Undercover Blonde Ch. 03

The bathroom mirror reflected a stranger. Evie stared at the woman looking back at her, trying to find traces of Evelyn Sinclair beneath the careful application of makeup.

She'd already showered, her blonde hair still slightly damp at the roots. The black silk robe she wore, another item from Vanessa's wardrobe, slid smoothly against her skin. Its luxury felt foreign, another reminder that she was stepping into someone else's life, someone with different tastes and priorities than Evelyn Sinclair had ever possessed.

"Who are you?" she whispered to her reflection. The woman in the mirror mouthed the same words back but offered no answer.

She turned away from the mirror and padded barefoot through the apartment that still didn't feel like hers. The audition outfit lay spread across the bed: the tight electric blue dress, the tiny matching thong, the glossy black stilettos.

On the coffee table, her forged documents waited. A social security card, driver's license, and birth certificate, all bearing the name Vanessa Marie Blake. She'd studied them so intently over the past few days that the details were burned into her memory.

Evie slid open the glass door to the balcony and stepped out into the humid Miami morning. Eight stories below, cars moved in steady streams, people went about their lives, unaware of the woman watching from above.

The view was different than the one from her actual condo, the one she shared with Joe. The thought of him sent an ache through her chest. What was he doing right now? Was he at work, drafting plans at his desk, stopping occasionally to stare at her photo? Or was he at home, moving through their shared space that must feel so empty without her? She closed her eyes and tried to picture him going through his morning routine. Coffee first, followed by a quick shower. He'd be dressing in one of his button downs, probably the blue one because it was his favorite. Maybe he'd reach for the tie she liked, only to remember she wasn't there to see it.

She gripped the railing of the balcony. It had been only three days since she'd heard his voice, since she'd made that final call. It felt like weeks. Months, even. Time stretched and warped in this strange space where she was neither fully Evie nor completely Vanessa.

A knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She checked her watch. 7:57 AM. Lexi and Grant were right on time. She took one last look at the city and turned back inside, sliding the glass door shut behind her.

When she opened the front door, Grant stood there holding a cardboard tray of coffee cups. Lexi followed behind him holding a paper bag from a local bakery in her hand.

"Morning," Grant said. "Ready for the big day?"

Evie stepped aside to let them in. "As ready as I'll ever be."

Lexi set the bag down on the kitchen counter and began pulling out pastries. "We brought sustenance. You'll need the energy."

"Thanks," Evie said, accepting the coffee cup Grant handed her. She took a cautious sip. It was exactly how she liked it. She wondered if that preference was in a file somewhere, another data point collected about Evelyn Sinclair.

"So," Grant said, settling onto one of the stools at the kitchen island. "Today's the day."

"This is it," Lexi agreed, her tone brisk and businesslike. "After this, you're on your own. More or less."

Evie leaned against the counter, cradling her coffee. "More or less?"

"Well, I'll be at the club sometimes," Lexi reminded her. "But not every shift, and not as your handler. Just another dancer."

"And you'll have weekly debriefs with me," Grant added. "But day to day, you're going to be navigating this solo."

Evie nodded, trying to ignore the flutter of anxiety in her stomach. "I know."

Lexi pulled out a croissant and handed it to Evie. "Eat. We've got about two hours before you need to leave for your audition, and we need to go over a few things."

"Again?" Evie couldn't keep the edge from her voice. "We've been through all of this during training."

"Yes, again," Lexi said, her tone sharpening slightly. "Because from the moment you walk out that door, everything changes. No more safety nets, no more practice runs."

Grant's tone was more measured. "We need to reconfirm your cover identity, review prohibited actions, go over the communication protocol one more time, and talk strategy for the audition."

Evie sighed but nodded. "Fine. Let's do it."

They moved to the small dining table. Evie settled into one of the chairs, pulling her robe tighter around herself as Lexi sat across from her. Grant took the seat at the end of the table.

"Let's start with the basics," Lexi said. "Your cover identity. Run through it."

Evie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "My name is Vanessa Marie Blake. I'm twenty-four years old, born in Tampa, Florida. I moved to Miami three weeks ago after breaking up with my boyfriend, Trevor, who was controlling and emotionally abusive. I have limited savings and I'm motivated by financial pressure to try dancing."

"Good," Grant nodded. "And if someone pushes for more details about your past?"

"I keep it vague but consistent. I mention that I'm not close with my family, that Tampa felt too small after the breakup, that I needed a fresh start."

"And Trevor?" Lexi pressed.

"Five years together. He isolated me from friends, controlled my finances, checked my phone. Never hit me but made me feel worthless. Classic emotional abuse pattern."

Grant nodded approvingly. "You've got the facts down but remember, it's not just about reciting a biography. You need to inhabit Vanessa's emotional reality. Her fears, her hopes, her triggers."

"I know that," Evie said.

"Do you?" Lexi challenged, leaning forward slightly. "Because stepping into Vanessa's emotions means letting go of Evie's. It means feeling exposed when a man watches you dance but not feeling guilty about it. It means enjoying attention without wondering what Joe would think."

Evie felt her jaw tighten. "I get it."

"Do you?" Lexi repeated, her dark eyes holding Evie's. "Because the moment you bring Evelyn Sinclair's emotional baggage into that club, you compromise yourself."

Evie took a slow sip of her coffee, using the moment to regain her composure. "I understand the difference between a cover and a costume, Lexi. I've been training with you for days."

"Good," Lexi said, though her expression suggested she remained unconvinced. "Now, let's review prohibited actions."

Grant opened a small notebook, though Evie suspected it was more for show than because he needed to reference anything. "First and foremost: Do not reveal your true identity or let it be known that you're working undercover."

"Obviously," Evie muttered.

"Not as obvious as you might think," Grant countered, his tone serious. "When you're tired, when you're stressed, when you've had a few drinks, or when you feel a connection with someone, those are the moments when slips happen."

"Also," Lexi added, "don't promise legal outcomes. You are not authorized to promise anyone immunity, reduced charges, or protection. Only prosecutors can make those kinds of deals. If you start making promises, the operation gets terminated."

"I understand," Evie said, her irritation building. Did they think she was stupid?

"Second," Grant continued, seemingly oblivious to her growing annoyance, "do not contact any family, friends, or anyone else from your real life. Not even from a payphone, not even from someone else's phone. The risk of exposure is too high."

Evie felt a pang at this reminder. The thought of three months without hearing Joe's voice was still a raw wound. "I know."

"Third," Lexi took over, "do not use drugs. Not only does it open you up to prosecution, but it compromises your memory and judgment, which could lead to blowing your cover and ruining the entire case. Not to mention it makes evidence inadmissible."

"I wouldn't-"

"Remember your training," Lexi continued, cutting her off. "If someone offers you something, you know how to handle it. Pretend to snort but actually blow out, dispose of pills discreetly, keep your drink in your hand at all times."

Evie bit back a sharp retort. Of course she remembered. She'd spent hours practicing these techniques, going through scenario after scenario.

"Fourth," Lexi said, her tone unchanging, "do not engage in sexual activity with targets or informants."

Evie's head snapped up. "I'm married. I would never betray Joe."

Lexi's expression remained neutral. "Vanessa's not married."

"I'm fully aware of that, but I am," Evie said, heat rising to her cheeks. "And I don't appreciate the implication that I'd-"

"It's not an implication," Lexi interrupted. "It's a standard protocol that we review with every operative. But since you brought it up, let's be clear: You are incredibly beautiful, and men will throw themselves at you constantly. They will flirt with you. They will test you. They will proposition you. And you will get lonely."

"I won't-"

"You will," Lexi insisted, her dark eyes unflinching. "Isolation does things to people, Evie. It makes connections that would normally seem shallow feel profound. It makes desire more intense, loneliness more acute."

Evie felt her mouth go dry. There was something in Lexi's tone, a rawness that suggested she wasn't just reciting protocol but speaking from experience.

"If," Lexi continued, "you do end up sleeping with someone, make sure it's not anyone who works at the club. Make sure it's a one-night stand, not someone who's going to come around regularly or start visiting your apartment. And for God's sake, use protection."

"I'm not going to sleep with anyone," Evie said, each word distinct and firm.

"Also," Lexi pressed on as if Evie hadn't spoken, "if someone falls for you, and someone will, you're allowed to act interested but not allowed to be interested. Emotional compromise will get you killed."

"Are you done?" Evie asked.

Lexi held her gaze for a moment before nodding. "For now."

"Good." Evie turned to Grant. "What's next?"

Grant cleared his throat, clearly sensing the tension between the two women. "The communication protocol. You've memorized it?"

"Yes."

"Walk me through it anyway."

Evie exhaled heavily, making no effort to hide her frustration. "The burner phone stays at the apartment at all times. I check in daily using the secure text app. On workdays, I check in after my shift once I'm back home, reporting anything mission relevant. On off days, I check in either morning or mid-day with a wellness update."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, continuing. "I use the green, yellow, or red system for status. Green means everything's normal, yellow means caution but operational, red means immediate danger."

"And if you miss a check-in?" Grant prompted.

"If I miss a check-in, you'll call the burner. If that fails, you'll check the club. No contact for eight-plus hours initiates a search." She met his gaze directly. "I've also memorized the emergency number to text if I can't get to the burner phone."

She recited the number without hesitation. "And the emergency extraction code is 'Tell mom I found her necklace,' which triggers an extraction via a faked scenario. Arrest, raid, medical emergency, whatever's fastest."

"Anything else?"

"Weekly in person debrief with you at the yoga studio on 7th at 1 PM on Mondays."

"Perfect," Grant said, offering an approving nod.

"I'm not an idiot," Evie said flatly. "I remember what we've spent the last week going over."

"No one thinks you're an idiot," Grant replied. "But this isn't about intelligence. It's about muscle memory. Under stress, people default to what's familiar. We need these protocols to be so deeply ingrained that you could recite them in your sleep."

"Fine," Evie said, though her tone suggested it was anything but. "Can we move on?"

