Passing the Doorman

Ashley had no trouble passing the bouncer, who simply gestured towards the coat check. She walked right past it, seeing as she had nothing to leave behind. Her friends trailed behind her, all laughing at her audacious choice of attire.

The club was exactly as she had imagined it—dimly lit, sleek, and oozing exclusivity. Black was the overwhelming color of the room, from the furniture to the attire of every guest she could see. Her red dress made her feel like a beacon, but instead of wilting under the stares, she squared her shoulders and sashayed through the crowd with confidence.

"Rebellious Ashley strikes again," one of her friends said, clinking their glass with hers after they made it to the bar.

A waiter in all black approached them with a tray of champagne flutes. "May I offer you a drink?" he asked, his eyes briefly scanning her dress before returning to a professional neutrality.

"Of course," Ashley said, plucking a glass from the tray. "And thanks for not pointing out how I’m completely ignoring the dress code."

"Not my job, ma’am," the waiter said with a subtle smirk before walking away.

Her friends were already diving into club gossip, sharing updates on their lives since college. Ashley joined in, sipping her champagne and occasionally catching the curious glances of other guests. It was clear her bold choice had made an impression.

After a while, the music changed to a pulsing beat, and the group migrated to the dance floor. The bass thumped in her chest as she danced, her movements fluid and uninhibited. The red dress seemed to amplify her presence, drawing attention from all corners of the room.

"Looks like someone’s making an impression," one of her friends teased, nodding towards a man at the edge of the dance floor. He was tall, impeccably dressed in black, and his piercing gaze was fixed on Ashley.

Ashley smirked. "Let him look," she said, tossing her hair.

Moments later, the man approached, offering a hand to her as the music slowed down. "May I have this dance?"

Ashley raised an eyebrow, but took his hand without hesitation. "Only if you promise not to step on my dress," she quipped.

He laughed, a low and genuine sound. "I’ll do my best."

As they danced, the room seemed to blur around them. Ashley could feel the heat of his gaze, the steady strength of his hands.

"So," he said, leaning closer so she could hear him over the music, "was the red dress a statement or an accident?"

"Both," Ashley replied, grinning. "It’s called making an entrance."

The DJ’s voice boomed over the speakers, instantly silencing the crowd. "Welcome to our special night: Cutting the Colors!" A murmur of anticipation rippled through the room as he continued, "Now, everyone, look at the lady in red and remember the rules—black only. Feel free to help anyone... adjust."

Ashley froze mid-dance, her eyes darting to the DJ on his elevated booth. For a moment, she thought it was a joke, but then waitstaff began distributing scissors from what looked like emergency first-aid kits. The crowd cheered, some laughing, others clapping, as black-clad partygoers gleefully snapped up the scissors.

"Okay, this is weird," Ashley muttered under her breath, glancing at the man she had been dancing with.

"Looks like you’re the star of the show," he said with an amused smile, stepping back slightly as if to avoid getting caught in the spectacle.