
Scarlett didn't back down. "It means," she said, her voice rising above the music, "that I can see right through you, Randall. You haven't changed a bit. Still the same arrogant, self-entitled..."
The rest of her sentence was cut short by a hand grabbing her shoulder roughly. Spinning around, she saw Randall looming over her, his face flushed with anger. 
"Just because you're not interested in reliving your glory days with a successful businessman like me doesn't mean you have to be rude."
Clara, who had followed Scarlett discreetly, pushed her way between them. "Hey! Back off," she said, her voice surprisingly firm for someone half Randall's size.
Randall scoffed, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "This doesn't concern you, sweetheart."
But before he could continue, Scarlett reacted. With a surprising burst of energy fueled by anger and a touch of leftover rum and coke from earli


The world spun into a disorienting mess as Scarlett was roughly shoved into the back of a car. Her arms were yanked behind her and bound with a tight rope that bit into her wrists. 
A thick cloth, rough against her skin, covered her mouth, muffling her screams into muffled whimpers. Panic clawed at her throat, her body trembling uncontrollably.
The car lurched forward, the engine a low growl in the enclosed space. Every bump in the road sent a jolt through her already strained body. 
How long had she been passed out? Where were they taking her? The questions echoed in her mind, unanswered and terrifying.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the car screeched to a halt. The engine died, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. A heavy car door slammed shut, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching.
Rough hands grabbed her from behind and yanked her out of the car. She stumbled, 


