Trish had called her earlier, announcing that she wouldn't be dancing that night. Apparently, she had a date with a wealthy man. Ivy rolled her eyes, a cynical smirk tugging at her lips. A week, she thought. A week and he'd get tired of Trish's drama and ghost her.
Ivy opened her locker, the cold metal creaking, and found her outfit for the night. Ben had left it folded neatly on the top shelf, as always. A black sequined lingerie set. Matching mask included. She sighed. Same as three weeks ago. No variety, no new thrill—just repetition.
She changed quickly and sat down heavily on the bench, the sequins cool in her lap. Her thoughts spun in restless circles.
"Ivy! Ivy!" Ben's sharp voice cut through her storm of thoughts, snapping her back to the present. He stood at the doorway, a permanent scowl on his face. "You're up."
