Chapter 75: Threaded in Crimson
Micah’s POV
My heart beat hard against my ribs.
I followed Eve silently down to the second floor, my sneakers squeaking against the glossy tiles. Apparently, according to Phoenix, we were going down here to find my "style." I desperately wanted to open my mouth and ask Eve what that even meant. What was my style supposed to be? What was I expected to do? But looking at her sharp, confident posture, I swallowed my questions down. It almost seemed like she was the real owner of this whole place, considering the ruthless way she talked to Phoenix upstairs.
Phoenix was honestly incredibly lucky to have an assistant like her. Without Eve keeping him in line, that chaotic man would probably let the entire club collapse in a single day.
DING!
The elevator bell rang sharply, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts.
My breath caught in my throat, my jaw practically dropping to the floor as Eve pushed open a massive, dark double door with the words DRESSING ROOM bolded in sleek gold letters across the front.
The moment we stepped inside, my eyes widened in pure shock.
The huge room was buzzing with high-energy chaos. Bright vanity lights framed dozens of mirrors lining the walls. Everywhere I looked, shockingly beautiful men were sitting in plush chairs, doing their makeup, blending eyeshadow, and carefully squeezing themselves into stunning, high-fashion female outfits. Silk, lace, leather, and glittering sequins flashed under the harsh lights.
My stomach did a violent flip. My eyes darted across the crowded room, instantly locking onto the French guy from earlier—Camille.
He was sitting near a central vanity, casually chewing a wad of pink bubblegum while laughing and chatting loudly with a few other guys. He looked completely comfortable, like he owned the entire space.
Panicking, I quickly lowered my head, staring intently at the floorboards as I pulled my shoulders in, praying to whatever higher power was listening that he wouldn’t notice me standing there.
Eve didn’t care about hiding. She suddenly clapped her hands together twice, the loud sound echoing sharply over the chatter and music.
"Hurry up, everyone!" Eve barked, her voice cold and commanding. "The VIP guests will be arriving in less than an hour! Move it!"
Instantly, the casual atmosphere shattered. Everyone scattered, rushing back to their respective vanity seats to apply lipstick, fix wigs, and strap on heels. But thanks to her loud clap, every single pair of eyes in that room naturally shifted toward her—and landed directly on me shrinking behind her back.
Subdued, low whispers immediately broke out among the performers.
"Who is he?"
"Another new guy? I thought we were only expecting Camille from France today..."
"Yeah, duh! And look—the demoness is escorting him in person!"
Demoness?
My eyebrows twitched in disbelief. Were they seriously calling Eve a demoness? How mean! Sure, she was strict and terrifying, but she had just saved me from those armed guards outside! She wasn’t a demon at all!
"Keep walking," Eve said smoothly, her head held high as she walked straight past the whispering crowd without giving them a single glance. She didn’t flinch, didn’t frown, and didn’t even slow her pace. She looked like she was completely used to being called awful names by the staff.
A sharp pang of sympathy bloomed in my chest. I felt genuinely sorry for her, but I kept my mouth shut and stayed close to her heels.
She pushed open a heavy set of mirrored doors at the far end of the room, leading us straight into an enormous walk-in closet.
My breath hitched again. It was mind-blowing. The closet was so massive it had a second floor accessible by a spiral staircase in the corner. Racks upon racks of expensive clothes, rows of designer high heels, and glass cases filled with glittering jewelry stretched out as far as the eye could see. It looked like a luxury department store.
"So... let’s start with something simple," Eve murmured, gesturing toward a tall, full-length mirror near the center of the room.
I walked over and stood nervously in front of the glass. Eve stepped up close behind me, pulling a flexible measuring tape from her pocket. She motioned for me to spread my arms out to the sides. I complied instantly, holding my breath as she swiftly wrapped the tape around my chest, waist, and hips, writing the numbers down on her phone with incredible speed.
Once she finished measuring, the trial began.
Every few seconds, Eve would pull an elaborate, glittering dress off a hanger, hold it up in front of my body, stare at my reflection in the mirror for a fraction of a second, and then shake her head in disappointment before tossing it aside.
