Afternoon Glow
Sunlight poured over Galeries de l'Or, spilling across white marble floors and catching on glittering window displays. Monaco was glowing, golden and expensive. The girls didn't walk through the luxury district—they owned it. Or at least, they made it look that way.
Twelve shadows, twelve souls. Deadlier than loaded guns and dressed like saints.
They entered in slow waves, blending into the high-end chaos like a work of art. Mia stood near the entrance of Dior, arms folded, sipping from a champagne flute one of the clerks offered her, unknowing he'd already handed her his wallet.
Regg was inside already, deep in a numbers argument with a cashier.
"No, I'm correct," she snapped, tapping her black stiletto. "Your decimal placement is wrong, and if you don't fix it, I'll assume you're laundering money and call the press." The poor boy almost cried.
Madi, in a silk lilac dress that danced with every step, posed beside a glass wall, pretending not to watch a billionaire's son from across the gallery. He looked back. He smiled. She winked. He blushed. She rolled her eyes and walked off.
Ann and Juliette were trying on ridiculous feathered hats in Prada.
"You look like a sad flamingo," Juliette laughed.
Ann posed dramatically. "A rich flamingo."
In a corner, Ether and Debby casually slid two designer bracelets onto their wrists. No alarms. No guilt. Just elegance and quiet theft.
Pesha was already bored. "Can someone create a scene? Please? I'm dying."
"I could scream," Tessie offered, scrolling her phone with one hand, adjusting her pearl corset with the other. "Or kiss a stranger. Maybe both."
Oma was crouched beside Vee behind a Gucci display, watching a security guard like prey. "He has a limp," Oma whispered. "Which means we've got 30 seconds tops if we're grabbing that tray."
Vee didn't blink. "I only need 15."
Iffy held up a tight red dress. "This says I'm either going to seduce a man or slit his throat."
"Perfect," Mia said with a smirk. "Buy it."
"I'm not buying anything," Iffy replied and walked off with the dress still in hand.
They weren't just shopping. They were setting the tone. Preparing. Gathering fuel for the night ahead.
By the time they left the gallery, the staff were smiling, waving, complimenting, and completely unaware half the inventory was missing.
The girls had gotten everything they needed.
And they were just getting started.
---
Golden Hour Ride
The limo purred down the coastline like a beast in silk. Inside, it was a mess of perfume, laughter, and chaos. Shoes were off. Bags were open. The girls looked like overfed cats with claws still out, proud of the trouble they'd stirred at the gallery.
Tessie sprawled across the seat, tossing truffle fries into her mouth. "That Prada clerk said I looked like Beyoncé. I said, 'Baby, Beyoncé wishes.'"
"He was legally blind," Regg said without looking up from her phone.
Madi leaned against the tinted window, scrolling through stolen photos on her camera. "That billionaire's son? He asked if I had a boyfriend." She turned. "I said yes—twelve of them. All armed."
Oma laughed from the back. "He looked like he needed therapy after that."
Pesha pulled off her earrings and dropped them into her lap. "I'm exhausted and I didn't even do anything."
"You blinked at the Cartier man," Debby pointed out.
"He gave me his card," Pesha shrugged.
Ether, legs crossed like royalty, was quietly transferring money from a clerk's phone she'd borrowed "to call a friend."
Vee was studying her reflection in a compact mirror. "I think I want to wear black tonight."
Ann poked her. "We all want to wear black. This is Monaco, not Coachella."
Mia, sitting in the front corner seat like a queen on a throne, finally spoke—low, calm, and serious enough to make the whole limo fall quiet.
"Listen up, bambinas."
Twelve heads turned.
"Tonight isn't for nonsense. We're not just there to drink champagne and dance with idiots. We blend in, we pull heat, and we fish for leads. Billionaires talk when they're high and horny."
Juliette snorted.
"We go in as goddesses," Mia continued, "but we leave as ghosts. No prints. No links. Just stolen attention and maybe a few loose tongues."
"Like spies with lashes," Iffy murmured.
Mia smiled faintly. "Exactly."
The limo slowed in front of their coastal mansion. The villa stretched like a piece of paradise—arched windows, private pools, marble walls kissed by the Mediterranean sun. It looked innocent.
Inside, it wasn't.
As they filed out, the girls scattered like perfume—each one heading for her wing. They had three hours until nightfall. Enough time for war paint, silks, blades, and masks.
The kind of night that could rewrite fate was coming.
And the girls of fire were ready.
---
Evening Ember & Arrival at the Party
The mansion was alive with tension. Curling irons hissed. Perfume misted through the air like expensive smoke. Music played low from Ether's room—some moody jazz bleeding into trap from Tessie's side. Dresses were flung over beds. Heels stood like soldiers waiting for their queens.