"You should get dressed," Lexi said, glancing at her watch. "You'll want some time to get into the right headspace before you leave."

Evie stood and moved toward the bedroom, aware of Lexi following her. She hesitated at the doorway, turning to look at the other woman. "I can dress myself."

"I know," Lexi said simply. "But I need to see the full effect. Make sure everything works together."

With a sigh, Evie entered the bedroom and approached the bed where her outfit lay. She let her robe fall open, then slip from her shoulders, standing naked for a moment before reaching for the thong. She stepped into it and adjusted it.

The dress came next, a tight electric blue sheath that required some wiggling to get into. It hugged her tightly, the hem barely covering the tops of her thighs. The neckline plunged low, revealing the valley between her breasts.

Finally, she slipped on the stilettos. She turned to face Lexi, who stood leaning against the door frame, her expression analytical.

"Well?" Evie asked.

Lexi studied her for a moment, then nodded. "It works. The color makes your eyes pop, and the cut shows off your legs." She stepped forward, making a small adjustment to the neckline. "There. Perfect."

Evie felt a strange mixture of pride and discomfort at Lexi's approval. A week ago, the idea of standing nearly naked in front of this woman would have mortified her. Now, it felt almost routine. The thought was both unsettling and liberating.

"Let's head back to the living room," Lexi said. "We need to discuss audition strategy."

Back in the living room, Grant's eyes widened slightly before he quickly changed his expression into professional neutrality. "You look... the part."

"Thanks," Evie said, carefully sitting on one of the dining chairs. The dress rode up dangerously high, forcing her to tug at the hem.

"Don't tug at it," Lexi immediately corrected. "The dress is supposed to show skin."

"It just feels really short, especially when sitting," Evie muttered.

"It is short," Lexi agreed. "That's the point. Now, let's talk strategy." She turned to Grant. "Actually, I need to see her dance one more time. Just to be sure."

Evie suppressed a groan. "Now? Here?"

"Yes, now," Lexi insisted. "This is your final rehearsal."

"Fine," Evie said, pushing herself to her feet. "Music?"

Grant pulled out his phone and after a few taps, a slow, bass heavy track began playing. Evie moved to the center of the living room, taking a deep breath as she closed her eyes, allowing the rhythm to seep into her body.

When she began to move, it was with a deliberate slowness that she'd practiced for hours under Lexi's watchful eye. Her hips swayed in time with the music, her hands sliding down her body in a teasing caress. She spun slowly, letting the dress ride up just enough to show a tantalizing glimpse of the blue thong beneath.

As the song built, so did her movements, becoming more explicit, more inviting. She hooked her thumbs into the straps of her dress, pulling them down her shoulders inch by inch, revealing more skin with each beat of the music. The dress slid down to her waist, exposing her breasts. She continued dancing, her movements fluid and sensual, though she stopped short of removing the dress completely.

When the song ended, she stood half-naked in the middle of the living room, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She pulled her dress back up without being asked, adjusting the straps over her shoulders.

Lexi nodded approvingly. "Much better than when we started. You've been practicing."

"Every night," Evie confirmed. It was true. She'd spent hours in front of the bedroom mirror, drilling the movements. Not because she enjoyed it, but because she refused to fail.

"Good," Lexi said. "Now, let's talk about your main goal: getting into the VIP section. That's where the intelligence gathering happens."

Evie returned to her seat at the table as Grant began outlining what they'd previously discussed. "The key is to be invited so you need to get good at the job as fast as possible. That means several things."

He held up one finger. "First, demonstrate high earning potential. The VIP section is reserved for dancers who bring in substantial revenue. That means being popular with customers, getting regular private dances, and showing management that you're a valuable asset."

A second finger joined the first. "Second, get noticed by the right clients. The important guys need to know you by name, to specifically ask for you. That's your ticket to the VIP section."

"Third," he continued, "gain management's trust by being reliable, avoiding drama, and earning the respect of the staff. Show up on time, follow the rules, and be professional."

"And fourth," Lexi added, "navigate the internal politics. Make allies, not enemies. Don't compete with established dancers for regular customers. Find your own niche."

Evie nodded, absorbing the information even though they'd covered it multiple times during training. "Got it."

"But," Lexi cautioned, "don't seem desperate. Don't push too hard."

"I know," Evie said. "Patience is key. Let it unfold naturally."

"Exactly," Grant confirmed. "This isn't a sprint, it's a marathon. We have three months. Use them wisely."

Evie checked her phone. 10:10 AM. "I should get going soon," she said. The drive to Elysium would take about twenty minutes, but she wanted to arrive early, to have time to center herself before the audition.

"Just a few more things," Grant said. "Remember, Lexi works at Elysium part-time, so don't expect to see her every shift. You're strangers who happen to work at the same club."

"And you'll be seeing Grant once a week for debrief," Lexi added. "Sometimes I'll be there too, sometimes not."

"We're not abandoning you," Grant assured her, his tone softening slightly. "You'll have support throughout this operation. If something goes wrong, if you feel unsafe, you use the protocols we've established."

Evie nodded, feeling a sudden wave of nervousness wash over her. This was real. In less than an hour, she would walk into Club Elysium as Vanessa Blake, leaving Evelyn Sinclair behind.

"It's time," Lexi said.

Evie gathered her documents from the coffee table and tucked them into the small clutch she'd be carrying. Lexi handed her a thin jacket to wear over her dress. "For the drive there," she explained. "No need to give the whole neighborhood a preview."

At the door, Evie paused, taking one last look around the apartment. It still didn't feel like home, but it was her anchor now, the only space where she could be herself, or whatever version of herself remained after stepping into Vanessa's skin.

"Ready?" Grant asked softly.

"As I'll ever be," Evie replied, echoing her words from earlier.

They walked her to her car, the Honda Civic that matched her own back home but belonged to Vanessa Blake. As Evie unlocked the car, Lexi surprised her by placing a hand on her arm. When Evie turned, she found the other woman's expression uncharacteristically open.

"You've got this," Lexi said. "You're stronger than you think, Evie."

The unexpected encouragement caught Evie off guard. For a moment, she felt a connection with Lexi that transcended their handler-operative relationship, a recognition between women navigating a world designed to objectify them.

"Thanks," Evie said simply.

Grant gave her a small nod of encouragement. "We'll be waiting for your check-in tonight."

Evie slid into the driver's seat, setting her clutch on the passenger seat beside her. As she started the engine, she caught sight of Lexi and Grant watching from the parking lot, their expressions unreadable from this distance.

She backed out of the parking space and pulled onto the main road, the air conditioning slowly cooling the interior of the car. Her heart hammered in her chest, a mix of anxiety and anticipation coursing through her veins.

She was on her own now. Vanessa Blake was driving to her audition at Club Elysium, while somewhere deep inside, Evelyn Sinclair whispered a silent prayer that she would find her way back home when this was all over.

The traffic light ahead turned yellow, then red. Evie brought the car to a stop, using the moment to take a deep, steadying breath. When the light turned green again, she pressed the accelerator, moving forward into the unknown. There was no turning back now.

---

Club Elysium was more reminiscent of an exclusive mansion than a strip club. Evie slowed her car as she approached, momentarily stunned by the contrast between the photos in her training materials and the reality before her. The place radiated an aura of luxury.

Evie guided her Honda into the parking lot, noting the collection of vehicles that suggested serious money. German luxury sedans and Italian sports cars mixed with more modest options. Her stomach tightened as she pulled into an empty space and cut the engine. For a moment, she sat motionless, her fingers still wrapped around the steering wheel.

"You can do this," she whispered to herself. Evie took a deep breath, grabbed her clutch, and stepped out into the humid Miami air.

Her heels clicked against the pavement as she approached the entrance, each step deliberate despite her racing heart. A muscular man in a black suit stood at the door, his expression blank as he watched her approach. She recognized him from the surveillance photos in her briefing materials. Marcus, ex-military, head of security. His eyes scanned her.

"Can I help you?" His voice was deep but neutral, neither welcoming nor hostile.

"I'm Vanessa Blake," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "I have an audition scheduled with Tanya at eleven."

Marcus nodded, reaching for the radio clipped to his belt. "Wait inside the foyer," he instructed, holding the door open for her.

The foyer was luxurious. Dark hardwood floors shone beneath recessed lighting and abstract art adorned the walls. A reception desk stood empty as the club was clearly not yet open for business.

"Tanya, there's an audition here for you. Vanessa Blake," Marcus spoke into his radio, his eyes never leaving Evie.

"Send her to the main floor. I'll be right there." A woman's voice crackled through the radio.

Marcus gestured toward a set of double doors. "Through there."

Evie nodded her thanks and moved forward, pushing through the doors into the main area of the club. She paused, momentarily overwhelmed by the space. The room was vast, arranged around three performance stages, a main stage that dominated the center, and two smaller satellite stages positioned throughout the club. The main stage featured a silver pole that extended to the ceiling, illuminated dramatically even in the daytime lighting. Plush leather booths curved around the stages in semicircles, allowing clear views from every angle. A long, sleek bar stretched along the back wall, shelves stocked with hundreds of bottles.

"First time in a club like this?"

Evie turned to find a woman approaching. Tanya was taller than Evie had expected, with a dancer's physique preserved well into her forties. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she wore a fitted black dress that managed to look professional. Her eyes, dark and assessing, took in Evie's appearance.

"Yes," Evie admitted, deciding that honesty, or at least the version of honesty Vanessa would offer, was the best approach. "It's... impressive."

Tanya smiled. "Two million in renovations will do that. We reopened six months ago after a complete overhaul." She gestured around them as she began walking, clearly expecting Evie to follow. "The owners wanted something that didn't feel like a typical strip club. The lighting, the sound system, even the air filtration is all top of the line."

Evie followed, absorbing details that hadn't been clear from the surveillance photos: the subtle patterns etched into the leather booths, the surprisingly tasteful artwork, the quality of the materials used throughout.

