The concert let out in waves—first the over-eager, then the glowing, floaty-eyed fans who lingered as if they didn’t want the night to end. For Bella, the surprise was already a hit. Jalen was beaming, arms wrapped around her as they crossed L Street under the neon-lit awning of the Golden 1 Center. Their friends trailed behind, still high on the bassline of “Location.”
Waiting at the curb, the limo gleamed like a black mirror. Naghina opened the rear door with her usual grace. She didn’t mention the message. Didn’t show her unease. Professionalism came easy—it had to. But her eyes swept the crowd a little longer than usual, scanning for something she couldn’t name.
Inside the limo, the party reignited. LED lights bathed the cabin in deep purple. Someone passed around a bottle of champagne. Jalen raised a toast: “To Bella! Best girlfriend in the game!”
Next stop: Tiger. The rooftop was buzzing—low-lit with fire pits, soul remixes spilling from hidden speakers, and the scent of mezcal cocktails and truffle fries in the air. They took over a corner booth. Strangers flirted. Jokes flew. Bella danced with her best friend Zara on the glass tile floor. Midtown Sacramento pulsed below them, but up here, it felt like their own little world.
That’s when Naghina got the second message.
Same number.
“Keep the limo running.”
This time, she didn’t smile.
She looked across the rooftop, toward the booth in the far corner. A man in a dark green suit had just stood up, glancing casually toward Bella’s group. He wasn’t drinking. Wasn’t talking. Just watching.
And suddenly, it wasn’t just a night out anymore.