"Hey! That's my wig!"
The voice slices through the air like a knife. Loud. Sharp. Drenched in venom.
Andrea's hand tightens on mine. "Shit," she mutters under her breath.
I turn around just in time to see the woman storming toward us. She's tall. Legs for days. High cheekbones that could cut glass. Her red wig swings wildly with every furious step.
"Whiplash," she spits, eyes zeroing in on Andrea like she wants to rip her apart. "You gave her my wig?"
Andrea barely blinks. "Relax, Sapphire. You left it in the prop bin for a week."
"It was in my drawer yesterday. I was saving it for tonight. The platinum look? That's my signature."
"She's new," Andrea shrugs. "She needed something that popped."
Sapphire's gaze snaps to me. She looks me over-head to toe-like I'm a problem she needs to eliminate. "So this is the little charity case."
I stiffen. My spine locks.
Andrea steps in before I can speak. "Don't start."
"Start what?" Sapphire says, her voice laced with mock sweetness. "I'm just surprised. Boss never lets virgins onstage. Let alone handpicked and dressed up like a goddamn snow queen."
"She's got the body and the moves," Andrea says flatly.
"Does she have the stamina? The guts?" Sapphire scoffs. "This place isn't a fairy tale. The customers don't care if you sparkle. They want a show. They want submission. And if she can't deliver, she'll be chewed up and tossed out like the rest."
I open my mouth, but Sapphire is already gone-storming past us toward the dressing tables like she owns the whole damn club.
Andrea exhales hard. "Ignore her. She's territorial. You'll earn your place."
"I thought we all worked together."
Andrea barks a short laugh. "Sweetheart, this isn't a sisterhood. It's a jungle in fishnets."
Someone whistles from across the room. "Two minutes!"
She grabs my wrist again, yanking me away from the confrontation and toward the velvet curtain separating backstage from the club floor.
As we pass by other girls adjusting pasties and fluffing wigs, I feel the burn of eyes on me. Some curious. Some calculating. Others already writing me off.
Andrea doesn't slow down. "Listen up. Tonight, you're not Estelle. You're not a girl with a past or pain. You're Diamond. You shine. You seduce. You survive."
We stop just behind the curtain. Music thumps on the other side. A slow, pulsing beat. The sound of bills being slapped on skin.
Andrea leans in, her voice low. "Don't think. Just move. I'll be on next. I'll watch your set."
"What if I freeze?" I whisper.
"Then you fake it better than anyone else in the room." She gives my hand a squeeze. "You've got this."
And then I'm alone.
The emcee's voice booms through the speaker.
"Gentlemen-and ladies-get ready for a brand new diamond to light up your night. She's fresh, she's fine, and she's all yours. Put your hands together for... Diamond!"
My chest tightens. My legs almost betray me. But I step forward.
The lights blind me. Blue and silver. Glitter like falling stars.
I grip the pole at center stage. My body moves before my mind can argue. A spin. A drop. A mid-split and bounce just like Andrea taught me. The music wraps around me like armor.
For a minute, I'm not Estelle.
I'm not the girl from too many foster homes.
I'm not the girl with a past she can't speak of.
I'm Diamond. Dangerous. Desired. Untouchable.
I swing, stretch, dip low. I feel eyes on me-hot and heavy. I hear whoops and laughter. Bills flutter through the air like confetti.
The confidence hits me in waves. One move at a time.
When I slide down into a slow grind, a man near the edge of the stage leans forward and grins at me with wolfish eyes. His smile is too wide. His breath smells like liquor and something sour.
"Let me break that pretty little body in," he slurs, stuffing cash into my thigh strap.
I freeze for half a second. Long enough to feel the sting of old memories clawing up my throat. Hands. Shadows. A locked room.
But I shake it off. I drop into a spin and land hard-earning a cheer from another table.
I own this. I own this.
When the song ends, I'm panting-sweaty but glowing. Glitter clings to my skin like armor.
I stumble offstage, heart racing.
Andrea's waiting, a slow grin pulling at her lips. "Told you you'd shine."
My whole body trembles. "Did I look-?"
"Like you belonged." She pulls me into a hug. "Proud of you."
Before I can say anything back, I hear the girls whispering near the mirrors.
"Not bad for a newbie."
"Yeah, but let's see how long she lasts."
"Sapphire's not gonna let this go."
Andrea hears it too. Her expression tightens.
We head back toward the dressing room. I wipe glitter off my chest, still catching my breath.
Darcy meets us halfway with two drinks. "Baby girl! You were fire up there."
"Thanks," I say, downing the drink without asking what's in it. My throat burns.
"You earned that. But watch your back," Darcy says, her tone dropping. "Sapphire's already talking shit in the smoking lounge. Said you're stealing her clients."
"I didn't even talk to anyone," I mutter.
"Doesn't matter," Andrea says. "You showed up and stole attention. That's enough."
I lean against the wall, head pounding. The adrenaline's fading. Reality's creeping in again.
"Do they all hate the new girl this much?" I ask quietly.
Andrea sighs. "It's not hate. It's fear. They've clawed their way up, and you're a threat now. Pretty. Young. Mysterious."
"I'm not mysterious."
"You are when no one knows what hell you crawled out of."
I go quiet.
The hallway feels smaller now. Claustrophobic. Like the air's thicker.
Darcy lights a cigarette and offers one to Andrea. "You gonna tell her?"
Andrea raises an eyebrow. "Tell me what?"
"That Sapphire's ex is watching from VIP. The one she flipped out over last month."
Andrea curses. "Are you serious?"
Darcy nods. "He asked for her number. The new girl. Not Sapphire."
My stomach drops. "He didn't even talk to me."
Andrea's face darkens. "He doesn't have to. All it takes is one glance. Sapphire's not gonna let this slide."
I don't know what to say. I'm still catching up.
"You're in now," Darcy says. "Welcome to the war zone, sugar."
I laugh, but there's no humor in it.
Before I can respond, Sapphire appears at the end of the hallway.
She's changed into a new outfit-tight black latex and boots that scream power. Her eyes lock on mine. Cold. Calculating.
She smiles.
It's not friendly.
And it's not fake.
It's a warning.