Chapter 8. The Club

The invitation arrived like a warning. Alyssa held the heavy ivory card against her palm, its weight as chilling as the marble countertop beneath it. The embossed lettering gleamed in soft morning light—elegant, restrained, the kind of luxury that never needed to boast. Across the top, in gilded script, read:

The Kingsley Circle – Private Reception.

No address. No instructions. Only a time. Only a name. In that sparse silence, the invitation itself spoke volumes: here, reputation was the map.

Behind her, Evelyn’s steady hands closed around the zipper of the dress. Navy silk—sleek, sleeveless, cut high at the throat, open across the back—slid up over Alyssa’s curves without ceremony. The fabric whispered promises of wealth, its cool surface brushing her skin like a secret. Alyssa’s pulse fluttered in her ears, sudden and sharp.

“Should I be worried?” she asked, her voice suddenly coarse.

Evelyn paused, fingertip poised at the diamond clasp. In the