"We'll be given uniforms when we arrive," Luna said as they discussed the extra shift at Oceano Club.
The sun had nearly set by the time Aurora and Luna finished their shift and arrived at the club. A well-dressed woman with a warm smile greeted them.
"So, Miss Luna, you'll handle drinks by the lounge area. Miss Aurora, you'll cover the bar section," she instructed, guiding them to the changing rooms.
Both changed into sleek, space-blue shirts tucked into tailored black mini skirts, an elegant Oceano badge shining on their collars. Their black hair was tied in tidy buns — polished and professional. The uniform screamed money. The club's budget was clearly no joke.
As guests began to flow in — a blur of elegance and ego — Aurora moved behind the bar.
"Hey Lady,Whiskey, neat," requested a man in a suit.
"Of course, sir."
Aurora served him with a polite, composed smile. To her, respect was transactional — a courtesy, not submission.
As the man left, a sharp voice slashed through the moment.
"It's just respect until they get drunk," said a woman seated nearby — glamorous, smug, and smoking a cigar like she owned the air around her. Her spaghetti-strap silk dress clung to her curves, every inch of her confidence sharpened to a knife's edge.
She tilted her head and looked Aurora over, then smirked.
"Aren't you just a waitress?" A pause. Then she sneered.
"Ah, I get it. Smile sweet, act soft — maybe some rich guy will slip you his number… or his bed. Who knows? Might even make you his mistress."
Aurora finally looked up — unshaken , calm
Marcella raised a brow. "Oh, the waitress has the nerve to look me in the eyes?"
Aurora didn't flinch. Her lips barely moved.
"Only because I see a snake that thinks it's a queen."
Marcella chuckled darkly and exhaled a puff of smoke directly toward Aurora's face.
"Crocodile tears coming next?"
Aurora stood her ground. "Not everyone needs tears to show strength."
Marcella stood abruptly, heels clicking like threats.
"Drag your ass somewhere else. My man's coming." She sauntered toward the VIP section.
Aurora's gaze followed. Her eyes locked on a familiar figure — black strands falling loosely, a joint between his fingers, surrounded by bodyguards and friends.
Her breath caught.
"Dio…"
Her hands clenched. Her jaw locked.
She watched as Marcella hugged him first — possessively — and though Dio gave her only the coldest of gestures, she still nestled next to him like she belonged.
"My man…" Aurora muttered, repeating Marcella's claim, a dangerous flicker of possessiveness in her voice.
"Aurora? Hey!"
Luna's voice snapped her back to the moment.
"You okay?"
Aurora's eyes didn't leave the VIP section. "She called him her man," she whispered, tone sharp with disbelief. "And that… that cut deeper than her insults."
Luna followed her gaze, eyes narrowing. "She said all that and claimed Dio?"
Aurora nodded. "Yeah. And… I hate that it affected me. I hate that I care."
Luna gently touched her shoulder. "If you want, we can leave—"
"No." Aurora's voice was clear and certain. "I stay."
Luna studied her. "You like Dio, don't you?"
Aurora stayed silent.
"I'll be nearby," Luna said, patting her shoulder before heading off.
Moments later, Aurora was called to cover the VIP section.
Her heart beat heavier with each step. Inside the velvet-roped lounge, Dio sat — white shirt rolled at the sleeves, a picture of effortless danger. Marcella clung close to him, laughing too loudly, while his friends passed joints and whispered jokes.
Aurora approached silently, tray in hand. Dio didn't notice her… until she placed the glass before him.
He looked up — and that smirk appeared.
"Bella Signora," he murmured.
He took the glass and winked.
Aurora's breath caught — not from flattery, but because Marcella saw it all.
The woman's eyes narrowed, red with envy. She leaned in closer to Dio, her voice dipped in sugar and venom.
"Dio, look here…"
He didn't. His gaze followed Aurora.
Marcella's lip curled. In a sudden move, she cupped Dio's face and kissed him — hard.
Laughter erupted around them. His friends cheered.
"Hot!"
But Dio's hand shot up. He pushed her back and grabbed her chin — hard.
"Sgualdrina," he spat.
( Slut.)
He turned his face and spit near her, sharp and deliberate.
She gasped, stunned.
But Aurora was no longer there.
"Where'd she go?" Dio asked, jaw tight.
"That hot chick? She ran off," one of his friends chuckled.
Dio's voice dropped low, dangerous. He grabbed the guy's collar.
"She's not some hot chick."