw away their rings for a chance at seducing a Donovan Magnum. They had all been ignored by him. His cousins at least had girlfriends with whom they had spent their nights in the hotel, but he, the Donovan Magnum, kept himself completely exclusive.

She had made the richest men in the city fight each other over who got to fuck her first. Tonight, Donovan Magnum would look at her. Tonight, she wouldn't just be another dancer, another woman fading into the background. Tonight, she would become his obsession.

The waitress returned with a gleaming bottle of Louis XIII Black Pearl, setting it down with a slight tremor in her fingers.

The woman leaned back, letting the warm leather cushion her as she exhaled slowly. Tonight, she would make Capo dei Capi crave her.....

While she was dreaming of Donovan, at the entrance of Twilight Zone, the manager was waiting with bouncers for Mr Roland Lamborni and his friend's arrival. He had received a call they were arriving soon.

Three black limousines rolled up to the curb, their tinted windows reflecting the glow of the Twilight Zone sign above them.

The first driver stepped out, moving with mechanical precision as he walked toward the back door. The second and third followed, mirroring his actions.

The manager and the bouncer exchanged a look. Doors opened in unison.

And then they emerged. Men draped in wealth and power.

Their suits were perfectly tailored, their movements casual yet commanding. They reeked of alcohol.

The manager stepped forward and bowed to the ten men who emerged from the car. They were the sons of the wealthiest families from different countries, renowned for their brutal strategies and notorious as drug addicts within the underworld.

Roland, the soon-to-be groom, slid a cigarette between his lips and lit it with an expensive-looking silver lighter. The scent of rich cologne and whiskey clung to him—as if the night had already swallowed him whole long before he stepped out of the car.