CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO –
Megan POV
The sleek town car pulled up to the curb with a purr, the tinted windows revealing nothing of its opulent interior.
I took a deep, steadying breath, steeling myself against the coming onslaught of spectacle and scrutiny.
“Break a leg out there, rockstar,” Lilly murmured with an impish wink, giving me a nudge towards the idling vehicle.
“Just remember – all those gawkers merely dream of basking in the radiance you were forged in.”
Gritting my teeth against the dueling urges to both laugh and groan at her relentless pep talks, I settled for an airy eyeroll before slinking towards the car.
The driver emerged in a crisp suit, sweeping open the rear door with an obsequious bob of his head.
“Evening, Miss Williams. Right this way, please.”
I slid onto the plush leather backseat with as much casual elegance as I could muster, already well-accustomed to flying beneath society’s unwavering radar no matter how ritzy the trappings.
Lilly settled in beside me with a contented sigh, busying herself with her phone as the car eased back into traffic.
“So,” I began after we’d merged into the steady flow of evening commuters, “Mind filling me in on what kind of scene to brace myself for at this place?”
She glanced up from whatever she was typing, lips quirking into an indulgent smile. “Lyra is one of the city’s premier nightlife and entertainment hotspots – a multilevel spectacle of high-end cocktails, DJ talents, and the creme de la creme of the social elite turnout on any given weekend.”
I arched an eyebrow, distinctly unenthused by her breathless description so far. “And just why, exactly, did you decide booking us for this… lavish club circus was mandatory for my night of ‘unwinding’?”
Rather than bristle at my sardonic tone, Lilly simply laughed – a bright, tinkling sound that reminded me just how young she truly was beneath that polished, commanding veneer.
“Because, my dear heavyweight champion of the world, even ultramax overachievers like yourself occasionally require a reminder that you’re still a mere human allowed simple indulgences every now and then.”
She reached across the cab’s interior and gave my bare shoulder a conspiratorial squeeze.
“Tonight is all about cutting loose without inhibitions or any niggling voice in the back of your mind fretting about optics or regimens. ” she uttered.
“Just existing as an unshackled vortex of primal radiance for a few blessed hours.”
I held her impish stare for a long moment before breaking into a wry chuckle, shaking my head slowly.
“You really have put an unsettling amount of thought into getting me ‘unshackled’ this evening, haven’t you?”
“But of course!” She fixed me with an obnoxiously sulky pout. “What kind of life coach slash social coordinator would I be if I couldn’t yank that brilliant mind of yours out of the monkish trenches every once in a while?”
The car slowed to a crawl as we neared our apparent destination, the thrumming bass line of distant music vibrating the very chassis beneath us.
Peering through the tinted glass, I could make out the queue of overdressed patrons snaking back from the main entrance of what looked like an imposingly sleek, ultramodern facade.
“Looks like we’ve arrived,” Lilly noted needlessly, somehow managing to exude her perky enthusiasm even through a murmur.
The car rolled to a stop and the driver was rounding the vehicle in a flurry of motion, sweeping the rear door open with a flourish for us to disembark.
I took one last, grounding breath before slipping from the back seat with as much effortless poise as I could muster.
Instantly, the throbbing ambience and thick press of bodies awaiting entry fully enveloped me – a stark reminder of just how public and unremitting my mere existence had become of late.
To their credit, perhaps conditioned by so many similar evenings on endless repeat, the teeming masses restricted their ogling to poorly concealed stares and indiscreet murmurings rather than outright descending into frenzied mobs.
I allowed the undulating tide of overly coiffed socialites to simply wash over me without acknowledgment, drifting through the maelstrom in Lilly’s unerringly confident wake.
Of course she navigated these situations without so much as breaking stride – the kid practically oozed clout from her neatly pressed pores at this point.
We swept past the velvet rope in a flurry of simpering greetings and air kisses traded with what I could only assume were the night’s designated door gnomes.
Then, a disorienting flurry of bass concussions and kaleidoscopic strobe lights swallowed us into Lyra’s cavernous, throbbing depths.
Despite my private misgivings, I couldn’t deny the raw, intoxicating tangibility of the atmosphere as it crashed over my senses in waves.
This place fairly hummed with the sort of unrestrained id and sensory indulgence Lilly had been harping about all evening.
Lithe, scantily clad bodies undulated in strobing silhouettes with reckless abandon on the sunken central dancefloor, mientras clusters of glamorously detached scenesters nursed vivid cocktails from the mezzanine vantage points overlooking the chaos.
Lilly looped her arm through mine, having to pitch her voice to nearly shout directly into my ear over the rhythmic assault of the pounding music.
“First rounds are on me! Time for my protege to taste what passes for the sweet nectar of oblivion around these parts.”
She gestured towards one of the bars tucked into an alcove up a few steps from the maelstrom, tugging me insistently in that direction.
I allowed myself to be steered through the churning sea of gyrating bodies, offering small smiles and demure nods to those few patrons capable of mustering coherent greetings in our wake.
Something about the unapologetic, borderline primal energy swirling through this den of vice loosened an infinitesimal measure of the tension I carried like a permanent mantle nowadays.
Perhaps there was something to Lilly’s insistence on thoroughly immersing myself in an atmosphere devoid of any oversight or expectation beyond simply… existing as I was in that singular moment.
We settled onto a pair of stools at the rounded, glossy bar top, Lilly immediately flagging down one of the immaculately clad cocktailers with an insouciant waggle of her fingers.
“Good evening, Miss Palmer,” the waiter purred with a wolfish grin, inclining his head ever so slightly. “The usual for yourself this evening?”
“You know me too well, Marcus,” she laughed, leaning in conspiratorially. “Though I’ll need something a bit more… initiation-worthy for my esteemed friend here tonight.”
She shot me a mischievous sidelong glance, lips still curved upwards. “Any suggestions for properly baptizing Megan’s reformation to unbridled indulgence?”
Okay I know I bring this upon myself but what the hell is this girl UpTo?