I never thought I’d end up here—standing in the back alley behind the club, watching Ramona adjust her fur coat while laughing about some banker who passed out with his credit cards still in hand. It started as survival. Then it became a game. Now? Now it feels like war.

We’re not just dancing anymore. We’re running the show.

Inside, the bass thumps through the floor, and the scent of expensive cologne mixes with sweat and desperation. Another group of suits just walked in, eyes glazed with entitlement. Ramona turns to me, her heels clicking on the wet pavement.

'You ready to make rent this month?' she asks, smirking.

I nod, but my stomach twists. The last guy barely remembered his own name by the time we dropped him at his penthouse. What if something goes wrong?

She steps closer. 'They took everything from us. This? This is just taking back.'

The door swings open, spilling light onto the sidewalk. One of the new girls waves us in.

This is the moment. Walk away now, or step into the fire.