The champagne felt icy. Lights glowed soft and warm. Yet everyone there envied my place.
I sensed it - how they stared, like I was something to catch, but I wasn't. Not ever. I moved past them in my crimson Valentino dress, swirling fizzy champagne from a name-brand bottle, snapping pics with that smoky lip tint, tossing out flirty posts online. Meanwhile acting cool, even though I knew they were studying each step.
Alright. Just let 'em look.
I built this thing piece by piece. Outta the hood into a high-rise spot. Starting empty-handed, now I got it all. If they believed it's only about makeup and slick moves? That works fine for me.
"Selina, oh my GOD!" Some influencer—twenty million followers, zero personality—grabbed my arm. "This launch is literally everything. You're such an inspiration!"
Appreciate it, love. I handed her a grin - seemed genuine, though it wasn't. Just don't forget to mention our names online, alright?
She drifted off while I locked eyes with Maya from afar. Back when we were nine, we became tight - now she runs marketing for me. Her glass went up, along with that sly grin. Far cry from sneaking sweets out of corner stores.
The DJ changed the song. Because of that, everyone swayed together, caught up in the moment. Inside this borrowed ballroom, bodies pressed close - two hundred strangers turned fans. Her name? Selina Vega. Founder of a makeup empire. A millionaire who built it herself.
Queens girl made it big.
If they just had a clue.
My phone vibrated on my leg. Message from Bishop: Rear space. Be there in five.
Showtime.
I moved through the crowd like a politician's spouse - brushing arms, chuckling at lame punchlines, letting each person think they were special while secretly ticking off minutes. That's how this game goes. Getting folks to trust your smile even when your mind's miles away.
The back hall felt more hushed. Less light spilled from the walls. The music's thump faded into a slow pulse while I walked the narrow passage in heels clicking loud. Bishop stood by the far door, Marcus beside him - both wired tight, watchful like wolves, sharp with tension.
"They on time?"
"Early," Bishop muttered - tone rough, like gravel spinning in metal. He stared hard. Real keen on starting
Eager was just another word for desperate. When someone's desperate, I set the price - no argument.
I made my way inside - once a spot for coats. These days, it's where three guys from Washington Heights were hanging out. They're Dominican. A bunch of raw coke, like ten slabs, sat on a metal table between them.
Carlos—thick neck, thicker accent, gold teeth flashing—smiled when he saw me. "La Reina. You look good enough to be on your own billboards."
I didn't smile back. "This the quality we discussed?"
"The best. Ninety-two percent pure, straight from—"
Hold on," I said, walking around the table but not grabbing anything. You can spot quality right away - just look at it. The shade, the feel, the way it's packed. This stuff seemed legit. "Just give me the contact."
"Two hundred a brick. That's the—"
"One seventy-five," I stopped him. Let the quiet hang there. "All ten - cash upfront. Right now."
A kid twitched, fingers edging toward his belt. Then - Bishop was already on him, fast as a shadow, right in front before things could go bad.
Carlos raised his palm - clever move.
"That's—"
"Fair." I met his eyes. Let him see the steel under the lipstick. "We both know you need me more than I need you. So let's not pretend this goes any other way."
I saw him work it out. Pride on one side, money on the other.
Money always wins.
"Okay. One-seventy-five."
Bishop grabbed the bag. As Carlos's crew tallied it - every bill crisp, no issues - I glanced at my phone. Maya had messaged: you around? folks wondering
Me: just a quick 2-minute chat.
The deal went off without a hitch. Carlos plus team grabbed the cash and slipped out the rear exit. Come morning, that stash'd be split up, boxed, already sliding into my channels. Within days, it'd turn to cash parked in places I don't even log into, drifting through fake fronts and real shops - like rain seeping under doors.
Beautiful, really.
I looked at myself on my screen. Lips just right - no smudges. Grin set and waiting.
It's time to return to who folks once cheered for.
Yet Bishop held me back right there by the entrance.
"Boss. There's somebody at the party you should know about."
My gut sank. "Who?"
"Cop. Plainclothes but I know the type. Been watching you all night."
Shit.
"You sure?"
"Positive."
I thought fast. "If he wanted to move he would've. He's fishing. Let him."
It wasn't completely honest, yet Bishop had no reason to find out.
I moved back into the room, and the vibe hit hard - sound cranked up, folks deeper in their cups, everything sharper than before. That moment when pretending faded out… raw life took over instead.
I grabbed fresh champagne but then began scanning - spotting for the threat.
That's when he came into view.
Leaning near the counter. Didn't order a drink. Just looking around.
Tall, with tan skin, neat look - like he clocked into an office every morning. Yet something off showed up in his gaze. Not focused on the fancy lights or smiling faces around.
They kept staring at me as if I held the answers.
Our eyes locked, then - bam - I knew. Not who he looked like. But what he carried inside.
Predator.
Like me.
I lifted my drink. That was tough.
He straightened up. Still, from this spot, I noticed it - the lump beneath his coat. On the left.
Gun. Cop. Problem.
I stayed locked on him. A grin spread - showing I noticed, understood his game, yet felt no fear.
Maya appeared at my elbow. "Girl, you see that fine man staring at you?"
"I noticed."
"Well? You gonna talk to him?"
"Not yet." I turned away. "Let him come to me."
Becasue that's how it worked. Get them believing they're after you - when actually, you were tracking them from the start.
The celebration tapered off near midnight. Folks trickled away, tipsy but grinning, pockets buzzing with messages. I waved goodbye, gave thanks, mentioned we'd meet up once more.
All the time knowing he was watching me.
Once the final visitor had gone while cleaners started their work, I finally allowed my thoughts to drift into the past.
He was gone.
Yet there was a card resting on the counter.
I moved closer - grabbed it.
Detective Marcus Stone. NYPD. Narcotics Division.
At the back, written clearly: We need to chat. Right away.
I looked at him, heavy silence between us. One cop in disguise, hanging around my place. Eyes on me all night. Maybe he had clues - maybe just guesses.
This wasn't good.
This might wipe it all out.
I tucked the card into my bag, gave Maya a smile as she came near, chuckled even though I wasn't really listening to her talk about tonight.
Yet deep down, I'd started fighting. While on the surface nothing showed.
Becoming careless is what got Detective Marcus Stone into trouble now.
He told me he'd show up.
And now?
Right now, I finally got a chance to get ready.