"Most clubs feel sticky the moment you walk in," Tanya continued, leading Evie toward the main stage. "We wanted something closer to a high-end nightclub where the entertainment happens to include beautiful women." She stopped at the edge of the stage. "This is where you'll audition."

Evie nodded, her gaze sweeping across the expanse of the stage. It was larger than she'd anticipated, the surface smooth and clean.

"ID?" Tanya held out her hand expectantly.

Evie retrieved her driver's license, well Vanessa's driver's license, and passed it over. Tanya examined it, looking back and forth between the photo and Evie's face before handing it back.

"So, Vanessa," Tanya began, her tone shifting from tour guide to interviewer, "tell me why you want to dance here."

Evie had rehearsed this, had worked through the answer countless times with Lexi. "I just moved to Miami after ending a long-term relationship. I need to support myself, and honestly, I've always been curious about dancing." She paused, injecting a hint of nervous vulnerability that wasn't entirely faked. "A woman I met at a bar works as a dancer. She mentioned the money is good, especially at high-end places."

"And you've never danced before? At any club?" Tanya's eyes narrowed slightly, assessing.

"Never professionally," Evie admitted. "But I've been practicing... a lot."

Tanya nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "Stage name?"

"Destiny," Evie replied, the name still feeling foreign on her tongue.

"Original," Tanya remarked with sarcasm. "And what sets you apart, Destiny? Why should I hire you over the dozens of other gorgeous women who walk through that door every week?"

Evie hadn't explicitly prepared for this question but found Vanessa's answer rising naturally to her lips. "I'm a quick learner. I'm reliable. And I'm not afraid to work for what I want." She paused, then added with more confidence than she truly felt, "Plus, I'm not just a pretty face. I know how to read people, how to make them feel like they're the only one in the room."

Something in Tanya's expression shifted, not quite approval, but a flicker of interest. "We'll see about that." She gestured toward the stage. "You'll dance to two songs. For the first, you can keep your underwear on. For the second, you'll need to be completely nude by the end. Understand?"

Evie nodded, her mouth suddenly dry. "Yes."

"Good. The stairs are over there." Tanya pointed to the side of the stage before moving to a control panel near the DJ booth. "I'll start the music when you're ready."

Evie climbed the small set of stairs, feeling exposed before the performance had even begun. The stage was empty except for the pole at its center. She moved to the middle of the platform, trying to orient herself in the space, to imagine it filled with customers watching her.

Tanya looked up. "Ready?"

Evie nodded, taking a deep breath as she positioned herself, one hand resting lightly on the pole. A moment later, music filled the space, a slow, heavy beat that seemed to pulse through the floor beneath her feet. She closed her eyes briefly, letting the rhythm seep into her body.

Then she began to move.

All of Lexi's training took over, the hours of practice guiding her motions. She swayed her hips, ran her hands over her body, moved around the pole sensually. When she reached for the straps of her dress, she didn't hesitate, sliding them down her shoulders with tantalizing slowness. The dress pooled at her stiletto clad feet, leaving her in nothing but the electric blue thong. She continued dancing, now running her hands over her bare breasts, moving with growing confidence as the first song approached its end.

When the second song began, Evie allowed herself to become bolder. She approached the pole, executing a simple spin that Lexi had drilled into her. As the music built, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her thong, peeling it down inch by inch, turning to offer a view of her perky ass as she bent to step out of it.

Now completely naked save for her heels, Evie felt a strange surge of power. The vulnerability of nudity transformed into something else. Control, perhaps. She owned the stage, owned the moment, owned the eyes that would soon be on her. For a disorienting second, she wasn't sure if it was Vanessa or some hidden part of Evie herself that reveled in this newfound power.

When the music faded, she stood center stage, chest rising and falling with each breath, waiting for Tanya's assessment.

The older woman was smiling now, a genuine expression of approval. "Well, well," she said, approaching the stage. "Someone has definitely been practicing."

Evie collected her discarded clothing, slipping back into her dress. "I told you I was serious about this."

"You did," Tanya agreed. "And I'm pleasantly surprised. You have natural grace, which isn't something I can teach. Your inexperience shows in a few places, but nothing that can't be refined with time." She held out a hand to help Evie down from the stage. "You're hired. I want you to start tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Evie hadn't expected such immediate placement. "That's... soon."

Tanya's expression grew shrewd. "Having second thoughts already?"

"No," Evie said quickly. "Just surprised."

"Look, Vanessa," Tanya said. "I've been doing this a long time. If I send you home now, you'll spend the next day or two overthinking, getting nervous, maybe even talking yourself out of it. Better to jump into the deep end right away." She squeezed Evie's arm lightly. "We need dancers for Sunday shift anyway. It's busy but not overwhelming. Perfect for breaking in someone new."

Evie nodded, recognizing the logic. And truthfully, she couldn't afford to delay her integration into the club. "Okay. Tomorrow it is."

"Good," Tanya said with a brisk nod. "Now, do you have more outfits? Different colors, styles?"

Evie shook her head. "Not really. Just this one."

"You'll need more," Tanya said. "There's a store a couple blocks down called Elite Allure. Tell them you're starting at Elysium, and they'll set you up with what you need. Grab at least three or four outfits, a robe if you don't have one, and a lock for your locker." She paused. "Bring a few hundred in cash for your first night. House fee, tip outs, you know."

"House fee?" Evie asked, allowing Vanessa's ignorance to show.

Tanya studied her for a moment, then reached for her radio. "Mia, I need you on the main floor. We have a new girl starting tomorrow who needs orientation." She turned back to Evie. "Mia will explain everything. She's been with us for three years and knows the ropes."

A few minutes later, a thin redhead appeared. She wore leggings and a loose tank top, giving her the appearance of someone who'd arrived early to prepare for her shift.

"Mia, this is Vanessa. She's starting tomorrow," Tanya said. "She's never danced before, so she'll need the full rundown."

Mia's green eyes widened slightly as she assessed Evie. "Wow, jumping straight into Elysium without any club experience? Bold." There was no judgment in her tone, just surprise tinged with respect.

"Vanessa, Mia will show you around and explain how things work," Tanya said. "I need to get back to the office, but I'll see you tomorrow. Be here by six. Your shift starts at seven." With that, she turned and walked away, her heels clicking against the floor.

Mia grinned at Evie. "So... first time dancing?"

"Yes," Evie admitted. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only in your eyes," Mia said, her tone kind. "That deer in headlights look is pretty normal for newbies." She gestured for Evie to follow her. "Come on, I'll give you the grand tour and tell you how this place works."

Mia led Evie through the club, her running commentary a mixture of official policies and insider tips. "This is the main floor where most of the action happens," she began. "The stages rotate based on seniority. The main stage is for the experienced girls or those bringing in serious money. New girls usually start on the satellite stages until they prove themselves."

They moved toward the bar at the back wall. "Customers can buy you drinks but never leave yours unattended. If you need to step away, get a fresh one when you come back." She leaned in closer. "And there's a code with the bartenders. If you order a 'virgin sunrise' they'll give you juice that looks like a cocktail. Keeps your head clear while customers think they're getting you drunk."

Evie filed this information away, grateful for the insider knowledge. They continued past the bar to a hallway lined with doors.

"These are the Sapphire Rooms," Mia explained, opening one to reveal a space with a leather loveseat. "Basic private dance rooms. The house takes a cut of what you charge per song. Add more if they want touching, but nothing below the waist. Officially, anyway." Her expression suggested the rules had flexibility.

"And over here," she continued, leading Evie down a curved hallway, "are the Diamond Suites." She pushed open a door to reveal a much larger room with plush seating, a round bed, and atmospheric lighting. "These cost several times what the Sapphires do, and the house still takes their percentage. They're soundproofed and have their own music controls." She gestured to a panel on the wall. "More privacy, more options."

"Options?" Evie prompted, playing to Vanessa's naivety.

Mia smiled. "Let's just say the rules about touching get... reinterpreted in here. Especially for VIP clients." She shrugged. "The cameras are still watching, but management tends to look the other way if it's a big spender."

"Cameras?" Evie asked, glancing around the room.

"Everywhere except the bathrooms," Mia confirmed, pointing discretely to a small dark dome in the ceiling corner. "Security monitors everything. It's for our protection, mostly, but also to make sure no one's cutting deals under the table."

They exited the Diamond Suite, and Mia led Evie toward a grand spiral staircase. "The second floor is VIP only. That's where the real money happens, but you won't get access until you've proven yourself. The Maddox brothers are selective about who works up there."

"The owners?" Evie asked, injecting curiosity into her voice.

"Yeah, Victor and Damien Maddox," Mia said. "They're... particular about how things run. Victor's the one you'll see more often. He handles the business side. He's very hands on with operations. Damien shows up too, but he's more about security and, um, handling problems."

"Problems?"

Mia's expression sobered slightly. "Just... don't cause trouble, you know? They're fair as long as you follow the rules, but I've seen girls who tried to skim off the top or bring in drugs disappear really fast." She brightened again. "But hey, play it straight and you'll do great."

They continued the tour, moving to the dancers' dressing room behind the main stage. The space was large and well maintained, with two walls of lighted makeup stations and a row of lockers along the back.

"This is where the magic happens," Mia said, gesturing to the makeup mirrors. "Each girl gets assigned a station. You can personalize it, keep your stuff there." She moved to the lockers. "You'll get one of these too. Bring your own lock."

At the center of the room, several couches formed a communal area. A refrigerator stood in the corner, and a bulletin board covered in notes and schedules hung on the wall.

"House mom keeps the fridge stocked with drinks and snacks," Mia explained. "Loretta. Total sweetheart but doesn't take any shit. She'll help with costumes, makeup, emergency tampons, whatever you need. Tip her well."

Evie nodded, absorbing the information. "What about money? Tanya mentioned a house fee?"

"Right, the financial breakdown," Mia said, settling onto one of the couches and patting the spot beside her. As Evie sat, Mia launched into an explanation of the club's economics. "House fee depends on the shift but will be about a hundred. That's just to walk in the door. You pay that up front, no exceptions."

