The Soirée Scene

"Some places don't need an introduction. They already know who you are."

The crimson BMW motorcycle slid to a stop outside Soirée, its sleek body catching the shimmer of city lights like a flame stitched in chrome. The air buzzed with heat and promise—the kind of night where secrets were exchanged behind crystal glasses, and futures rewritten in a single look.

Soirée had no sign.No ads.No influencer collabs.

Yet it never lacked a line.

That was the power of quiet luxury—of names that didn't need to be spoken aloud. Jett's family owned it, just one of many properties blessed by feng shui masters and buried family legends. And tucked upstairs, above the noise and neon, was the Moon Room—a private lounge with a retractable glass roof that opened straight to the stars.

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"Everyone in the circle knew the unspoken rule:To drink here, you were either rich, powerful, or about to be both.

And tonight, someone new was about to tip that balance."

Part I – Just Getting Started

"He played it cool. She knew better."

Celeste took off her helmet, running her fingers through her hair as she swung one long leg off the bike. She didn't flinch at the attention. She was used to being stared at.

She eyed the crowd by the door. "Lively night. But I don't see anything more eye-catching than you and that bike."

Nolan gave a quiet chuckle as he locked the bike. "You're not so easy to look away from either."

Celeste grinned. "Wow. Sweet words from you tonight? Did I stun you with my looks? Should I buy your drink now?"

"If you think I earned it," he said, raising a brow, "let me have an extra sip."

They walked in. Inside, Soirée was alive: pulsing bass, flashing lights, a bar that never slept. At the far end, in the VIP zone, familiar faces emerged from the crowd. Jett had his arms wide in greeting; Miri waved from the corner couch.

A table full of people. Some old friends. Some new. All eyes turned as Nolan and Celeste stepped in.

"You finally showed!" Miri squealed, racing over to link arms with Celeste. "You look like an actual goddess. I refuse to take pics next to you."

"You're the real goddess," Celeste replied, smiling brightly.

But before they could sit, Celeste did what she always did best: working the room. Hellos. Updates. Hugs. This was second nature to her, taught from childhood.

Then Jett arrived, a bottle in hand, arm around each of them. "Hey, hey, took you long enough! Weren't you just dropping her off to change? Or did you two detour through the galaxy?"

Celeste smirked. "Nah. The galaxy was too far. We just stopped to admire your fear of high heels."

The table burst into laughter.

The music pounded. Glasses clinked. Light broke like waves across the ceiling.

And their night?

Was just getting started.

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"The music was rising, the lights were wild, and the table was full.

But her eyes kept drifting—toward someone who hadn't even touched his drink yet."

Part III – The Girls' Room Rule

"Mess with her people, and Celeste doesn't ask twice."

A few rounds in, Celeste noticed something.

"Where's Muriel?"

"Bathroom," someone answered. "Oh—and Leah's here too. In Gucci again. Seriously, does she even own another outfit?"

Celeste's smile froze mid-lift.

She stood, casually reaching into her purse for a slim cigarette, lips curving just enough as she placed it between them.

"Babe, got a light?" she asked, all silk and smoke.

"You wanna smoke with me? It's a Thai blend—super smooth."

"You start. I'll catch up."

She turned, phone already pressed to her ear, voice low and even. "Where are you?"

"Upstairs bathroom! I'm trying out my new lip gloss—wait till you see it!"

Celeste hung up.

Leah.

Of course.

Cute. Polished. Harmless—until she wasn't.

Leah had always rubbed her wrong. Cute enough. Sweet enough. Just enough. But always trying too hard. Always orbiting Soirée like a satellite trying to crash into a planet it didn't belong to.

She dressed wrong for the room, mimicked everything Celeste did without understanding any of it.

And worse? She once dated Jett and still clung on with that clingy, performative jealousy.

Worse than that? She once shoved Muriel in a school hallway.

Muriel hadn't even gotten the chance to react. Celeste had her first.

A hand to the sink. A knee to the spine. Blood blooming across white tiles.

"You're still confused, Leah," Celeste had murmured, lighting up in the silence. "Confused about your place. Confused about his. And very wrong if you think touching my people won't cost you."

Now, years later, history repeated itself.

The bathroom door cracked open.

Leah's voice, edged and too sweet: "Just because you hang with Celeste doesn't mean Jett gives a damn about you."

"I told you," Muriel stammered, "that time he used my phone, it wasn't—"

CRASH.

The door slammed wide open.

Celeste stepped inside, cigarette aglow, shadow slicing through the fluorescent light.

"Leah," she said, cool and measured, "what scene are you rehearsing tonight?"

Leah paled. "She splashed water on me—!"

Celeste didn't argue.

She grabbed Leah's wrist, twisted it behind her, and pressed her against the sink.

"No theatrics," she murmured, tilting the glowing ember toward the girl's cheek.

"I'm sorry!" Leah shrieked. "I'm sorry, Muriel—I didn't mean to—I swear—!"

"You didn't mean to…" Celeste's brow arched. "…again?"

She turned to Miri.

"Want to turn the tap on?"

"N-no," Leah sobbed. "Please—I said I'm sorry!"

Muriel stepped forward and tugged Celeste's arm. "She's not worth it."

A beat of silence. Celeste sighed.

Then, she raised Leah's chin with two fingers.

"I'll tell Jett you want to talk," she said evenly. "But leave Muriel out of it. And the drinks tonight? They're on me. We clear?"

Leah nodded, trembling. Muriel handed her a tissue. Circle rules upheld. Reputation intact.

As they stepped into the hallway again, they caught sight of Jett at the far end—arm lazily draped over another girl's shoulders, whispering close to her ear.

"That your new poetry line?" Celeste muttered. "'I like you, so you're everything. When I stop, what are you even?'"

Muriel giggled. "She didn't cry. Probably walked out with Chanel."

"Leah didn't get a gift, huh?"

Celeste shrugged. Pity. She left before the third act. This drama could've been a masterclass.

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Muriel watched Jett—arm draped over a girl she didn't recognize, laugh lighting his face.

He gave his charm to everyone. But maybe… that's what made him dangerous.

And in that silence, she wondered:

Did she ever really know these boys?Did any of them?