The evening air hung thick with anticipation as Graham adjusted the lapels of his tailored navy suit, the fabric crisp and authoritative against his slender frame. His polished oxfords clicked against the hardwood floor of his studio apartment, a space he’d always found comfort in-masculine, orderly, a reflection of the control he wielded in his corporate life. Across the room, his new friend Tatiana lounged on a velvet chaise, her presence a study in contrasts. The woman was a vision in a barely-there ensemble: a crimson latex catsuit that clung to every curve like a second skin, its neckline plunging to her navel, the material shimmering under the soft glow of the overhead lights. Over it, she wore a black fishnet bodysuit, the intricate patterns drawing attention to her hips and thighs, while a pair of thigh-high stiletto boots in patent leather completed the look. Her makeup was a masterpiece of drama-smoky winged eyeliner, lips painted a glossy black, cheekbones highlighted with iridescent powder that caught the light as she moved. A choker studded with tiny rhinestones sat snugly at her throat, and her dark hair was swept into a high ponytail, strands artfully tousled as if she’d just stepped out of a music video.

“You can’t be serious about wearing that to Club Vortex,” Tatiana drawled, her voice a melodic mix of amusement and disbelief. She rose in a fluid motion, the latex squeaking faintly as she approached Graham, circling her like a predator assessing prey. “Darling, you look like you’re heading to a board meeting, not a dance floor. That suit’s doing you no favors-it’s all angles, no heat. Without proper apparel and makeup, honestly? I’d mistake you for a man.”

Graham scoffed, adjusting her tie. “I am a man. This suit cost more than your entire outfit. It’s sleek, professional-”

“-and forgettable,” Tatiana interrupted, reaching out to brush a strand of Graham’s short-cropped hair from his forehead. “Clubbing isn’t about looking ‘professional,’ Graham. It’s about transformation. About becoming someone the lights can’t look away from. And right now?” She clicked her tongue. “You’re invisible.”

Graham’s cheeks flushed, his confidence wavering for the first time. “You’re being ridiculous. I don’t need… all that,” he gestured vaguely at Tatiana’s outfit, “to feel good about myself.”

“Don’t you?” Tatiana’s smile turned sly. “Let’s make a bet. Give me two hours. If you still want to wear the suit after, I’ll shut up forever. But if you love what I do…” She leaned in, her hypnotic perfume a intoxicating blend of jasmine and something darker. “You let me take you out as my date.”

Graham hesitated, then shrugged. “Fine. But I’m telling you-this is a waste of time.”

Tatiana clapped her hands, already moving toward a large leather suitcase propped against the wall. “First rule of clubbing: start with the foundation.” She unzipped the case with a flourish, revealing a rainbow of fabrics and accessories. “Take off the suit. Everything. Now.”

Reluctantly, Graham peeled off the jacket, then the trousers, standing awkwardly in her white cotton undershirt and briefs. The room felt colder suddenly, his vulnerability acute.

Tatiana tossed him a bundle of champagne-colored satin. “Put this on. It’s a basque-satin lingerie that smooths and supports. And these-” She held up a pair of high-waisted, black lace shapewear shorts. “They’ll cinch your waist and give you hips. Trust me.”

The lingerie felt foreign against Graham’s skin, the satin cool and slippery. The basque laced up the back, and Graham fumbled with the ties until Tatiana stepped in, her fingers deftly tightening the corset-like garment. “Breathe shallow,” she instructed, looping the laces into a bow. “It’ll get easier.”