"One hundred just to work?" Evie asked.

"Welcome to the industry," Mia said with a wry smile. "But trust me, you'll make it back in the first couple hours if you hustle. Then there's tip out. Bartenders, DJ, house mom, bouncers." She counted off on her fingers. "On a decent night, you'll still probably clear five or six hundred. Good nights? Two to three thousand, sometimes more."

Evie maintained a neutral expression even as her mind reeled. Five hundred dollars? Lexi had confidently promised her two thousand on slow nights, with potential earnings over ten thousand on busy nights. The disparity was staggering. She'd based major life decisions on those figures, leaving Joe, risking her safety, gambling with her future.

First the contact rules, changing from "occasional calls" to a complete communications blackout after one final conversation with Joe. Now this dramatic difference in earning potential. What else had they lied about? The danger level? The timeline? The hundred-thousand-dollar completion bonus?

If Grant and Lexi had misrepresented such fundamental aspects of the operation, how could she trust anything they'd told her? The realization settled like a stone in her chest: she was on her own now, with no way to contact Joe or her family, committed to a dangerous undercover role based on information that was proving increasingly questionable.

"And the schedule? How does that work?" Evie asked, trying to stay focused.

"Elysium runs seven days a week. 12 PM to 6 AM. Newbie shifts are usually seven to three, though you can leave earlier if it's dead. You'll work whatever schedule Tanya gives you."

They continued through the club, Mia pointing out security positions, emergency exits, and staff areas. "Marcus is head of security," she explained as they passed the security room with its wall of monitors. "He's intense but fair. If a customer gets handsy in a bad way, he'll have them out the door before you can blink."

Finally, they circled back to the main entrance. Mia turned to Evie with an encouraging smile. "Any other questions? I know it's a lot to take in at once."

Evie hesitated, then asked, "What are they like? The owners? I mean, beyond business."

Mia considered the question. "Victor's the brains. He's cold and calculating but not cruel if that makes sense? He notices everything. If your shoes don't match your outfit, he'll comment on it." She lowered her voice slightly. "Damien's intense, unpredictable sometimes. Both of them have their favorite girls, but they keep it professional, mostly."

"Mostly?" Evie prompted.

"Look, I don't spread gossip," Mia said. "But some of the girls who work upstairs spend time with them outside the club. Private parties, events, whatever. Those girls make serious bank."

Something clicked in Evie's mind. The disparity between Lexi's promised earnings and Mia's realistic assessment suddenly made sense.

Two thousand on slow nights. Ten thousand on weekends.

Those weren't numbers for regular dancers. They were figures for women who caught the Maddox brothers' attention, women who were invited to VIP sections, women who became their confidantes or perhaps more.

That's what they wanted all along, she realized. Not just for her to dance at the club and mingle with clients, but to insinuate herself with the brothers, to become one of "those girls" by blurring professional boundaries. The realization felt like a betrayal yet also aligned perfectly with the mission. After all, what better way to gather intelligence than to become trusted by your targets?

A chill ran through her as she wondered just how far Lexi and Grant expected her to go. What exactly did "private parties" entail? What would these men expect from a woman they favored? The implications made her stomach tighten, but she kept her voice steady as she asked about working upstairs.

Mia laughed. "One step at a time, honey. Master the main floor first. Make good money, catch Victor's eye, in a good way, and maybe after a few months, you'll get an invitation." She patted Evie's arm. "Don't try to rush it. The VIP section isn't for everyone."

"Thanks for all this," Evie said sincerely. "It's a lot to process."

"You'll be fine," Mia assured her. "Just watch, listen, and learn. And hey, I'll be here tomorrow night too."

They said their goodbyes, and Evie stepped back into the Miami sunshine, blinking against the sudden brightness.

Following Tanya's instructions, Evie walked the two blocks to Elite Allure. The boutique was sleek and modern, its windows displaying mannequins in outfits far more elaborate than what she'd worn for her audition. A bell chimed softly as she entered.

A woman with platinum blonde hair approached immediately, her smile professional but warm. "Welcome to Elite. How can I help you today?"

"I'm starting at Elysium tomorrow," Evie explained. "Tanya sent me to get some outfits."

The woman's demeanor shifted subtly, becoming more engaged. "Elysium! Congratulations. They're very selective." She extended her hand. "I'm Renee. I've been outfitting their dancers for years. Let me guess, first time dancing?"

Evie nodded, wondering if her inexperience was that obvious to everyone.

"Don't worry, we'll set you up," Renee assured her. "Elysium runs a classier operation than most. Their girls tend toward elegant rather than overtly flashy." She gestured for Evie to follow her. "What's your stage name? We like to match the persona."

"Destiny," Evie replied.

"Hmm, classic but with potential," Renee mused, leading Evie through racks of clothing. "Let's start with some basics and then add a few statement pieces."

What followed was a whirlwind of selections. Each outfit was designed for maximum visual impact and ease of removal, practical considerations that Evie found herself appreciating from a purely technical standpoint.

"You'll need these too," Renee added, handing Evie several G-strings and thongs in various colors. "And a robe for between sets."

By the time Evie left the boutique, her credit card was significantly lighter and her arms were laden with bags. The total had been much higher than she'd expected, but considering it was an investment in her cover, she couldn't bring herself to balk at the cost.

Back in her car, Evie sat for a moment, letting the air conditioning cool her skin. She'd done it, passed her first real test as Vanessa Blake. She'd convinced Tanya and interacted with Mia without raising suspicions. The realization brought both relief and a strange sense of accomplishment.

It was a solid start, but only a start. Tomorrow would bring the real challenge, her first shift as a dancer. Not just an audition where mistakes could be forgiven, but a full night of performing and interacting.

The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through her. What if she couldn't maintain the façade for hours on end? What if a customer recognized her from her real life? What if the Maddox brothers saw through her immediately?

She pushed these thoughts aside. One step at a time, she reminded herself. She'd passed today's test. Tomorrow would take care of itself.

---

The apartment door clicked shut behind Evie, sealing her in silence. She set the bags down near the couch and kicked off her heels. Strange how such a small detail, the freedom of bare feet after a few hours in stilettos, could momentarily ground her in reality.

"Well," she said aloud to the empty room, "I guess I'm a stripper now."

The words were both absurd and true. Evie Sinclair, who'd sold designer clothes to wealthy women last week, who'd married at twenty and never lived alone, who still called her mother every Sunday, that woman was now Vanessa Blake, exotic dancer at Club Elysium. The cognitive dissonance made her laugh.

She moved to the bathroom, peeling off the tight blue dress, dropping it unceremoniously on the tile floor. The shower knobs turned under her palm, water pressure building as steam began to fill the small space. She caught her reflection in the mirror and barely recognized herself.

Under the hot spray, Evie closed her eyes and let the water flow down her body. The audition replayed behind her closed lids: Tanya's gaze as she danced, the vulnerability of nakedness transmuted into something like power, the unexpected ease with which she'd stepped into Vanessa's skin.

As she lathered shampoo into her hair, Evie thought of Joe. What would he think if he could see her now? The question twisted in her gut like a knife. He'd be horrified, surely. Devastated. Or would there be something else there too? A flicker of arousal at the thought of other men watching his gorgeous wife? She pushed the thought away, uncomfortable with its implications.

She stayed under the water much longer than necessary, reluctant to face the practical realities of preparing for tomorrow. When she finally emerged, her skin was pink from the heat, her fingertips pruned. She wrapped herself in a towel and padded to the bedroom where she slipped into loose sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, clothes that belonged to Evie, not Vanessa.

Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since the morning's pastry with Grant and Lexi. Normally, she'd cook something simple. She and Joe had fallen into an easy rhythm in the kitchen over the years, moving around each other as they prepared meals together. But tonight, the thought of cooking for one in this unfamiliar kitchen felt overwhelming.

Evie grabbed her phone, Vanessa's phone, and scrolled through food delivery apps. She settled on Thai food, ordering enough for dinner and leftovers tomorrow. Thirty minutes, the app promised. She set the phone down and glanced at the burner phone sitting on the kitchen counter where she'd left it this morning.

Time to check in.

She picked up the device and opened the secure messaging app. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before she began typing:

"Audition successful. Hired to start tomorrow night. 7PM-3AM shift. Made first contact with floor manager Tanya and one dancer Mia. Collected preliminary intel on club operations and hierarchy. Status green."

She hit send and set the phone down, watching as the message disappeared into the encrypted system. A few minutes later, a response appeared:

"Good work. Maintain cover and establish routine. Focus on building credibility with staff. Document any important interactions. Stay alert."

The message was unsigned, but Evie recognized Grant's tone. His response was professional, almost clinical, but she felt a flutter of pride nonetheless. Good work. The simple affirmation shouldn't have mattered, but it did. It was validation that she was doing this right, that she wasn't completely out of her depth.

A knock at the door announced her food's arrival. Evie accepted the bag from a bored looking delivery man, then spread her dinner across the coffee table: pad thai, green curry, jasmine rice, spring rolls. Enough food for at least two people, she realized as she stared at the containers. Old habits died hard. She'd ordered as if Joe would be joining her.

She ate on the couch, chopsticks digging into the noodles as she flipped through channels on the TV. Nothing held her attention. Not the reality shows, not the news, not even the home renovation program that she and Joe would sometimes watch together.

Halfway through her meal, Evie's gaze kept drifting to the shopping bags still sitting where she'd dropped them. With a sigh, she set her food aside and gathered the bags, carrying them to the bedroom. One by one, she unpacked her new work wardrobe, laying each piece across the bed.

The outfits looked somehow smaller, more revealing than they had in the boutique. The black lace bodysuit was practically transparent, with strategically placed solid panels that would cover her nipples and pubic area until she decided to remove them. The red sequined two-piece glittered as she lifted it. The white ensemble looked almost bridal, a twisted parody of innocence designed to appeal to men's fantasies. The pink outfit was the most traditionally 'stripperish' with marabou trim.

