The bass thrummed through the lavish club, each beat vibrating through the marble floors and into the bodies of the elite who danced, drank, and indulged in their own excess. Nadia moved through the sea of people like a shadow, her presence commanding yet distant.
She hadn't come here to attract attention, but attention was something she couldn't escape. Not when she was Nadia Al-Fayed.
Seated in their private booth, Lina eyed her with frustration. "Nadia, you're killing me here."
Nadia took a slow sip of her drink. "What now?"
"What now? You're at Maven—the most exclusive club in the country—and you're sitting here like an old widow reminiscing about her youth." Lina motioned to the floor. "I brought you here to forget about the company, about your father, about those snakes plotting against you."
Nadia gave her a dry look. "And you think alcohol and bad dancing will fix my problems?"
Lina crossed her arms. "No. But it'll give you something else to think about for one damn night."
She snapped her fingers at a passing waiter. "Something stronger for my emotionally constipated friend."
The waiter nodded and returned with a bottle of aged whiskey, the kind that cost more than a luxury car. Lina poured them both a glass, nudging one toward Nadia.
"Drink."
Nadia hesitated, then took a sip. The burn was sharp, but it felt good—like something inside her was waking up.
Lina smirked. "Now, let's find you some company."
Lina was relentless. She dragged Nadia onto the dance floor, the heavy bass vibrating through their bones. The world became a blur of flashing lights, heat, and movement. Lina twirled her, their laughter lost in the music.
But Lina wasn't satisfied.
She leaned in, whispering, "You know, you could have anyone in this room."
Nadia arched a brow. "I doubt that."
"Oh, really?" Lina's eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced around. "Alright, challenge accepted."
And then it began.
One by one, Lina pushed men toward her—heirs to empires, young CEOs, men with power dripping from their fingertips. They leaned in close, their words smooth, their eyes hungry, and filled with undisguised lust, Nadia found it disgusting.
"Nadia Al-Fayed, I've heard so much about you."
"You shouldn't be alone tonight."
"A dance, perhaps?"
But Nadia barely entertained them. Her smiles were polite, her responses short. She swayed to the music, let them think they had a chance, but ultimately, they were all met with the same cold, distant disinterest.
Lina groaned dramatically. "Are you serious right now? Not even one?"
Nadia smirked. "They're not interesting."
Lina huffed. "You're impossible."
Unknown to Nadia, her every movement was being watched.
In the highest VIP suite of Maven, hidden behind reinforced glass, Zayn Alaric sat in his leather chair, eyes locked on the monitors before him.
A wall of CCTV screens displayed every inch of the club. But his attention was only on her.
Nadia Al-Fayed.
His shooting star.
For two years, he had watched her. Not out of coincidence. Not out of convenience. But because she had unknowingly saved him.
Back when he was nothing.
Back when his name meant nothing, when they where tearing at his older brother because of him, and he knew he had to do something.
It had been a simple text. A desperate attempt from a man who had run out of options. He had sent a message to a hundred random number, asking for four million dollars. No details. No lies about a dying relative or an urgent crisis. Just a number and a request.
He hadn't expected a response, but he was at a dead end.
He had prepared himself for mockery, for silence, and sure he did receive that in abundance some even claiming his a fraudster and should die.
But surprisingly someone answered and it was her, she had sent the money.
Without asking who he was. Without demanding anything in return.
"You probably need it," she had texted, as if four million meant nothing to her. "I hope it helps."
And it had.
It had bought him time. It had bought him power.
It had brought him her.
Zayn leaned forward, fingers drumming against the desk as he watched her now. She had no idea. No idea that the empire she sat in belonged to him. That this club was his. That everything she touched, everything she needed, he had been building for her, he had let that foolish Sara and kareem continue what they're doing because he knew his shooting star would want to have her revenge herself, if not he'd have gladly gotten rid of the trash dimminig his star's shine.
She thought she was here to escape.
But she had only ever been walking deeper into his world, and soon he wouldn't have to watch from the shadows anymore.
A knock on the door. One of his men entered. "Sir, will you be heading down?"
Zayn exhaled, gaze still locked on the screen where Nadia danced, ignoring the men Lina kept pushing her way.
She wasn't interested, Good.
He would never tolerate another man with his star.
His jaw tightened. "No."
Not yet.
She wasn't ready to meet him.
But she would be.
Soon enough.