Chapter 836 Not The Hadid’s

Chapter 836: Chapter 836 Not The Hadid’s

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[02-07-2021 | Ibiza Nightclub, Saint Petersburg, Russia | 02:26 BST]

The black Mercedes minivan rolled away from the curb behind them, leaving May, Eniola and Sarah beneath the glow of a violet neon sign that washed the pavement in shifting shades of purple and blue. Music pulsed through the building’s walls, strong enough for May to feel the bass beneath the soles of her heels, while a queue of people snaked away from the velvet ropes and disappeared around the corner.

For three women who had decided to go out on a whim less than an hour earlier, they had somehow managed to look as though the night had been planned for weeks. May had opted for a fitted black dress that hugged her body, paired with one of Eniola’s cream fur coats, the hem stopping just above her knees, while a pair of black heeled boots added several inches to her already graceful frame. Her peach-blond hair fell in loose waves down her back, bouncing with every step she took.

Beside her, Sarah had gone in the opposite direction. She wore a champagne-coloured satin dress beneath a cropped white fur coat Eniola had practically forced onto her shoulders before they left the hotel. The softer colors complemented the golden-blonde hair that framed the warm, sweet features of her face. Even standing outside a nightclub in sexy clothing at half past two in the morning, she somehow looked like the kind of girl someone’s mother would immediately approve of.

Eniola had chosen a deep, emerald dress that highlighted her smooth chocolate skin and hugged her figure before disappearing beneath a long black fur coat. Gold earrings caught every passing flash of light, while her heels made her tall enough that May had already complained twice about having to look up at her.

Sarah glanced between the two women before looking down at herself again. "Are you sure this isn’t too much?"

Eniola stopped walking immediately and turned toward her with genuine concern. "Sarah, those words are never allowed to leave your mouth when I’m around."

May laughed as they approached the entrance. "You asked the wrong person."

"I thought I looked good when we left," Sarah defended herself, smoothing her coat. "Then we got here, and every woman in that queue looks like she’s attending an award show."

"That’s because you’re looking at Russians," Eniola replied seriously. "They don’t play about going out."

May glanced toward a woman several meters ahead of them wearing a silver dress, heels that seemed designed by someone with a personal hatred of ankles, and a coat that cost half of May’s first car. "She might actually have a point."

Sarah let out a breath, seeming marginally reassured. "Okay. Good." They reached the front of the line, perhaps arrogantly expecting that recognition would make the process easier.

It did not. The broad-shouldered doorman looked at May’s passport, then May, then back at the passport with complete disinterest, as he spent the entire night looking at beautiful women. He continued to inspect the other two passports but still did not seem to recognize any of them. He mulled something over as he scanned them from head to toe and then looked at the queue before motioning them to the entrance.

"Embarrassssssssing," May muttered as soon as they were past security. "I’ll never try that again. I think I just lost all my Aura points from Manhattan."

"Tell me about it," Eniola said loudly, her voice rising above the bass that now reached them fully. "I think we just passed some hotness standard to be let in."

"Yep, definitely, that man didn’t have the slightest hint of who we were." Sarah lamented with a sigh. "I bet this doesn’t happen to the Hadids."

The corridor opened suddenly, and whatever response May had prepared disappeared beneath the music. Ibiza was enormous. The main floor stretched beneath them in a sea of moving bodies, illuminated by lasers that swept through artificial smoke hanging above the crowd.

Suspended lighting rigs flashed in rhythm with the music while enormous screens behind the DJ booth shifted between abstract patterns and live footage of the dance floor. Booths curved around the outer edge of the club, while a second level overlooked everything from behind glass railings and velvet-covered balconies. The place was packed in a cauldron of drunk, hyper-focused sexual energy.

May stopped briefly at the top of the stairs. "Okay."

Eniola grinned. "Now you’re happy we came."

"I didn’t say I wasn’t happy."

"You complained the entire drive."

Sarah squeezed between them, linking their arms before another argument could begin. "Drinks first. Fighting later."

They found a booth along the edge of the main floor after one of the hosts intercepted them halfway down the stairs. Whether he recognized any of them or simply liked what he saw was impossible to tell, but within several minutes, they had been escorted away from the busiest part of the crowd and settled into a curved leather booth with a clear view of the dance floor.

The next hour passed faster than May expected, as whatever exhaustion remained from traveling disappeared. Music, conversations, and the club’s infectious energy. They danced whenever a song Eniola approved of came through the speakers, and that was every other song.

The ebony beauty had stamina for dancing and could move her body to every song, even if she did not know the lyrics. The fact that drinks here cost roughly half as much as at NYC clubs only fuelled her energy to get her friends moving to the beat. May also quickly lost her nervous energy as she followed her friend on the dance floor, letting her surroundings blur.

That’s why, despite being sober, she was caught up in the rush and did not notice a blond Russian man observing them from the second floor. Ivan Volkov, one of the princes of the Volkov bratva, was celebrating his 24th birthday. Despite his booth being filled with beautiful women, his brothers, and friends, after a certain moment, his eyes wandered toward the same section of the main dance floor.

At first, it was nothing more than a passing interest as three beautiful figures stood out in the masses. Ivan had been halfway through a conversation when the emerald dress caught his attention below, the woman wearing it moving with sensual confidence that commanded attention without trying. His gaze lingered for a few seconds before moving to the blonde beside her, then eventually to the peach-haired woman. They laughed as they attempted to copy a particular dance that the Ebony woman was teaching them.

From the balcony, he could tell the women were different from those who crossed Ibiza’s doors every night. What made them stand out was perhaps that they were in their own bubble. They weren’t constantly glancing toward the VIP level, weren’t maneuvering toward wealthy-looking tables, and didn’t seem remotely interested in who might be watching them.

Ivan found that more interesting than he should have. "Who’s that?" he asked eventually, nodding toward the lower floor.

One of his friends leaned over the glass railing and followed his gaze. "Which one?"

"All three."

The dark-haired man beside him laughed. "Greedy bastard. You’ve already got enough women up here."

Ivan ignored him, taking another sip of his Beluga while studying the dance floor. "You recognize them?"

"No."

Another man at the table glanced down. "Models maybe, definitely not from the fatherland."

That was enough to hold Ivan’s attention. He lifted two fingers toward one of the club hosts standing near the edge of their section and said something into his ear. The host glanced downstairs, nodded, and disappeared toward the staircase. May didn’t notice him approaching until he was already beside their booth.

She had only just sat down after being dragged through another song by Eniola and was trying to catch her breath. Sarah was beside her, fanning herself with one of the club menus, while Eniola was snapping pictures for her Instagram, somehow looking as though she could go for another three hours.

One of the hosts appeared at their booth, holding up an ice bucket containing three golden bottles. The host set the bucket down on the low marble table before any of them could wave him off, the three gold bottles catching the laser light and throwing it back across the leather. The engraved Ace of Spades of the Armand de Brignac pulsed with luxury in the dark.

He gestured back toward the second floor with a practiced tilt of his head, leaning in close enough that the three of them could hear him over the bass. "Compliments from the gentleman’s table upstairs, they invite you to join them." May followed the line of his gesture up toward the balcony, where a blond man in an open-collared shirt raised his glass toward her with a slow, confident smile.

She offered him a polite, closed-lipped smile, then turned back to the host and told him, kindly but clearly. "No, thank you, I’ll buy them a round instead."

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TO BE CONTINUED...