Evie ran her fingers over the fabrics, considering each piece. Which one should she wear for her first real shift? The black seemed safest, most sophisticated. The red would make her stand out, draw more attention. Better tips, perhaps, but also more scrutiny. The white might play up her "newcomer" status, emphasize the innocence that both Tanya and Mia had detected in her. The pink felt too costume like, too obvious.

Before she could second guess herself, she stripped off her comfortable clothes and reached for the black bodysuit. She slipped it on, adjusting the straps until it fit her exactly as intended. She turned to the mirror, taking in the transformation.

The woman staring back was undeniably Vanessa Blake. The cut of the bodysuit elongated her already long legs, while the plunging neckline drew attention to her cleavage.

Evie turned slowly, examining herself from different angles. This is what they'll see tomorrow night, she thought. Dozens of strangers, their eyes following the lines of her body, imagining what lay beneath the lace. The thought should have revolted her, should have sent her ripping the outfit off and hiding under the covers. Instead, she felt that same curious detachment she'd experienced during her audition, as if she were observing herself from a distance.

"Vanessa," she said to her reflection, testing the name on her tongue. "I'm Vanessa."

She tried the other outfits too, cataloging how each one made her feel, how they transformed her body into something to be displayed, admired, desired. By the time she'd tried them all, hanging them carefully in the closet afterward, she felt more settled in her undercover identity.

Back in her comfortable clothes, Evie cleared away the remnants of her dinner, putting the leftovers in the refrigerator. Her gaze fell on her phone.

With a sigh, she sat down and opened it. If she was going to live as Vanessa Blake for the next three months, she needed to get her affairs in order. Joe had always handled their finances, not because she couldn't, but because he enjoyed budgeting. Evie had been content to let him take the lead, checking in periodically but otherwise trusting his judgment.

Now, she needed to manage everything herself. She found a notepad in the coffee table drawer and began listing her monthly expenses. She stared at the list, then calculated the total: approximately $3,000 per month.

According to Mia, she could expect to make between $500 and $3,000 per night, depending on how busy the club was and how well she hustled. Even with the house fees and tip outs, she'd make her monthly expenses in two or three decent shifts.

The realization was startling. She'd been making about $45,000 a year at Veronique's, which had felt respectable. But if Mia's estimates were accurate, she could potentially earn that much in a couple month at Elysium. The money wasn't the point of her mission, of course, but the raw economics were undeniable.

She thought of what Grant had said: "You've got to commit fully." Vanessa Blake wasn't just a name and a backstory; she was a woman making specific life choices, navigating a particular set of circumstances. To truly inhabit her, Evie needed to understand those choices, to live them as fully as possible.

Maybe this really is a chance to grow, she thought, tapping her pen against the notepad. She'd never lived alone before, never managed her own finances independently, never structured her time without someone else's schedule influencing hers. Despite the bizarre circumstances, there was a freedom in it that she hadn't anticipated.

She looked at the clock: 9:47 PM. Her shift tomorrow would run from 7 PM to 3 AM, a schedule that would invert her normal routine. She'd need to stay up late tonight, sleep in tomorrow, and continue shifting her internal clock.

Evie moved to the kitchen and made a cup of herbal tea, then settled back on the couch and picked up the remote. She flipped through channels until she found what she was looking for: a true crime documentary. The familiar format was comforting, like reconnecting with a part of herself she'd almost forgotten in the whirlwind of training.

The case involved a series of bank robberies that had escalated to murder. The narrator's deep voice detailed how the robbers had grown increasingly bold, their methods evolving with each successful heist. Evie found herself doing what she always did: analyzing the evidence, forming theories, looking for patterns that might have eluded investigators. It felt good to exercise that part of her brain, the observational skills that had landed her this assignment in the first place.

As the documentary progressed, however, Evie found her thoughts drifting back to Elysium. She thought of what Mia had said about the brothers: Victor, the calculating businessman, and Damien, the unpredictable enforcer. Their descriptions aligned perfectly with the profiles Grant had shown her, but hearing about them from someone who interacted with them regularly added a dimension that written reports couldn't capture.

The documentary ended at midnight, giving way to another episode in the series. Evie's eyes were growing heavy, but she forced herself to stay awake.

As the second documentary's credits rolled, Evie found herself struggling to keep her eyes open. She turned off the TV and moved to the bedroom, setting an alarm for 11 AM. She'd have most of the day to prepare for her shift, to continue mentally transforming into Vanessa Blake.

Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, Evie thought about the audition, the tour of the club, the shopping expedition, the budget planning, each pushing her further into her new identity, further from the life she'd left behind.

She thought of Joe again, wondering what he was doing at that moment. Was he lying awake too, staring at the empty space beside him?

"I miss you," she whispered into the darkness. "But I'm doing this. I'm really doing this."

The admission felt important somehow, an acknowledgment that despite her reservations, despite her fears, she was committed to seeing this through. Not just for David's sake, not just for the money, but because a part of her needed to know what she was capable of when pushed beyond her comfort zone.

---

The alarm jolted Evie from a dream about Joe. They'd been in their kitchen, cooking together, his hands guiding hers as they chopped vegetables. The dream dissolved as she blinked awake, momentarily disoriented by the unfamiliar bedroom with its impersonal furnishings.

11 AM. She'd managed to sleep in at least. Evie ran her hand over the cool sheets, a habitual gesture seeking Joe's warmth.

"Enough," she muttered, throwing back the covers.

She shuffled to the kitchen, where the leftover Thai food waited in the refrigerator. Pad Thai for breakfast. Another small step away from her normal life, where breakfast meant Joe's brewed coffee, eggs, and maybe yogurt with granola.

As she ate, Evie mentally rehearsed the day ahead. Her shift would start at 7 PM. She'd need to arrive by 6 PM to set up her station, meet the other dancers, get the lay of the land. That left several hours to prepare, physically and mentally.

Tonight, she'd cross another line that couldn't be uncrossed. Not just dancing naked during an audition with only Tanya watching, but performing for a club full of strangers, men who'd pay to see her body, who'd slide bills into her g-string, who'd request private dances in those small rooms Mia had shown her.

"I am Vanessa Blake," she reminded herself, voice firm in the empty apartment. "I am Destiny."

After finishing her breakfast, Evie laid out her outfits for the night. The black lace bodysuit would be her opening look, sophisticated enough to make a good first impression but still undeniably sexy. For her second set, she'd switch to the red sequined two-piece that would draw attention on stage. The white ensemble would come later, when the club was busier and she needed to stand out in the crowd. She'd save the pink outfit with its playful marabou trim for her final performance, something memorable to end the night.

She arranged each outfit with its matching thong, packing them in her duffle bag to prevent wrinkling. According to Lexi, frequent costume changes were essential strategy. They created the illusion of newness throughout the night, kept customers interested, and justified approaching the same men multiple times. She added her robe and makeup bag, already mentally planning the dramatic eyes and nude lips that Lexi had taught her would photograph well under club lighting. Her jewelry selections were minimal but strategic: different pieces to complement each outfit while remaining easy to remove during performances.

Nervous energy propelled her through a light workout. Nothing too strenuous, she'd need her strength for tonight, but enough to loosen her muscles and calm her mind. Push-ups, squats, stretches that reminded her body of its capabilities.

Evie then took a long shower, letting hot water wash away the sweat and anxiety. As steam filled the bathroom, she closed her eyes and tried to center herself. What would her father think, seeing his daughter preparing for a night of exotic dancing? The thought twisted in her gut before she firmly pushed it aside. This wasn't about him, or Joe, or anyone else. This was about the mission.

After her shower, Evie sat at the small vanity in the bedroom and began the transformation into Destiny. As she worked, Evie studied her reflection, noting how each step of the process moved her further from Evelyn Sinclair.

Time slipped away as she prepared. When she checked her watch again, it was already 5:23 PM. The nervous flutter in her stomach intensified. In about half an hour, she'd be at Elysium. In ninety minutes, she'd be transformed completely into Destiny.

Evie dressed carefully, choosing comfortable leggings and a loose top that could be easily removed when she reached the club. She slipped her feet into flat sandals, saving her stilettos for work.

Before leaving, she checked herself in the mirror one last time. Even in casual clothes with her stage makeup, she looked different. More confident, perhaps, or simply more aware of her own body as an instrument.

Evie took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and headed for the door. It was time.

---

The employee entrance was unmarked, a plain metal door tucked into a side alley that ran alongside Club Elysium. As she walked towards it, Evie glanced over her shoulder at the line already forming at the main entrance. Men in business attire blended with younger guys in flashier clothes, all waiting for the chance to spend money inside.

She pressed the buzzer, her pulse quickening as she waited. What if they'd changed their minds? What if Tanya had reconsidered hiring someone with no experience?

The door swung open to reveal Mia's familiar face. "Hey, Destiny!" She grinned, the stage name rolling naturally off her tongue. "Right on time." She stepped back, gesturing for Evie to enter. "Come on in."

Evie stepped into a narrow hallway where fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The sound of music throbbed through the walls, though distinctly muffled compared to the pounding bass she'd anticipated.

"The club's been open since noon," Mia explained as she led Evie down the corridor. "But it won't really pick up until around nine. Sundays are weird like that. Early crowd is usually older guys, retirees, business types killing time before flights."

They reached another door, and Mia pushed it open to reveal the dancers' dressing room. Evie paused in the doorway, taking in the scene. More than a dozen women occupied the space in various states of readiness. Some lounged on the couches in the center scrolling through phones or chatting animatedly. Others sat at makeup stations, faces close to mirrors as they applied false lashes or touched up lipstick. A few moved between the lockers and makeup stations, changing outfits or reorganizing supplies.

Competing scents filled the air. Hairspray, perfume, food from plastic containers.

"It's always like this," Mia said, noting Evie's wide-eyed evaluation. "Organized chaos. You'll get used to it."

She guided Evie past the lounge area, nodding or waving to several dancers who glanced up curiously at the newcomer. "So, Tanya assigned you the station next to mine," Mia continued, stopping at two adjacent makeup tables along the wall. "She asked me to show you the ropes, which I'm happy to do. It's nice having someone new who isn't a complete disaster."

