Iris pushed through the heavy velvet curtains of the Belone, her heart racing as the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses met her ears.
The club was everything she had expected—lavish, decadent, and full of people eager to indulge in the pleasures of the night.
Her steps were beautiful, graceful as she moved through the crowd, her eyes scanning the faces of those around her.
She wasn't here for fun. She wasn't here for the party. No, she was here to find a way in, and the Belone was her best chance.
Disguised in a simple but elegant black gown, Iris made her way through the corridors, her eyes sharp and alert, making sure no one took too much notice of her.
Her plan was simple: act like she belonged, pretend she was one of the many women trying to make a living here.
She needed to find Madam Claudia—the woman who ran the Belone, the woman who could give her the opportunity she was seeking.
If she could earn her trust, get her foot in the door, she might just be able to gather the information she needed.
Eventually, she was led to a small, dimly lit office, tucked away in the back of the club. The door was ajar, and Iris took a deep breath before knocking.
The woman who answered the door was older, with sharp features and a knowing gaze that immediately assessed Iris from head to toe.
Madam Claudia had a presence about her that made it impossible to ignore—she was the kind of woman who controlled the room without raising her voice, a queen in her own right.
"Yes?" Madam Claudia asked, her tone sharp yet calm, like a ruler accustomed to being approached with requests.
Iris held her breath for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "I'm looking for work," she said, keeping her voice steady. "I've heard that the Belone is always in need of... talent."
Madam Claudia raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a small, almost amused smile. "Talent?" she repeated, eyes scanning Iris closely. "What kind of talent do you think you have to offer?"
Iris met her gaze with confidence, making sure she didn't flinch. "I can dance," she replied simply, offering no more information than necessary.
She wasn't here to reveal her full hand—not yet. "I've worked in places like this before. I know how to keep an audience captivated."
Claudia studied her for a long moment, as if weighing her words, before stepping aside to let her enter. "Come in, then," she said. "Let's see if you're as good as you claim."
Inside the room, the air was heavy with the scent of incense, the low hum of music vibrating through the walls.
The madam gestured to the center of the room where a tall, full-length mirror reflected Iris's image.
"Strip away the pretense," Claudia said, her voice slutty. "If you want to work here, you'll need to show me your true skill. Perform. Dance for me."
Iris hesitated for a fraction of a second before nodding. She had expected this; after all, in places like the Belone, one didn't get in without proving their worth.
Slowly, she began to move, her body flowing effortlessly to the rhythm of an imaginary beat, her hips swaying as her arms traced graceful arcs through the air. She let go of any inhibitions, allowing the music in her mind to take over.
Madam Claudia's eyes never left her. As
Iris danced, she could feel the woman's gaze—calculating, appraising, as though every movement of Iris's body was being scrutinized for its worth.
After a few minutes that felt like hours, Iris stopped, breathless but composed. She stood still, waiting for the madam's judgment.
Claudia stood silently for a moment, then finally nodded. "You have potential. I can see it. But it's not just about dancing, is it?" Her gaze sharpened. "You're not just here to entertain. You're going to be the new star.
Iris did her best to hide her surprise. She hadn't expected the madam to say something so off ."I'm here to make a living," she said, playing it off, though the words tasted like a lie.
Claudia's lips curled into a thin smile, but there was no warmth in it. "You'll be performing tonight. Your stage name will be Queen."
The name echoed in Iris's mind, a reminder that, in this club, she would be someone else—a stranger to everyone. "
I'm giving you a chance, but don't waste it. Queen will become someone people remember."
Iris nodded, her heart pounding in her chest. It was a step forward. A chance.
The madam didn't offer any more words of encouragement, but the silence was pregnant with expectation. Iris understood.
She was about to enter a place far darker than she had imagined, but she was determined to play the part.
Whatever it took, she planned to fulfill her mission. And if it meant becoming Queen, the new star of the Belone, then so be it.
"Tonight," Madam Claudia said, snapping Iris out of her thoughts. "You'll be performing in front of a very... special guest. Make sure you make an impression." She leaned forward, her gaze like a hawk's. "Do not disappoint me, Queen."
Iris gave a small bow, her face betraying no emotion. "I won't."
With that, she turned and left the room, her mind already racing with what was to come.
The club was alive with activity now as she made her way back to the dressing area, her heart thumping in her chest. Tonight, she would take the stage and play her part, but beneath the glitter and the spotlight, she would be vigilant.
The air inside Belone shimmered with heat, perfume, and the hum of violins. Gold-trimmed gowns and crystal glasses sparkled beneath the chandeliers, but everyone's attention was drawn to one place—
the stage.
And then she appeared.
They called her Queen.
Wearing a black corset laced tight around her waist, sheer stockings that kissed her thighs, and heels sharp enough to pierce pride, she danced like temptation had taken human form. Her veil shimmered with every movement, hiding her identity—barely.
But one man saw through it.
Standing at the back of the room, sipping scotch he hadn't tasted, Alexander Quinn—the richest man in Europe—watched her with eyes that could shatter glass.
His grip on the glass tightened.
She was supposed to be gone. He didn't understand why she did this.
And yet there she was, dancing like sin itself in front of politicians, arms dealers, and royalty.
Iris.
He moved.
By the time her dance ended and she slipped behind the curtain, Alexander was already waiting in the hallway, his shadow tall and still like a storm gathering breath.
Alexander grabbed Iris's hands, his voice tight as he called her name, "Iris."
With a playful scoff, she pulled her hands back. "My name is Queen, mister. You'll have to get in line if you want to meet me."
His jaw clenched. He didn't understand what this feeling inside him was—just that it was strong, wild, and suffocating. He exhaled slowly, releasing her hands and trying to keep his voice calm.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked softly.
But she kept up the act, still denying him.
Something snapped.
In a sudden burst of frustration, Alexander pushed her gently but firmly against the wall. "Stop pretending."
Iris's eyes flared. She couldn't take it anymore.
"We barely know each other! Why do you even care if I dance in front of them?" she burst out, her voice shaking.
His grip loosened.
She was right—they were strangers. And yet… the sight of those men, their hungry eyes trailing her every move as she danced on that stage, made his chest tighten like something was crushing him from the inside.
Iris gasped when she saw his pitch black eyes staring at her.
"A-Alexander?"
His eyes narrowed. "What the hell are you doing here?"
She took a step back. "I was just—working."
He grabbed her wrist. "Working? You think this is a joke?"
"I needed access. I'm investigating something," she said, voice sharp, trying to yank her arm free.
He didn't let go. "So you thought stripping in front of Europe's filthiest men was a good idea?"
"I didn't strip—"
His voice dropped to a dangerous growl. "You might as well have."
Iris let out a soft sigh. Even beneath layers of heavy makeup, she couldn't understand how this man had seen through it all and recognized her.
Gasps echoed from the hallway as curious eyes peeked through silk curtains. Because Alexander Quinn never touched anyone. He didn't even flinch when women threw themselves at him.
But now?
He had Queen pressed to the wall, shielding her with his body, holding her like she belonged to him.