Jade woke up to a dull, persistent pounding in her head, like a drummer was practicing inside her skull. She groaned, turning over to escape the sunlight filtering through her thin curtains. Her body felt heavy, her limbs unresponsive, and her mouth dry as sandpaper.
“Ugh,” she croaked, her voice hoarse. “What… happened?”
Bits and pieces of the previous night flickered like blurry snapshots in her memory: music pounding, laughter, shots being passed around, and—was she dancing? She groaned again, squeezing her eyes shut.
Her phone buzzed loudly on the nightstand, jolting her upright. The sudden movement made her stomach lurch, and she pressed a hand to her forehead. “Oh no. Not today.”
Reaching for her phone, she squinted at the screen through the haze of her hangover. Fifteen missed calls? Her heart sank. The notifications didn’t stop there. Messages flooded her lock screen, and a dozen app notifications screamed for her attention.
But one caught her eye:
Trending Video: “VIP Gasolina Queen”
Jade froze. Her thumb hovered over the screen, dread pooling in her stomach. Slowly, she clicked the notification.
The video loaded instantly, bright lights and pounding bass filling the screen. And there she was.
Her heart stopped.
The video showed Jade—her. Dancing. No, not just dancing—shaking her ass on her bosses.
First on Enzo, who was sitting back with that signature dangerous smirk as if he were thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. Then on Thiago, who was laughing, looking both shocked and amused as she spun around him. Finally, Milan, perfectly composed as always, leaned back on the sofa while she swayed right in front of him, his cold blue eyes fixed on her like she was an enigma he was enjoying solving.
Her blood ran cold.
“No. No, no, no, no.” Her voice came out in a frantic whisper as she dropped the phone onto her lap. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the screen. The caption beneath the video read: “Office legend or career-ending moment? Gasolina Queen makes VIP history.”
“Gasolina Queen?” she croaked. “What is happening?”
Before she could think, her phone buzzed in her hand. She flinched and saw the caller ID: “Office”.
Her chest tightened. “No… please, no.”
With trembling fingers, she swiped to answer the call. “H-hello?”
“Jade Nguyen?” Claire, the office receptionist, asked crisply.
“Yes?” Jade squeaked.
“Mr. Milan, Mr. Enzo, and Mr. Thiago would like to see you in the office immediately.”
The words hit her like a freight train. Jade’s breath caught in her throat. “I… I don’t understand. Today?”
“Immediately,” Claire repeated, her voice professional but cold. “Please don’t be late.”
The line clicked dead.
Jade sat there, the silence pressing down on her. Her pulse roared in her ears as she clutched the phone to her chest. She could feel tears welling up, her vision blurring.
“I’m done,” she whispered. “I’m so done.”
Her hands shook as she scrambled out of bed, grabbing the nearest clothes she could find—a modest blouse and black slacks. She glanced at herself in the mirror as she ran a comb through her messy blonde hair. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and bloodshot. She looked like someone who hadn’t slept in days and had just received the worst news of her life.
“I’m going to get fired,” she muttered to herself, the tears threatening to spill over. “I can’t believe I—what was I thinking?”
Except that was the thing—she hadn’t been thinking. Between the shots and the music, her brain had left the building, and now she was about to pay for it.