"Thanks," Evie said, setting her bag down beside the unoccupied chair. The table was bare, apart from a small sign that read "DESTINY". Compared to the neighboring stations, personalized with photos, trinkets, and accumulated supplies, her blank slate stood out starkly.

"And your locker is over here," Mia added, leading her to the back wall lined with narrow metal doors. "Number twenty-three. You brought a lock, right?"

Evie nodded, pulling the small padlock from her bag. "Got it covered."

"Perfect." Mia leaned against the lockers, watching as Evie arranged her belongings. "So, while you're setting up, let me give you the rundown of who's who." She gestured subtly toward a statuesque blonde counting cash at a nearby table. "That's Chloe. Been here three years, makes bank, doesn't talk much but she's decent enough. The two brunettes on the couch are Jasmine and Kylie, they're basically joined at the hip. Good dancers, but they can be catty if they think you're moving in on their regulars."

Evie followed Mia's gaze around the room, mentally cataloging each face and name, filing the information away. This was intelligence gathering, after all, even if it involved stripper politics rather than terrorist connections.

"The tall one with the braids is Zoe," Mia continued. "She's cool, been here longer than almost anyone. And-" she broke off as an older woman entered the room, her presence immediately drawing attention. "And that's Loretta, our house mom."

Loretta was in her forties, with dyed auburn hair swept into an elegant up do and makeup that managed to be both impeccable and age appropriate. She carried herself with an unmistakable authority, moving through the room with purpose, stopping occasionally to speak with different dancers.

"Loretta!" Mia called, waving the woman over. "Come meet our newest girl."

Loretta approached, assessing Evie. "Well, hello there, sugar," she said, her voice carrying a slight Southern drawl. "You must be Destiny. Tanya mentioned we had a fresh face starting tonight."

"That's me," Evie replied, extending her hand. "Nice to meet you."

Loretta bypassed the handshake and pulled Evie into a quick embrace. "We don't stand on ceremony here, honey. If you're dancing at Elysium, you're family." She stepped back, holding Evie at arm's length for a more thorough examination. "My, my, Tanya wasn't exaggerating. You are a stunner."

"Thank you," Evie said, heat rising to her cheeks.

"Don't thank me for the truth," Loretta replied with a wink. "Now, I'm sure Mia's explained that I'm the house mom, but do you know what that means?"

Evie shrugged. "Not exactly."

"I'm part den mother, part referee, part therapist, and part fairy godmother," Loretta explained. "I keep the dressing room stocked with everything from tampons to Band-Aids to safety pins. I'll help you quick fix a costume if it tears, lend you deodorant if you forget yours, spot you cash if you're short on the house fee. I also make sure nobody brings drama into my dressing room." Her voice hardened slightly at this last point. "We leave that mess on the floor, understand?"

"Yes ma'am," Evie nodded.

"Good girl." Loretta's smile returned. "Now get yourself dressed and ready. Tanya likes her dancers on the floor a little early, gives you time to get a feel for the night." She patted Evie's shoulder before moving on to address another dancer's question about a broken strap.

Evie turned back to her makeup station, unpacking her supplies. She arranged her brushes, palettes, and products in neat rows, creating order in this new, chaotic environment. From the corner of her eye, she noticed Mia watching her with interest.

"Not bad," Mia commented as Evie began touching up her already applied makeup. "Most newbies look like they got ready in the dark their first night."

Evie smiled, the background story she'd rehearsed with Lexi rising easily to her lips. "I used to work retail. Makeup was part of the uniform, even if nobody said it outright."

"Retail, huh?" Mia settled into her own chair, touching up her lipstick. "What kind?"

"Women's clothing," Evie replied, deliberately vague. "Nothing exciting. Just folding sweaters and convincing women they looked amazing in overpriced dresses."

Mia laughed. "Well, that's basically half this job too. Except we're the ones in overpriced dresses. Or without them."

Mia suddenly stood up. "Oh, I should show you the rotation schedule. Come on."

Evie followed her across the dressing room to a large bulletin board covered with various notices, sign up sheets, and a prominently displayed schedule grid.

"Here we go," Mia said, tapping a finger against the paper. "This shows who's dancing when."

Evie leaned closer, scanning the names until she found her own. DESTINY was listed in the second rotation for the main stage, right after a Crystal. Her mouth went dry. In less than an hour, she'd be dancing on that elevated platform, completely naked, in front of a room full of paying strangers.

"Don't worry," Mia said, noticing Evie's expression. "It's pretty chill. Sunday night, early crowd. Good time to get your feet wet." She grinned. "Tanya must like you. Newbies usually start on the satellite stages."

Evie nodded, trying to maintain her composure. "I guess that's a good thing?"

"Main stage means more exposure, better tips," Mia explained as they walked back to their stations. "Just don't overthink it. Your body already knows what to do."

Before Evie could respond, Tanya entered the dressing room, her presence commanding immediate attention. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on Evie.

"Destiny," she called, crossing to the makeup station. "All set for tonight?"

"Yes," Evie replied. "Just putting the finishing touches on."

Tanya nodded in approval. "Good. A few basics before you hit the floor." Her tone shifted to something more formal, clearly reciting rules she'd delivered countless times. "No drugs on premises. Period. If I catch you using, you're done. Drinking is allowed but keep it reasonable. You show up wasted, you go home without working. No fighting with other dancers. We have enough drama from the customers. No negotiating your own deals with clients. Everything goes through official channels."

Evie nodded at each point, though she noticed a few of the veteran dancers exchanging glances during the "no negotiating" rule.

"House fee is due upfront," Tanya continued, "collected by me or Loretta. You tip out the DJ, bartenders, and security at the end of your shift. Make sure you're on stage when scheduled. No excuses. If you're not feeling the music, fake it." She paused, her severe expression softening marginally. "Questions?"

"I think Mia's filled me in on most of it," Evie said.

"Good." Tanya glanced at her watch. "You've got about twenty minutes before floor time. Finish getting ready." She turned to leave but paused. "And Destiny? First nights are always rough. Just remember that every woman in this room had one. You'll get through it."

With that small encouragement, Tanya departed, her heels clicking against the floor.

"She's actually being nice to you," Mia commented once Tanya was out of earshot. "Must see potential."

Evie blew out a slow breath. "Let's hope she's right."

"She usually is," Mia replied. "Come on, let's get you into your outfit. Floor time's coming up fast."

Twenty minutes later, Evie stood backstage, her heart hammering against her ribs. She'd changed into the black lace bodysuit, its sheer panels leaving little to the imagination while still giving her something to remove during her performance. She'd opted for simple gold hoop earrings and a delicate anklet, accessories that would complement rather than compete with the outfit.

"Ready?" Mia asked, adjusting her own silver ensemble.

Evie forced a smile. "As I'll ever be."

"Just remember," Mia said as they walked toward the main floor, "the first approach is the hardest. After that, it gets easier. Start with older guys sitting alone. They're usually more generous and less grabby. Make eye contact, smile, ask if you can join them. Simple."

They stepped through the door onto the main floor, and Evie was immediately struck by the shift in atmosphere. The club had transformed since her audition. What had been an empty space was now alive with energy, dimly lit with spotlights illuminating the three stages. Music pulsed through the air, loud enough to create ambiance but not so overwhelming that conversation was impossible. The main stage featured a dancer in a gold bikini, moving with sensuality that had several men clustered around the edge of the platform.

Customers occupied about a third of the available tables, a decent early crowd according to Mia. The profile was exactly as she'd described, primarily older men in business casual, a few younger groups clearly pre-gaming for a longer night out, and a scattering of couples seated in darker corners.

"That group there," Mia murmured, nodding toward three middle-aged men seated near the bar. "Perfect for your first approach. They look like they're just off a business trip, probably staying at one of the airport hotels. Expense accounts make for good tippers."

Evie nodded, taking a steadying breath. "Here goes nothing."

She walked toward the table, forcing her posture into the confident strut she'd practiced with Lexi. The men noticed her approach immediately, their conversation faltering as their eyes tracked her movement. Evie smiled, making direct eye contact with the man who appeared to be the group's leader.

"Mind if I join you gentlemen?" she asked, her voice carrying that note of warmth she'd rehearsed so carefully.

"Please," the man replied, gesturing to an empty chair. He was in his fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and the comfortable demeanor of someone accustomed to authority. "I don't think we've seen you here before."

Evie settled into the chair, crossing her long legs slowly, aware of how the movement drew their attention. "That's because it's my first night," she admitted, allowing a touch of genuine nervousness to show through. "I'm Destiny."

"First night?" The man looked intrigued rather than dismissive. "Well, we're honored you chose our table, Destiny. I'm Henry." He gestured to his companions. "This is John and David. We're in town for a conference."

"Banking software," John added, as if she might be genuinely interested. He was younger than Henry, maybe early forties, with thinning hair and eager eyes. "Thrilling stuff."

Evie laughed. "I'm sure it has its moments." She leaned forward slightly, the posture calculated to enhance her cleavage. "So, is this your first time at Elysium?"

"Henry's a regular," David said. He was heavyset with a wedding ring he wasn't bothering to hide. "He insists it's the only club worth visiting in Miami."

"Smart man," Evie replied, flashing Henry a smile. "What brings you gentlemen out tonight?"

The conversation flowed easily enough, with Evie asking questions about their work, their hotel, how long they were staying, all information that Vanessa Blake would naturally inquire about, while Evie Sinclair filed away details about their spending habits, drinking patterns, and the dynamic between them. This was intelligence gathering of a different sort, about identifying potential sources of income.

After about fifteen minutes, Evie glanced at Henry's watch, remembering Mia's advice about not spending too much time at one table. She needed to circulate, to introduce herself to more customers before her stage time.

"Gentlemen," she said, offering them a warm smile as she stood, "I should probably introduce myself to a few more people. It being my first night and all." She smoothed her hands down the sides of her bodysuit, a gesture both practical and performative. "But I'd love to come back later if you're still here."