She paced around the racks, biting her nail thoughtfully, pulling out silk gowns, leather corsets, and feathered skirts, only to reject them instantly without even bothering to place them against my chest.
Watching her dismiss outfit after outfit made my stomach tie itself into tight, agonizing knots. I clenched my hands into tight fists against my sides, my heart sinking lower with every rejected dress.
Why was she rejecting everything? Did I look that terrible? Did my body look completely wrong for these clothes? Was she finally realizing that I wasn’t built for this, that I wasn’t pretty enough, elegant enough, or perfect enough to belong in a place like Phoenix Club?
As if she felt the sudden, heavy wave of insecurity radiating off me, Eve stopped pacing. She walked up to me and looked directly into my eyes through the mirror’s reflection.
"Oh, don’t look so sad, dear," she said, her harsh tone softening just a bit as a small, reassuring smile touched her lips. "Trust me, you look completely fine. Honestly, you’d look stunning in almost everything I just picked up. But I don’t want you to just look fine. I want to give you your true signature look."
My chest loosened slightly. "Oh," I muttered softly, a tiny wave of relief washing over my tense muscles.
Eve turned her head, her sharp eyes scanning the upper balcony of the closet. Without another word, she marched up the metal spiral staircase to the second floor. A minute later, she came back down, holding a single outfit in her hands.
She stopped in front of me, a confident, satisfied smirk spreading across her face as she handed the clothes over.
It was a striking, sleeveless crimson dress made of rich fabric, paired with a sleek pair of sharp black high heels and a small, delicate gold chain purse.
"Put them on," Eve commanded, already pulling out her phone to check her messages.
I stared down at the bright red fabric in my hands, my heart hammering wildly in my throat. I was a guy. A guy holding a tiny, sleeveless woman’s dress. Unlike Phoenix or the other men in the dressing room outside, I didn’t have a long wig, heavy makeup, or exaggerated artificial curves to hide behind. It was just me.
"Uh... is that all?" I asked nervously, looking at the minimal outfit.
Eve nodded casually, waving her hand toward a private changing stall in the corner. "That’s all. Go on, head inside."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, tiptoed quickly into the changing stall, and pulled the curtain shut. My hands shook as I took off my oversized sweater and faded pants, leaving myself standing in just my underwear in the chilly room.
With shaking breath, I stepped into the red dress and pulled it up over my hips.
The fabric slid smoothly against my skin, fitting my waist like it was custom-made for me. It hugged every curve of my body perfectly—except for one glaring problem.
It was insanely, terrifyingly short.
The hemline ended dangerously high up on my thighs. The moment I stood up straight, I looked down in absolute horror and realized that the dark fabric of my boxer shorts was peeking right out from under the bottom hem of the dress.
A wave of hot, burning embarrassment flushed straight up to my face. If I took my boxers off to hide them...
I violently shook my head, shutting my eyes tight just thinking about it. No way. Absolutely not.
Trying to be as discreet as possible, I grabbed the bottom of the dress, tugging it down with both hands as far as it would go. I stepped out of the changing stall, my knees trembling in the towering black heels as I wobbled into the main room.
The moment I stepped into view, Eve looked up from her phone screen.
Her eyes locked onto me, sweeping over my exposed shoulders, my tight waist, and my long legs. Her eyes widened slightly before a slow, dangerous smirk spread across her face.
"Perfect," she whispered, her voice filled with dark satisfaction.
My face burned hotter than fire, my heart pounding so hard I felt dizzy. I kept pulling desperately at the short hem of the dress, feeling utterly exposed and vulnerable under her intense stare.
"Let’s get the final touches done," Eve smirked, stepping closer to me with an unreadable glint in her eyes, "and then you’ll be completely ready for the floor."
A violent shiver ran straight down my spine, sending a wave of cold dread crashing through my body.
Final touches? Ready for the floor?!
I stared at her in sheer terror as my mind raced in chaotic circles. Was this really a good idea? What was about to happen to me once those doors opened and the VIP guests arrived? What had I just gotten myself into?