Chapter 135: Purple Hair

Lorali Pov

The leather seat of Torin’s luxury black SUV was far too comfortable for a vehicle that belonged to him. I would have expected him to drive something brutal, something stripped-down and uncomfortable, seats designed to make your spine ache after ten minutes just to remind you who was in charge. But I wasn’t about to complain about top-grain leather and seat warmers.

I pulled up directly in front of Maison de l’Élégance, the most ridiculously overpriced hair salon in Prone City. Astrid had recommended the place to me not too long ago, leaning in with a conspiratorial whisper to insist it was the only venue worthy of a complete identity shift. I’d checked their prices online before coming, and they were bad. Horrifyingly bad. I parked the car, took a deep breath, and stared at the polished marble entrance for a moment, letting the sheer absurdity of the moment sink in. Then I got out.

Walking inside, the harsh reality of the city streets dissolved instantly into a rich scent profile of crushed eucalyptus, expensive oils, and the faint, chemical tang of high-end ozone treatments.

"Welcome to Maison de l’Élégance," a stylist in an asymmetrical black silk jumpsuit purred, her eyes scanning my tailored blazer, flared trousers, and leather platform boots with practiced scrutiny. "Do you have an appointment, mademoiselle?"

"No," I said smoothly, reaching into my blazer and pulling out a sleek, heavy black corporate credit card. One of the many things Astrid had advised me to take from Torin. I held it up between two fingers, letting the light catch the metallic trim. "But I’m sure you have an opening for a full treatment, cut, and style right now."

The stylist’s cold posture evaporated, her eyes glinting as she caught sight of the Spade Industries logo embossed in liquid silver on the heavy black plastic. "Right this way, miss."

For the next two hours, I surrendered to the luxury. I sat in a plush leather reclining chair that massaged my back on demand while a team of two assistants went to work. I let them wash my hair with crushed-pearl shampoo, slather on deep-conditioning silk masks under warm steaming hoods, and chop off three inches of dead, stressed-out ends.

They layered it into sleek, glossy curtain waves designed to frame my fac. Then came the color, a custom blend that transformed my dull strands into a deep, electric purple that shone like liquid glass under the salon’s ambient lighting. It was bold, unapologetic, and exactly what I wanted.

When the head stylist held up the hand mirror to show me the back, I barely recognized the girl staring back at me. It was staggering how a change in color could shift the entire energy of your face, hardening the soft edges and bringing out the fierce, cold steel in my eyes.

"Will that be all?" the stylist asked, holding out the sleek payment terminal with a subtle bow.

"Thank you, you did an amazing job," I said, tapping Torin’s black card against the glass reader without so much as glancing at the total. The machine chimed happily. Let Torin’s accountants sweat over a five-thousand-dollar salon charge in the morning; it was a microscopic installment on the massive debt his pack owed me.

By eight o’clock, I was standing outside the penthouse building on the curb, my fresh purple waves bouncing over my shoulders in the crisp evening wind. Astrid’s new neon-pink convertible screeched to a halt at the curb, its horn blaring a frantic, rhythmic tune.

"Get in, gorgeous!" Astrid shrieked over the blaring bass of her car speakers. She was wearing a metallic silver crop top, a tiny dark denim skirt, and knee-high leather boots, her hair swept up into a messy, glittering high ponytail. "Oh my god, Rali! Look at your hair! You look like a lethal babe!"

"Thank you," I laughed, vaulting into the passenger seat and pulling the heavy door shut. "Lead the way."

The party was held in the deep heart of the industrial district, inside a massive, abandoned brick textile warehouse that looked like a crumbling relic from the outside, but pulsed with raw, terrifying energy on the inside. As we pushed through the heavy steel doors, the sheer wall of sound hit us like a physical force.

Heavy industrial techno-bass rattled the iron support beams overhead, strobe lights cutting through clouds of artificial fog and sweet-smelling steam smoke. Hundreds of bodies were packed together on the concrete floor, dancing, laughing, and tossing back neon-colored drinks.

Astrid grabbed my hand and pulled me straight toward the bar—a long wooden slab built over stacked metal shipping crates.

"Two of whatever makes our responsibilities!" Astrid yelled to the bartender, a guy with full-sleeve tattoos and a silver septum ring.

He slid two tall, glowing turquoise cocktails across the sticky wood. I grabbed mine and took a deep gulp. The sweet, electric sting of citrus and vodka rushed down my throat, instantly radiating a comforting warmth through my chest.

For the first time all week, the nagging, dull throbbing behind my left shoulder blade completely faded into the background. The music was too loud, the lights were too bright, and my blood was pumping too fast for the rejected bond to sink its teeth into me. I felt alive. I felt completely unburdened. I also felt sticky as hell, because of the dissenting spray, Astrid sprayed on me.

"To being the absolute worst influences on each other!" I shouted, clinking my glass against Astrid’s.

"To never going home before 4:00 AM!" Astrid screamed back, downing her drink in one long pull before dragging me out onto the main dance floor as always, I laughed as she pulled me into the crowd.

I dance like it’s our last day on earth in the chaotic sea of people. I threw my hands up, letting the rhythmic, pounding bass dictate every movement of my body. My black and gold top shimmered under the blue lasers, my high-waisted flared pants whipping around my platform boots as I spun.

When our lungs finally burned and our legs grew tired, Astrid and I retreated to a random, half-empty leather booth at the edge of the floor. I collapsed into the seat, breathlessly wiping sweat from my forehead, while Astrid made the smart decision to head back toward the bar to hunt down some water.

I leaned my head back against the vinyl cushion and took another slow sip of my drink, letting the high-energy music drown out every single dark thought I’d ever harbored.