"We're not going anywhere," Henry assured her, reaching for his wallet. He extracted a twenty and held it out. "A little something to start your night right."

"Thank you," Evie said, accepting the bill. "That's very kind."

"Good luck out there," John added as she prepared to leave. "First nights are always the hardest, no matter what business you're in."

"I'll need it," Evie replied smile before turning to make her way through the club, scanning for her next opportunity to connect.

For the next thirty minutes, Evie moved from table to table, introducing herself to customers, engaging in brief conversations, explaining that it was her first night. Each interaction helped build her confidence, the persona of Destiny settling with each successful exchange. Men responded with immediate interest and undisguised desire, some willing to part with their money for nothing more than a few minutes of her attention.

It was intoxicating in a way she hadn't anticipated. Not the attention itself, but the power it represented. These men might control boardrooms and corporate budgets during daylight hours, but here, they waited eagerly for her approval, for her smile, for the chance to be acknowledged by her. The realization sent a confusing thrill through her.

"Destiny to the main stage in five minutes," the DJ's voice announced over the sound system, jolting Evie back to reality. Her heart, which had finally settled into a somewhat normal rhythm, immediately began racing again.

She made her way back to the dressing room to check her makeup and prepare mentally. At her station, she found Mia touching up her own lipstick.

"How's it going out there?" Mia asked.

"Better than I expected," Evie admitted, reaching for her lip gloss. "No one's thrown anything at me yet."

Mia laughed. "Good start. The stage is more intimidating than table approaches for most girls, but just remember, no one expects a Broadway performance. They just want to see a beautiful woman enjoying herself."

"What if I forget the moves?" Evie asked, genuine concern breaking through her facade.

"There are no wrong moves," Mia assured her. "Seriously. The song will guide you. And if all else fails, just walk around the stage looking sexy. Sometimes less is more."

The DJ's voice came through the speakers again. "Coming to the main stage, making her Elysium debut, please welcome... Destiny!"

Mia squeezed her arm. "That's your cue. You've got this."

Evie took a deep breath and headed for the stage entrance. The dancer before her was just finishing, collecting scattered bills before making her exit. They passed each other with a brief nod, a silent changing of the guard.

As Evie stepped onto the platform, the DJ continued his introduction. "Gentlemen, this is Destiny's very first night at Elysium, so let's make her feel welcome!"

The crowd responded with whistles and applause, many turning in their seats to get a better view of the newcomer. Under the bright lights, Evie could see faces more clearly than she'd anticipated, including Henry and his friends, who had moved closer to the stage.

The music began, a slow, heavy beat. She forced herself to move, to find the rhythm, to remember all the hours of practice. Her body responded, muscle memory taking over as she began to dance.

The first minute was terrifying, her mind hyperaware of every gesture, every step. But gradually, as men moved toward the stage and bills began to appear along the edge of the platform, something shifted. The faces blurred, the individual gazes merging into a collective audience. She wasn't Evelyn Sinclair performing for judgmental strangers, she was Destiny, a fantasy created to captivate and entice.

When she reached for the clasps of her bodysuit, her hands were steady. The garment fell away, leaving her in only a thong. The crowd's reaction was immediate, a surge of appreciation that manifested in more bills appearing at her feet. She continued dancing, working the stage as Lexi had taught her, making eye contact with the customers nearest the platform, offering each a moment of connection that felt exclusive even in this public setting.

By the time she removed her thong, leaving herself completely naked save for her heels and minimal jewelry, Evie had surrendered to the performance. This was dance, distilled to its most primal elements. Her body was an instrument, and she was playing it for maximum effect.

The song ended far sooner than she'd expected. She collected her discarded clothing and the scattered bills, offering the crowd a final smile before exiting the stage.

Back in the dressing room, she counted her earnings with trembling fingers. Two hundred and eighty-five dollars for less than fifteen minutes of work. The sum was both impressive and disturbing. More than she'd make in a day at Veronique's earned through nothing but her own naked body.

She changed into her red sequined two-piece, her mind still reeling from the experience. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her movements jerky and uncoordinated compared to the fluidity she'd found on stage.

"That was fantastic," Mia said, appearing beside her with a bottle of water. "The crowd loved you. Especially when you did that slow spin around the pole. Very sexy."

"Thanks," Evie replied, accepting the water gratefully. "It felt like an out of body experience."

"First time usually does," Mia agreed. "But you did great. Now the real money starts. After a girl's been on stage, she's got heat. Guys who were watching will want private dances."

As if on cue, when Evie returned to the main floor, she immediately spotted Henry waving her over. His expression had changed, a new intensity in his gaze that hadn't been there during their earlier conversation.

"That was quite a performance," he said as she approached. "Never would have guessed it was your first time."

"Thank you," Evie replied, sliding into the chair beside him. John and David were watching her with similar appreciation, their earlier friendly curiosity replaced by something more charged.

"I'd like a private dance," Henry said, straight to the point. "If you're available."

Evie's pulse quickened. This was the next hurdle, not just dancing on stage, but the intimacy of a private room. "I'd be happy to," she said. "Sapphire Room or Diamond Suite?"

"Sapphire is fine," Henry replied, already reaching for his wallet.

Evie led him to one of the small rooms Mia had shown her during orientation. The space was dimly lit, with a comfortable leather loveseat positioned to allow the occupant a full view of whoever was dancing. A small speaker in the corner played music that matched the main floor's soundtrack but at a slightly lower volume to enable conversation.

"First private dance too?" Henry asked as he settled onto the seat.

Evie nodded, honesty seeming the simplest approach. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only because you told me it's your first night," he replied with a smile. "Otherwise, I'd never know."

She started to dance as the next song began, remembering Lexi's instructions for private performances: closer, more intimate, but with the same tease and control that made stage shows effective. Henry watched with appreciation as she moved in front of him, slowly removing her top to reveal her breasts.

"You're stunning," he said, hands resting on his knees as she danced. "Most beautiful girl in the club, by far."

"Thanks," Evie replied, moving closer until she stood between his spread legs. She turned around and began to lower herself, her ass hovering just above his lap. She could feel the heat emanating from him, sensed his restraint as she began a slow, rhythmic grind that brought her into contact with his obvious arousal under his slacks.

The friction sent an unexpected jolt through her body. It had been nearly a week since she'd been with Joe, their passionate goodbye night the last time she'd experienced any intimate contact.

As she swayed above him, she made a split-second decision, reaching for his hands and guiding them to her hips. "You can hold here," she murmured, allowing his fingers to grip her as she continued to move against him.

Henry groaned softly as she ground against his hard cock. "Jesus, Destiny," he whispered.

She turned to face him, straddling his lap now, her breasts at his eye level as she continued to move. The power dynamic remained fascinating. She was nearly naked, feeling the hard ridge of his cock through his pants, yet she dictated every aspect of their interaction. When to speed up, when to pull back, how much pressure to apply.

More disturbing was her body's betrayal, the unmistakable wetness between her thighs as she maintained the sensual rhythm. This wasn't supposed to happen. This was work, a performance, a means to an end. Yet her nerve endings sparked with each movement, her nipples hardening from arousal.

She leaned forward, letting her breasts brush against his chest, her lips close to his ear. "Enjoying yourself?" she asked.

"More than you know," he replied, his hands still gripping her hips, guiding her movements slightly as she rocked against him.

The song ended, and Henry immediately requested another. By the fourth song, Evie had found a rhythm to these private performances, a balance between sensuality and her own unexpected responses. The physical pleasure remained but she'd managed to compartmentalize it, to separate the sensations from their meaning.

Henry remained respectful throughout, keeping his hands only where she permitted, tipping generously at the end of each song. When she finally stood to signal the end of their time together, she could still see the outline of his erection straining against his pants, a visual confirmation of the effect she'd had on him.

"That was..." he trailed off, clearing his throat. "Extraordinary."

"Thank you," she replied, slipping her top back on while her mind processed the complexity of what had just happened, how her body had responded, how different this controlled intimacy was from her life with Joe, how easily Destiny had taken pleasure in the encounter.

When they finally returned to the main floor, John immediately requested his turn, followed by David. Each private dance built Evie's confidence further, cementing techniques that worked, teaching her to read subtle cues in body language and eye contact.

The night progressed in a blur of stage performances, private dances, and brief periods of circulating through the club to meet new customers. Evie lost track of time, her focus narrowing to the immediate tasks: dance, smile, engage, collect payment, repeat. The persona of Destiny became almost automatic, a well rehearsed role that required less and less conscious effort to maintain.

Around midnight, a subtle shift rippled through the club. Conversations hushed momentarily, dancers straightened their postures, bartenders became more attentive. Evie, returning from a private dance, noticed the change immediately. She followed the collective gaze toward the entrance, where two men had just arrived.

The Maddox brothers.

Evie recognized them instantly from the briefing materials, though photographs hadn't captured their physical presence. Victor, the elder, moved intentionally. He wore a tailored gray suit without a tie, the top two buttons of his white shirt undone.

Beside him walked Damien, his hulking frame making Victor appear almost normal sized by comparison. At six-foot-five, the younger Maddox towered over near everyone else in the club. His dark hair was slicked back, revealing a face that might have been handsome if not for the intensity in his eyes. Unlike his brother, Damien seemed perpetually coiled, potential energy barely contained beneath his expensive clothing.

They moved directly to a reserved section overlooking the main floor, where a server immediately appeared with drinks that had evidently been prepared in anticipation of their arrival. Victor sat first, his eyes scanning the club with the gaze of an owner rather than a patron. Damien remained standing for a moment longer, conducting his own survey before joining his brother.

"The owners," Mia murmured, suddenly beside Evie. "They usually come in around this time on Sundays. Victor likes to check how the weekend went."

Evie nodded, turning away to avoid being caught staring. "Do they always cause that reaction?"

"Wouldn't you react if your boss showed up to watch you work?" Mia replied with a knowing smile. "Plus, they decide who gets invited upstairs, who gets the prime shifts, who stays and who goes. Everyone wants to make a good impression."

