Hen Party.
(Emily)
At twenty-three, I’ve already navigated more than most people twice my age. As the head of the accounting department at my father’s company, Lavens Enterprises, I’m expected to uphold a certain image—cold, calculating, and, above all, competent. It’s a façade I’ve carefully constructed, a shield I need to survive in a world that sees me as nothing more than Dave Lavens’ daughter, the girl who was born with a silver spoon in her mouth.
But I’ve learned the hard way that wealth doesn’t protect you from pain. Growing up, I was always the odd one out, the rich girl everyone loved to hate. School was a battlefield, and I fought hard for everything I have now. My position in the company, the respect of my peers, none of it came easy. And then there was Warren, my high school sweetheart and Chelsey's brother. For years, he was my world, the one person who saw me for who I was, not who I was supposed to be. But that relationship ended in a way that still haunts me, with wounds so deep they nearly consumed me.
My family never knew the details, never understood why I spiralled into depression, why I needed therapy to pull myself out of the dark pit I’d fallen into. They saw the aftermath, though—my withdrawal, my silence, my eventual resolve. After clawing my way back to some semblance of normalcy, I made a vow: I would never let anyone in like that again. Love, as far as I was concerned, was a risk I wasn’t willing to take.
Now, I found myself staring at my reflection in the mirror, getting ready for a hen party. I scrutinized the low bun I’d carefully styled at the nape of my neck, ensuring every brown hair was perfectly in place. A small nod of approval escaped me—everything was just right, exactly as it should be. But that was only the start. I reached for the small jar of lenses on the counter, hesitating for a moment before prying off the lid. I loathed this part. The cold, sterile feel of the lenses always made my skin crawl whenever I had to handle them.
“Come on, Emily, you can do this,” I whispered, coaxing myself like a child. My fingers fished out the left lens, and I blinked it into place with a practised motion. The world snapped into sharp focus, but it wasn’t a welcome clarity. More like a reminder of everything I had to be tonight.
Just as I was finishing up with the right lens, my phone buzzed loudly on the counter, jolting me. I glanced down and saw Eva’s picture flash on the screen. Her bright smile beamed up at me, a reminder of the carefree energy she seemed to carry with her everywhere.
“Emily, we’re waiting for you downstairs,” she barked the moment I answered. “I thought we told you to be ready in front of the building at nine o’clock.”
“Yes, yes, I know, Eva. Just a minute, okay? All I have to do is grab my handbag.”
“Hurry! I want to see some nudity!” Eva’s voice was laced with the kind of mischievous excitement that only she could muster.
I rolled my eyes, quickly ending the call before she could push me any further. I rushed out of the bathroom, the anxiety of being late creeping up my spine. My dressing room was a sanctuary of sorts, with racks of dresses and work clothes neatly organized by colour and occasion. I grabbed my handbag off the hook, pausing for just a second in front of the large mirror on the wall.
The dress I’d chosen was perfect—a short black number that hugged every curve and stopped just above my knees. The fine fabric framed my body like it had been tailored specifically for this night. The V-shaped neckline dipped between my breasts, teasing just the right amount of cleavage. My black heels added a few inches to my height, and the small, matching handbag, stuffed with five-pound bills for the night, completed the look.
I sighed, slipping into my long black cloak by the door. The heavy fabric wrapped around me, offering a fleeting sense of security. Then, with one last glance at the flat, I hurried downstairs.
Outside, a large white limo waited by the curb, its sleek body gleaming under the street lights. Eva leaned against the limo, exhaling a final plume of smoke before flicking the cigarette to the ground with a flick of her wrist. The glowing ember faded as it rolled away, unnoticed by anyone but me. Her appearance was like a distorted mirror of myself from a few years ago—youthful, yet hard-edged. The short red dress she wore clung to her figure, accentuating her confidence, while the long white jacket draped over her shoulders added a touch of casual defiance. Her ash-blonde hair was pulled back into a tight bun, every strand perfectly in place, a stark contrast to the wildness that her personality exuded. She was the younger version of me—the version that still believed she could take on the world without consequence that everything was just a game waiting to be played.
As our eyes met, she sighed heavily, her expression tinged with annoyance. She rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed, before her gaze dropped to her phone, the screen lighting up her face in the dim evening light.
“Finally,” she muttered, her tone dripping with impatience. “Took you long enough.”
“Haha, very funny,” I replied, my voice flat as I made my way to the open door. The driver, a young man with a polite but disinterested smile, nodded at me as I climbed inside.
The inside of the limo was an assault on my senses. The LED lights lining the ceiling cast a cold, harsh glow, making the burgundy seats look even more garish. The TV on the side was mercifully off, but the empty champagne bottles scattered around suggested it had been a lively ride so far.
As I took my seat between Eva and Chelsey, my soon-to-be sister-in-law, the noise level shot up. Laughter, high-pitched and unrestrained, filled the small space. The women were all in various stages of tipsy, their excitement palpable.
“Emily, you look amazing!” Chelsey gushed, leaning in to kiss my cheek. Her perfume was strong, floral, and sweet, and it clung to the air between us.
“Thanks, Chelsey,” I replied, trying to muster the enthusiasm I knew was expected. “You look great, too.”
The limo lurched forward, and I braced myself against the seat, hoping to settle into the rhythm of the night. But Eva was already thrusting a glass of champagne into my hand, her eyes sparkling with the thrill of what was to come.
“And are you up for it?” Chelsey asked, her tone light but her eyes serious as she studied my face.
