Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 68858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“I was told the whole place feels like something out of a dream.” Melody chimed in; her expression thoughtful.
Peyton laughed. “Or a nightmare, depending on how you look at it.”
"Thanks for that," I joked, trying to keep the mood light despite the nerves twisting in my stomach.
His comment about nightmares felt a little too close to the truth. When we arrived at Encore, however, it was nothing like what I had started imagining. The building was sleek and modern, bathed in a red glow that made it look almost ominous against the darkening sky. Behind it, a high rise with the name Encore Suites. Both sat atop a large hill, isolated from the rest of the city. Men were stationed at the entrance, taking what looked like tickets, just as Peyton had mentioned. Their guns were visible on their hips.
Luxury cars were split into two lines, each waiting to be admitted. Our car passed without being stopped, the men waving us through and signaling for others to move aside. As we approached the entrance, Peyton’s eyes widened. "Holy shit," he murmured.
For him to say that meant it was truly impressive. I swallowed, taking in the sight of the men and women entering the club. They were all dressed impeccably—suits, button-downs, and dresses that looked like they cost more than most people made in a year. The women were stunning, each one seeming to belong to this world in a way I couldn’t imagine ever feeling.
The grandeur of the place, the armed men, the sea of impeccably dressed people—it was all overwhelming. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, my breath catching as I tried to keep my nerves in check. We bypassed the main entrance, the driver taking a turn that led us through a set of iron gates that slid open without a sound. As we circled around the building, I could feel the tension in the car rising. Melody and Peyton were both sitting a little straighter, their eyes darting around as they took in the surroundings.
The driver guided the car down a small ramp, leading us under the building. The change in lighting was immediate, a cooler, more subdued glow replacing the evening sunlight. We entered what was clearly a private parking garage, the polished floors gleaming under the soft lights embedded in the ceiling. A few luxury cars were already parked, each one as pristine and expensive as the last.
My anxiety flared up again, my fingers tightening around the clutch in my lap. The sight of those cars, each one probably costing more than I could ever dream of affording, only added to the overwhelming sense of being out of place. Melody noticed and shot me a reassuring look, but I could see the concern in her eyes.
Our ride came to a stop, and the driver turned off the engine. He didn’t say anything, just waited for the signal to let us out. Two men in dark suits approached us and one opened the door closest to Melody.
“This way, please,” the other said, his voice smooth and professional as he gestured for us to enter the lift. As the doors slid shut behind us, the lift began to ascend, and the solid wall in front of us suddenly transformed into tempered glass.
The club's interior was nothing short of breathtaking. It was a world unto itself, where luxury met decadence in a perfect storm. The main area was bathed in moody, atmospheric lighting that highlighted the rich tones of deep purples, golds, and blacks that dominated the space. The floors were sleek and polished, reflecting the ambient lights that danced across them, giving the illusion of movement beneath your feet.
The seating arrangements were equally impressive, with plush velvet forming intimate alcoves for the elite clientele. Each area was surrounded by low tables with glass tops, lit softly from within.
Above the main floor, towering columns reached up to a high ceiling, where chandeliers hung like modern art installations. The abstract designs mimicked the sparkle of stars, casting a warm, inviting glow over the entire space.
One of the most striking features was the DJ booth, set within a large circular structure that resembled a portal to another world. The backdrop was an enormous, vivid screen displaying shifting images—clouds of red and black, a stormy sky that seemed to pulse with the beat of the music. Two sleek black panther statues flanked the booth, adding an almost primal edge to the sophisticated surroundings.
In another part of the club, there were private stages, each with a singular pole, where performers—draped in shimmering fabrics—moved with ethereal grace. The lights there were more intense, spotlighting the performers in an array of colors, making their movements even more mesmerizing.
We stepped out of the lift once the doors slid open to reveal a dimly lit hallway. The polished marble flooring reflected the soft glow from the potted trees wrapped in diamond lighting. It was quiet—too quiet—and the atmosphere held a weight that made my pulse quicken. At the end of the hall, a grand marble staircase spiraled upward, leading to two large, tinted glass doors. Without a word, the man in front of us stepped out, and we followed, our footsteps echoing softly against the marble.