"Should I go introduce myself?" Evie asked.

Mia's eyes widened. "God, no. They'll come to you if they're interested."

Evie absorbed this information, filing it away with everything else she'd learned. Her role wasn't to force an introduction but to attract their attention naturally, to become someone they'd want to know more about.

She returned to the floor, continuing her rounds with renewed focus. Occasionally, she allowed herself a glance toward the Maddox brothers' table, noting that Victor seemed to be working despite the setting, reviewing something on a tablet while occasionally scanning the room. Damien was more engaged with the entertainment, his gaze following various dancers.

Another hour passed before Tanya approached Evie as she returned from yet another private dance.

"Victor would like to meet you," Tanya said without preamble. "Upstairs, in his office."

Evie's heart skipped. "Now?"

"Yes, now," Tanya replied, her tone suggesting the question was ridiculous. "Follow me."

They ascended the spiral staircase to the second floor, passing the VIP section where a select group of customers were being entertained by dancers Evie hadn't seen working the main floor. Tanya led her past these private rooms to a door at the far end of the hall, knocking once before opening it.

Victor's office was exactly as described in the briefing materials: a sophisticated space combining luxury and function. One wall featured a one way glass looking down onto the main floor, giving him an unobstructed view of everything happening below.

Victor himself stood near the window, tablet in hand. He turned as they entered, his expression neutral.

"Thank you, Tanya," he said. "Give us a few minutes."

Tanya nodded and withdrew, closing the door behind her. Evie stood just inside the entrance, suddenly acutely aware of her revealing outfit.

"Destiny," he said, gesturing toward a chair across from his huge mahogany desk. "Please, sit."

Evie crossed the room and took the offered seat, maintaining the confident posture she'd cultivated all night despite her racing pulse. This was it, her first direct contact with a primary target. Everything she'd trained for, everything that mattered about this mission, started now.

Victor set his tablet down and settled into his own chair. "Tanya tells me this is your first night. Ever. Not just at Elysium."

"That's right," Evie confirmed, deciding honesty was safest with a man who undoubtedly checked every detail.

"Impressive," Victor said, leaning back slightly. "Most new dancers require... acclimation. You seem to have adapted quite naturally."

There was something unsettling about the way he studied her, as if assessing livestock or equipment rather than a person. "Thank you," Evie replied. "I'm a quick learner."

"So it seems." Victor steepled his fingers. "Tell me about yourself, Destiny. What brings someone like you to this line of work?"

Evie recited the cover story, about leaving an abusive relationship and needing financial independence. Victor listened without interruption, his eyes never leaving her face.

"A familiar narrative," he said when she finished. "He leaned forward slightly. "Elysium isn't like other clubs, Destiny. We cultivate a specific atmosphere, a particular relationship with our clientele. We don't simply sell fantasy. We create experiences that our customers cannot find elsewhere."

"I've noticed," Evie said. "Everything here is more... elevated."

"Precisely. Elevated. We attract a different caliber of customer because we provide a different caliber of entertainment. Our dancers aren't just bodies on display. They're partners in creating that elevated experience."

He stood, moving to pour himself a drink from a crystal decanter on a side table. He didn't offer one to Evie. "Do you know what differentiates successful dancers from those who merely survive in this industry?"

"What?" Evie asked, genuinely curious about his perspective.

"Understanding power," Victor replied, returning to his desk with the drink. "Most people believe the customers hold all the power because they have the money. A fundamental misunderstanding." He sipped his drink, holding her gaze over the rim of the glass. "In reality, the dancers hold the power. They control desire, they dictate the terms of engagement, they determine how much or how little the customer receives for his money."

Evie nodded slowly. "I've started to realize that tonight."

"Have you?" Victor seemed pleased by this admission. "Then you're already ahead of many who've worked here for months. This understanding is what will determine whether you merely pay your bills or build genuine wealth from your time at Elysium."

He set his glass down. "You've made quite an impression for your first night. Tanya reports that you've been professional, adaptable, and impressively profitable. These qualities interest me."

"Thank you," Evie said, maintaining Destiny's grateful demeanor while Evie cataloged every word, every gesture for her eventual report.

"We'll be watching your progress," Victor continued, the statement carrying an unmistakable weight despite his conversational tone. "Consistency matters here. One good night means little. A pattern of excellence, however, opens doors."

Evie recognized the implication. This was a test, one she'd partially passed, but only the first of many. "I understand. I appreciate the opportunity."

"Good." Victor's tone indicated the conversation was ending. "Return to the floor. My brother has expressed interest in seeing your next stage performance."

Evie stood, pulse quickening at the mention of Damien. "Then I'd better not disappoint."

Victor's expression remained impassive, but something in his eyes suggested approval. "Indeed. Good evening, Destiny."

Evie left the office, her mind racing as she made her way back to the main floor. The interaction had been brief but significant, her first direct contact with Victor Maddox, her first chance to make an impression that would serve the mission. He'd been exactly as described in the briefing: calculating, observant, evaluating everything and everyone in terms of utility and value. But there had been subtleties the briefing couldn't capture, nuances to his manner that she'd need to analyze later.

The rest of the night passed in a blur of continued performances and private dances. True to Victor's word, Damien watched her next stage show with interest, his intense gaze following her every movement. Unlike his brother's assessment, Damien's attention felt visceral, predatory, leaving Evie with a chill that lingered even after she'd left the stage.

By the time her shift ended at 3 AM, Evie was operating on pure adrenaline. Her feet throbbed in the stiletto heels, her facial muscles ached from hours of smiling, and her mind buzzed with everything she'd seen and heard. She changed into the comfortable clothes she'd arrived in, her body sighing with relief as she replaced the revealing outfit with leggings and a loose top.

"How'd it go, sugar?" Loretta asked as Evie gathered her belongings. The house mom was still immaculately put together despite the late hour, counting out bills at her designated table.

"Exhausting," Evie admitted. "But good, I think."

"More than good from what I hear," Loretta replied with a smile. "Tanya says you're a natural."

As if summoned by her name, Tanya appeared in the dressing room doorway, clipboard in hand. "Destiny," she called, "before you go, I'll show you how to settle your account."

Evie approached Tanya's makeshift desk near the entrance, where the manager had already laid out a breakdown of the night's earnings.

"Not bad for a first night," Tanya said, her tone as close to warm as Evie had heard it. "Let's see... house fee paid, tip outs to DJ, bartenders, and security calculated... that leaves you with just over two thousand."

Evie stared at the pile of cash. Two thousand dollars for one night's work. It was more than half her monthly expenses at the apartment, earned in a single shift. The practical part of her brain immediately began recalculating her financial projections, while another part grappled with the moral complexity of accepting money earned through showing her body.

"Thank you," she managed, collecting the bills and tucking them into her bag.

"Don't lose it," Tanya advised. "Invest it, save it, be smart. Too many girls treat this like lottery money instead of a career." She made a notation on her clipboard. "You're scheduled again Tuesday, Wednesday, and Friday this week. Same hours."

"I'll be here," Evie assured her.

As she gathered the last of her things, Mia appeared beside her, also changed into street clothes. "Need a walk to your car? First night, big cash. Better to have company."

"That would be great," Evie said, genuinely appreciative of the gesture.

They exited through the employee entrance, the cool night air a shock after hours in the warm, perfumed atmosphere of the club. The parking lot was still half full, late night customers still lingering inside.

"So," Mia said as they walked toward Evie's car, "official verdict on your first night?"

Evie considered the question. "Overwhelming. Exhausting." She paused. "But also kind of exhilarating."

Mia grinned. "Welcome to the life. It gets easier, I promise. Well, physically easier. The emotional stuff, well that's different for everyone."

They reached Evie's Honda, and she clicked the key fob to unlock it. "Thanks for looking out for me tonight," she said. "I would have been lost without you."

"Girl code," Mia replied with a shrug. "We take care of our own." She pulled out her phone. "Give me your number? In case you have questions before your next shift."

Evie recited Vanessa's number, watching as Mia added it to her contacts. This was good. Establishing connections, building her cover identity's social network. Every natural interaction strengthened the illusion that Vanessa Blake was real.

"Get some sleep," Mia advised as Evie slid into the driver's seat. "Your body's going to hate you tomorrow."

"Looking forward to it," Evie replied with a tired smile. "Goodnight, Mia."

The drive home passed in a daze, Evie's mind too overwhelmed to process everything that had happened. She navigated on autopilot, the streets of Miami nearly empty at this hour.

In her apartment, she dropped her bag on the counter and headed straight for the shower, desperate to wash away the scents of the club, the alcohol, perfume, and men's cologne that seemed to have permeated her skin. Under the hot spray, she finally allowed the mask of Destiny to slip completely, her shoulders sagging with exhaustion as she processed the night's events.

She had danced naked. In front of strangers. For money.

She had performed private dances, letting men stare at her exposed body from inches away.

She had met Victor Maddox, had his full attention, had begun the process of infiltrating his world.

Each of these achievements should have filled her with shame, fear, or pride in her mission, some clear, definable emotion that would help her categorize the experience. Instead, she felt a confusing mixture of all three, along with a bone deep exhaustion that made further analysis impossible.

After her shower, Evie wrapped herself in a robe and retrieved the burner phone from its hiding place. She composed a brief check in message:

"First shift complete. Brief direct contact with V established. Scheduled again for Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday. Status green."

The reply came moments later:

"Message received. Good progress. Maintain pattern, focus on building credibility. Sleep when possible."

The last instruction almost made her smile. Sleep seemed like the only possible option now, her body protesting every movement as she made her way to the bedroom.

She fell onto the mattress without bothering to dress, her wet hair soaking the pillow. As consciousness began to slide away, her last coherent thought was of Joe. What would he think if he could see her now? Would he recognize the woman who had danced on that stage, who had let strangers worship her body for dollar bills?

Before she could follow that painful question to its conclusion, exhaustion claimed her completely, pulling her into a deep, dreamless sleep.