I forced a smile. “I think I’m looking forward to it as much as you are, future sister-in-law. But you did bring this on yourself by choosing Eva as your maid of honour.”
Chelsey groaned, her head falling back against the seat. “Don’t remind me. But you know what? She’s actually been great. Everyone’s looking forward to tonight. Champagne?”
“Yes, give me some,” I said, accepting the glass.
The surrounding conversation was a blur of voices and laughter, but I couldn’t shake the unease sitting heavy in my chest. My sister and her friends were like caged birds let loose, their energy chaotic and overwhelming. I groaned inwardly, wishing the ride would end soon. The limo finally came to a stop, and the partition separating us from the driver lowered.
“Ladies, we have arrived at our destination,” he announced.
The women erupted into cheers, their excitement reaching a fever pitch as we piled out of the limo. The bright neon lights outside the club made me squint, but they didn’t seem to bother anyone else. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of sweat, perfume, and alcohol—a heady mix that made my stomach turn.
“Before I forget—Chelsey, here’s your sash!” Eva shouted, pulling out a black sash that read in “Bride to Be” in glittering neon pink letters. She draped it over Chelsey’s shoulders with a flourish, but then her eyes turned to me, and I knew what was coming. There was a wicked gleam in her gaze, one that sent a shiver of dread down my spine.
“Sister, this was the perfect opportunity to lure you out of your tent,” Eva said, pulling out a second black sash from behind her back. The white words “Birthday Girl” stared back at me, loud and obnoxious.
“Eva, why?” I pleaded, feeling a wave of nausea roll over me.
“Because you can’t say no now,” she replied, a devilish grin spreading across her face. “And if you try, I’ll shout it out in front of the whole room. You’re turning 23 today, that’s something to celebrate.”
I wanted to argue, to make a scene, but the look in Eva’s eyes told me it was pointless. Resigned, I let her drape the sash over me, the weight of it feeling like chains around my neck.
We were led to a reserved table near the stage, and I tried to focus on anything but the noise and chaos around me. The bartenders behind the bar were dressed in black tank tops and pants, while the waiters wore nothing but shorts, their oiled-up bodies gleaming under the lights. It was a scene straight out of a bad hen party comedy.
We were on our second cocktail when the lights dimmed. The stage lights brightened, focusing everyone’s attention. An older man in a tight, dark blue suit stepped onto the stage, his presence commanding immediate attention. He was handsome, in a rugged, older-man kind of way, his grey beard neatly trimmed, his hair styled to perfection.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, his voice deep and authoritative. “Welcome. Are you ready for a night of fun?”
The surrounding women screamed their approval, their voices blending into a cacophony of excitement.
“Are you ready for a show?” he asked, his voice dripping with promise.
The cheers grew louder, the energy in the room reaching a fever pitch. I glanced at Eva and the others, feeling a flush of embarrassment rise to my cheeks. I tucked my head behind my hand, shaking it slowly as the man on stage continued to rile up the crowd.
“Are you ready for a lot of nudity?” he asked, his voice turning hoarse, almost like a growl. "Introducing the men of the evening!" The MC's voice boomed through the speakers, filled with energy and mischief. "First up, we have Wilder, the cowboy, the man who can catch any woman with his lasso!" The crowd erupted in cheers as Wilder tipped his hat and winked at the audience.
"And next, we've got Jack, the construction worker, ready to build up some serious heat tonight!" The women whistled and shouted as Jack flexed his muscles, playfully swinging a tool belt over his shoulder.
The MC then paused, leaning in closer to the mic, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "And now, ladies, brace yourselves for our dynamic duo, set to drive two lucky ladies wild tonight." He pointed to the side of the stage, where the crowd's anticipation was palpable. "Officer Dave," he continued in a hushed tone, "Don’t be a naughty girl, or he’ll put you in cuffs, ready to punish you."
The room buzzed with excitement as the MC's voice grew louder again, returning to its playful intensity. "And last, but certainly not least, the man who can put out all your fires—Fireman Mike!"
The crowd erupts in cheers, but as the older man glances in our direction and signals to Eva, I realize she's orchestrated something. It's clear that Chelsey and I are the 'lucky' ladies in question.
I looked over at Chelsey, who was mirroring my expression of shame and discomfort. She leaned in close, her voice barely above a whisper. “Emily, I want to get out of here. This is too much nudity for me.”
I shrugged, unable to muster much sympathy. “Sorry, you should’ve waited until Amanda could be here instead of asking Eva to be your maid of honour,” I replied, nodding toward my sister, who was practically glowing with joy.
Chelsey laughed, but there was no humour in it. “She’s having too much fun. But you know, a few years ago, we would’ve been up there, just like her.”
“People change,” I sighed, the words coming out heavier than I intended.
As if on cue, the last dancer exited the stage, and the MC returned, his gaze sweeping across the room until it landed on us. Chelsey and I exchanged nervous glances, both of us sensing what was about to happen.
First, Dave police officer, his tight pants leaving little to the imagination, was called to the stage. Then came a firefighter, his muscular torso on full display beneath his suspenders, black stripes painted across his chest like war paint.
“Chelsey,” I whispered urgently, my fingers crossed under the table. “Please take the police officer. I want the sexy firefighter.”
Chelsey shot me a look of desperation, her eyes wide. “You’re on your own, Em. This was your sister’s idea, remember?”
My heart pounded as the man on stage gestured toward our table. The spotlight was on us now, and there was no escape. I could feel the eyes of the room on me, the heat rising to my cheeks.
