The Black Iris Reclaims Her ThroneChapter 3

Mr. Miller is pale, bowing and scraping before Sean.

Sean points to the wine stain and the crushed pin on the floor, his posture radiating unearned authority. "Miller, the standards of this club are slipping. You let a dishonest, clumsy cripple in here to insult my guests?"

Miller turns to me, his face hardening instantly. Tonight is the most important night in the club’s history; he can't afford a single mistake.

"Nicole! What have you done? Apologize to Mr. Vane and Miss Montgomery right now!"

I look at the manager, this man who barks like a dog for anyone with a black Amex. "I did nothing wrong. Miss Montgomery tipped the glass herself."

Izzy immediately shrinks behind Sean, letting out a soft, trembling sob. "Nicole... you ruined my dress, and now you’re lying about it?"

Sean pulls her closer. "Miller, you hear that? Are you really keeping someone with such a disgusting character on your payroll?"

Miller wipes his brow and snarls at me. "Nicole Sinclair, you are fired! Effective immediately! Get on your knees and apologize to Mr. Vane!"

"Or what?" I ask. "You'll blackball me from the 'hospitality industry'?"

Miller is incensed. He slams his hand on the table. "You think you’re someone? I’m the General Manager! I can wipe you out with a phone call!"

Izzy peeks out from behind Sean, her voice sweet as poison. "Mr. Miller, her uniform is ruined too. That’s a custom club suit, isn't it? Since she’s fired, she shouldn't be allowed to wear it. Why don't you have her take it off before she leaves? It would be a good lesson for her."

The "friends" in the booth erupt into crude laughter. "Great idea, Izzy! Let’s see what the blind girl is hiding under that suit!"

Sean doesn't stop them. He crosses his arms, waiting.

"You heard them. Take it off. Do it yourself, Nicole, and maybe I’ll let this go."

Miller, desperate to please Sean, signals the guards. "Don't just stand there! Help her out of the clothes!"

Four guards close in, trapping me in the corner of the booth.

I reach into my pocket. My fingers brush against a small, sleek transmitter—the direct link to the building’s core security system.

"Sean," I say, my voice steady. "You’ve really lost every ounce of your humanity for the sake of a girl who plays you like a violin, haven't you?"

Sean’s face twists. "Still talking back! Strip her! I want to see how much pride she has left when she’s standing there in her underwear!"

The guards reach for my collar.

I sidestep the first one, driving my elbow into his ribs. He grunts, stumbling back.

The other three pull out their batons.

"You’re fighting back?" Miller screams. "Pin her down!"

Izzy pulls out her phone, aiming the camera at me. "Nicole, don't move too much. It would be a shame if you got a scar on your face; that’s the only asset you have left."

Sean watches the chaos with a look of pure, vengeful ecstasy. "Nicole, beg me. Just get on your knees, tell me you were wrong, tell me you’re nothing compared to Izzy, and I’ll make them stop."

I let out a cold laugh, my thumb hovering over the button. "Sean, you’ll be waiting for that day until the sun burns out."

Just as a guard’s baton swings toward my shoulder—

Beep—Beep—Beep—

A deafening, high-pitched alarm echoes through the entire club. A Level Red lockdown.