𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓 𝐀 𝐒𝐔𝐂𝐂𝐄𝐒𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐘. 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐑𝐔𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.
It's the beginning of a new age when Jaylah Imperatrix seemingly returns from the dead to reclaim her throne. And in perfect timing.
In her absence, evil has be...
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Act 3 Chapter 52 JAYLAH
La Folie Rouge was even flashier than I expected it to be. Stationed on the less wealthy side of town, we arrived as night fell. The dance number on the front stage had just ended, prompting its watchers to get up and rowdily crowd in the back of the room. Several wolf whistles rang out as the line of cabaret dancers left the stage, their short skirts frilling against the paleness of their thighs, which were visible over their long socks. Due to the lingering mens' gazes, I knew this was quite the scandalous way of dress. I suddenly became aware of how tight my pants were, how low the angle of my loose shirt dipped. No one would bother me about it at home, but this was not Oceana.
Alexander followed me through the crowd of men waiting for drink refills. When they were too preoccupied to notice, I began to shove my way through to the bouncer surveying the scene, standing guard at a side door. The reek of liquor stung my nose.
"Is Yvon Poulin in?" I asked impatiently.
The bouncer regarded me interestedly. "Monsieur Poulin is doing business with a client right now. Did he...ask for you?"
His hesitation told me we were not on the same page about my involvement with Poulin. As if Alexander was not standing right there beside me. "I wish to do business with him tonight whenever his schedule next allows for it."
"I will relay the message," the bouncer said, hiding his surprise. He disappeared into the side door, only to reappear a few moments later, face impassive. "The Monsieur agrees to your offer. Please wait here for his next opening."
We stood beside the back wall he gestured to, a comfortable space between us. I crossed my arms, leaning against the hardwood. As my gaze roved over the crowd, it came to my mind that I was the only woman present; all the dancers left into the back for a costume change. It was a realization I would never have to keep in mind anytime other than now. Here, I was not powerful or intimidating.
I made the mistake of letting my attention rest on one man too long, but in my defense, he was visibly drunk and slurring his statements to his companions. His face broke into a victorious smile. "Like what you see?" he asked loudly to me. Not wanting to cause a scene, I turned away and stayed quiet.
But he took it as demure rather than rejection and ventured closer. Too close for comfort. "Does the mademoiselle drink?" he tried again.
"No."
As he took me in up close, pupils blown, his head tilted ever so slightly. "You don't even know of your own beauty, do you?" A chuckle, as if I was an unassuming child.
Of course I knew of my own good looks. But at the risk of coming across as cocky, I gave a clipped, "Thank you." It took all of my iron willpower not to lean away from his bitter breath.
"Are you sure you do not want a drink? My treat."
"Alright," I relented, choosing whatever would make him leave me. For the moment, he did.