A sharp rap on the door interrupted their unpacking. Clara grinned. "That must be the cavalry!"
She flung the door open to reveal two women, their faces lit up with excitement.
"Scarlett!" Clara exclaimed, pulling one of the women into a hug. "This is Maya, my co-worker from the bakery. Maya, meet Scarlett, my best friend who's finally joining the land of the living again!"
Scarlett stepped forward, offering a smile. "Hi Maya, nice to meet you."
Maya beamed. "The pleasure's all mine! Clara's been telling me all about you. And let me just say, you're way prettier in person."
Scarlett chuckled, a blush creeping up her cheeks.
Clara then introduced the other woman. "And this is Vanessa, my neighbor from across the hall. She's got a car that practically begs to be driven to hot places."
Vanessa winked at Scarlett. "Don't worry, sweetie. You're in good hands. My car's practically begging for a night out too."
After a flurry of hellos and introductions, the unpacking was promptly abandoned in favor of getting ready. The apartment buzzed with chatter and laughter as the women pulled out their best outfits.
Finally, Vanessa announced, "Alright ladies, showtime!"
Vanessa's car, a sleek red convertible, purred to life in the street below. Soon, they were cruising through the city, the wind whipping through their hair as they sang along to the music blaring from the speakers.
The club, a converted warehouse pulsating with vibrant lights and thumping bass, was everything Clara had promised. They waited patiently in a short line, then Maya, with a winning smile and a strategically placed compliment, managed to convince the burly bouncer to let them skip the queue.
Inside, the music enveloped them. Bodies swayed on the dance floor, lost in the rhythm. Clara grabbed Scarlett's hand and pulled her into the throng.
"Come on, Scarlett! Let loose!" she shouted over the music.
Scarlett hesitated. The flashing lights and pulsating music were a bit overwhelming, but seeing Clara having a blast, she decided to give it a shot. She moved awkwardly at first, but Clara's infectious energy soon had her swaying her hips and laughing.
Maya and Vanessa joined them, and soon the four of them were a tangle of limbs and laughter on the dance floor. They danced to pop hits, old classics, and even a slow song or two, their worries temporarily forgotten.
However, Scarlett noticed a flicker of her earlier sadness return whenever a man approached her to dance. One particularly persistent fellow, his hair slicked back and his shirt unbuttoned a tad too far, wouldn't take no for an answer.
He leaned in, his breath strong of something sweet but definitely not minty fresh. "You look amazing," he slurred, his voice barely audible over the music. "What's your name?"
Scarlett forced a smile. "Hi, I'm... uh... Beatrice," she lied, the absurdity of the name making her want to giggle.
"Beatrice," the man echoed, his brow furrowed. "That's a... unique name."
"It suits me," she declared, trying not to burst out laughing.
"Indeed," he mumbled, attempting to take her hand. But before he could, Maya materialized out of nowhere, a mischievous glint in her eyes.
"Hey there, good-looking!" she said, batting her eyelashes at the man. "Care to buy a beautiful lady a drink?"
The man's gaze flickered to Maya, a hesitant smile spreading across his face. Scarlett couldn't hold back a laugh. Maya's intervention, perfectly timed and completely over the top, had saved her from an awkward situation.
As the night wore on, the drinks flowed and the dance floor became their stage. They sang off-key to their favorite songs, told embarrassing stories, and laughed until their stomachs hurt. Despite the lingering sadness about Henry, Scarlett found herself feeling lighter, a flicker of hope rekindled within her.
Scarlett perched on the edge of a booth, her head spinning. The music thrummed through her body, a pleasant thrum compared to the dizzying chaos in her head. Leaning against the cool vinyl, she closed her eyes, hoping the world would stop tilting for a moment.
A deep voice startled her eyes open. "Looking like you could use a refill, beautiful."
Scarlett blinked, focusing on the face hovering near hers. Then, a wave of unwelcome recognition washed over her, erasing the blurry edges of her vision.
"Randall?" she croaked, her voice thick with surprise. "What are you doing here?"
Randall, the bane of her college existence, with his perfectly tousled hair and perpetually smug grin, beamed back at her. "Well, Scarlett," he drawled, "when I heard there was a gorgeous woman at this club who looks exactly like my old college crush, I knew I had to investigate."
Scarlett's stomach lurched. Randall had never been her crush, more like a persistent annoyance, a frat boy whose idea of a conversation was bragging about his daddy's money and boasting about his latest conquest.
Six years had passed since graduation, but some things, she realized with a grimace, never changed.
"Uh-huh," she mumbled, looking for an escape route. "Nice to see you, Randall, but..."
He cut her off, plopping down next to her with a thud. "But what? We have so much catching up to do! Remember that time we..."
Scarlett tuned out his droning voice, her mind desperately searching for a way out. She didn't want to relive college memories with Randall, especially not with the lingering taste of betrayal still clinging to her tongue.
Suddenly, an idea struck her. With a feigned smile, she cut him off mid-sentence. "Oh my god, Randall, that's hilarious!" she exclaimed, a touch too loudly. "You wouldn't believe it, but I just remembered the funniest story..."
She launched into a completely fabricated tale, weaving a story about an strange professor who often wore mismatched socks. As she spoke, her voice grew louder, more animated, anything to drown out Randall's attempts to interject.
From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. Clara, her face etched with concern, was pushing through the crowd towards them.
"Hey Scarlett, everything alright here?" Clara asked, her voice a beacon of relief in the overwhelming noise of the club.
Scarlett shot her a grateful look. "Everything's great, Clara! Just catching up with an old friend," she said, her voice dripping with forced cheer.
Randall, finally catching on, puffed up his chest in an attempt to appear impressive. "That's right," he declared, holding up a neon-green cocktail with a plastic flamingo perched on the rim. "Just reminiscing about the good old days."
Scarlett eyed the drink with suspicion. "Oh, how thoughtful," she said, taking the glass hesitantly. "But actually, I think I need some fresh air."
Randall's face fell slightly, but before he could protest, Scarlett stood up, her head swimming but her resolve firm. Muttering an excuse about needing the restroom, she navigated the dense crowd, leaving Randall and Clara behind.
She made her way to the far side of the club, the cooler air a welcome relief to her flushed cheeks. Lost in her thoughts, she didn't notice Randall weaving through the crowd behind her until he was standing right in front of her.
"There you are," he said, a smirk playing on his lips. "I thought I lost you."
He held out the same neon-green monstrosity, his smile widening expectantly. Scarlett's suspicions grew stronger. What exactly was in that drink?
"Thanks, but no thanks," she said politely, pushing the glass back towards him.
Randall's smile faltered slightly. "Come on, Scarlett," he wheedled. "Don't be shy. One drink won't hurt."
"Actually," she countered, her voice gaining a steely edge, "two might."
Randall's eyes narrowed. He wasn't used to being rejected, especially not by a woman he considered "easy prey."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled, his voice laced with a hint of menace.


Scarlett didn't back down. "It means," she said, her voice rising above the music, "that I can see right through you, Randall. You haven't changed a bit. Still the same arrogant, self-entitled..."
The rest of her sentence was cut short by a hand grabbing her shoulder roughly. Spinning around, she saw Randall looming over her, his face flushed with anger. 
"Just because you're not interested in reliving your glory days with a successful businessman like me doesn't mean you have to be rude."
Clara, who had followed Scarlett discreetly, pushed her way between them. "Hey! Back off," she said, her voice surprisingly firm for someone half Randall's size.
Randall scoffed, dismissing her with a wave of his hand. "This doesn't concern you, sweetheart."
But before he could continue, Scarlett reacted. With a surprising burst of energy fueled by anger and a touch of leftover rum and coke from earlier, she snatched the offending drink from his hand.
The plastic flamingo toppled over, sending 

CHAPTER SIX – THE ENTITLED RICH BOY