Jinx leaned against the cold windowpane of her crumbling flat, the city lights casting shadows on her tired face. Her phone buzzed again.
"You got the job. Starting Monday. – D. Vale"
She stared at the text, lips parting. He chose me?
Her brother tugged her sleeve.
"Jinx... I'm hungry."
Snapping back to reality, she nodded and grabbed her worn-out backpack. A grey hoodie, a mask, and the silent promise not to let anyone see the other her.
By 1:30 AM, the streets of London were still breathing — glowing, moving. Jinx kept to the shadows, slipping into the narrow alleys until she reached Night Captain.
Inside, the dim club pulsed with heavy bass and hungry eyes. The moment she stepped through, the mask came off. The hoodie dropped. Glasses gone.
Now, she was X Dixon.
She walked with fire in her heels and secrets in her spine. The regulars turned to watch her, their stares crawling like heat across her skin.
A young staffer whispered in her ear, "Mr. Frost. Room 13."
She didn't blink.
Upstairs, the corridors were quieter, but the air was heavier. She knocked once, then opened the door.
Frost — tall, smug, all sharp edges in a velvet suit — stood by the window swirling his whiskey.
"Well, well... I was wondering when my favorite secret would show up."
She smirked, leaning against the door.
"London's a big city, Mr. Frost. Secrets walk fast."
"Still... not fast enough to outrun hunger, hmm?"
His eyes scanned her, slowly. "You don't belong behind a desk."
Jinx walked past him, circling the room like a storm in silk.
"Neither do you. But here we are — pretending we're something we're not."
"I'm a rich bastard with time to waste. You're a girl with two names."
She stopped at the bar cart, poured herself a drink, and said quietly,
"Starting Monday, I'll be Miss St. James. Secretary to Damien Vale."
Frost laughed — a sharp, bitter sound.
"Ah. You're dancing with the devil now."
"No," she replied, lifting her glass. "I'm playing both sides."