Juliette zipped up a blood-red corset that turned her into a walking threat. "Too much?" she asked.
Madi walked by in a sleek gold dress that shimmered like temptation. "It's Monaco. Too much is the bare minimum."
Regg was quiet, applying eyeliner sharp enough to stab a man. She didn't wear red for beauty. She wore it like blood.
Iffy leaned against the vanity, applying a nude gloss. "Masks are ironic. We lie better without them."
Ann had a dagger strapped to her thigh, hidden beneath an emerald gown. "If one of you dances with a man named Lucien, walk away. He's mine."
In her room, Mia stood before her mirror in black silk that fit her like a shadow. Her mask was lace, delicate but dangerous. Like her. Her mother's ring gleamed on her finger—a reminder of the empire she came from and the one she planned to build.
Pesha emerged in silver, eyes glittering, heels too tall for innocence.
Debby wore navy—quiet elegance with a slit high enough to ruin reputations.
Oma, last to be ready, walked down the marble stairs in wine velvet, mask in hand, curls flowing like defiance. She looked like trouble bottled in beauty.
Vee waited at the door, hair slicked back, dressed in black-on-black. "The car's ready. Time to flirt with devils."
---
Arrival: The Billionaire's Masquerade
The venue was a cliffside château turned into a seduction playground—billionaire men, foreign royalty, and dangerous charmers lounging under gold chandeliers.
Valets opened doors.
The girls stepped out like smoke—one after the other, in a line that turned every head near the entrance. Masks on. Eyes sharp. Lips smirking.
The guards whispered. The crowd watched.
They didn't come in like guests. They entered like a warning.
Inside, the ballroom pulsed with dark jazz, champagne fountains, masked faces, and secrets begging to be overheard.
A waiter passed with champagne. Ether took two.
Juliette already had a man offering his name—and his account.
Oma walked in slower than the rest, her eyes scanning the room… and then stopping.
Across the ballroom, watching from the shadowed balcony in an obsidian mask, stood a man with a lion's aura.
She didn't know it yet.
But that was Kaine London.
And the war had just begun.
---
Masquerade Mayhem
The ballroom was drowning in opulence.
Velvet drapes, crystal chandeliers, and bodies glittering in expensive anonymity. The scent of money, musk, and mystery choked the air. Every corner whispered opportunity—and threat.
Madi was already on the dancefloor, her laughter like wind chimes over violins. A sheikh had offered her his watch, and she hadn't even told him her name.
Juliette moved like a siren through the crowd, her hand brushing men's sleeves, her voice low and rich. She wasn't talking—she was collecting data.
Regg found herself in conversation with a Swiss banker. He thought she was flirting. She was memorizing his passcode from how he tapped his phone.
Debby and Pesha played tag with twin billionaires—brothers who thought they were running game. They had no idea they were being baited.
Iffy cornered a man in navy, a politician with a scandal dripping off his lips. She listened sweetly, laughing at his jokes—recording every word.
Vee was already behind the scenes. Flirting with the catering manager for backdoor access, slipping through hallways, tagging blueprints in her mind.
Ann and Tessie were seated like queens with two wine glasses and three stolen IDs between them. Tessie, always the sweet one, had just slipped a note into a man's jacket that read: I know your mistress' name. Want me to tell your wife? He turned white.
Meanwhile, Mia wasn't playing games. She was watching the room. Observing. Tracking movements, security patterns, faces. She wasn't seducing men.
She was seducing the map of the empire.
And Oma—Oma was still frozen.
That man on the balcony hadn't moved.
He was sipping scotch, silent, carved from shadow. His mask was plain. His aura wasn't.
He hadn't looked at anyone—except her.
She looked away first.
---
The night thickened with more wine, more whispers, and a few stolen diamonds (thank you, Regg). Music swelled. Laughter blurred.
Until—
BANG!
The music dropped. A glass shattered. A scream—then silence.
The lights flickered.
In the center of the ballroom, a masked guest dropped to the floor. Bleeding. A bullet in his chest.
No one moved.
Then chaos erupted.
Guards. Shouting. Running heels. Gasps. Exit scrambling.
But the girls?
They stood still. Eyes sharp. Calm.
They didn't do it. But someone just sent a message.
Mia's eyes narrowed. "It's not random."
Juliette whispered, "That shot wasn't for him."
They all looked to the balcony.
But the man in the obsidian mask?
Gone.
Kaine London had vanished.
And in Oma's hand?
A note she didn't know she had grabbed.
"I always see you first."
.
.
.
.
.
To Be Continued....