Late update, I do apologize. Would you all stay patient with me? Thank you. ♥ And one last thing, if there are any errors do inform me! 

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It was a busy Friday night at Windy Harlem. It was not yet midnight, yet the men of Chicago are already drunk off of the summer wine. It was loud, it was chaotic; it was Windy Harlem.

“Great performance today Rose, you really out did yourself this time,” one of the girl’s complimented you after your solo performance. Apparently your father thought it was about time you spread your wings and start doing solos. From his business point of view, you knew he was trying to attract more attention towards you.

As if courting the son of the Byun’s wasn’t enough for his satisfaction, huh?

You had returned to the backstage room where all the girls prepped their makeup and outfits before the wild performances. You were the only one with your very own vanity table at the end of the long change room, and your eyes were solely focused on reaching there. Yet from your peripheral vision, you could see the girl who praised you.

Young, aspiring dancer, at the age of 18 from what you could recall. But then again, isn’t that every hungry girl in Chicago city nowadays? Considering how low the work force is now with the lack of job offers to people, the life of a showgirl was the only way to go in this dog eat dog world.

You passed by her without responding a thank you, though a faint smile was on your crimson red lips; not because of her compliment, but because you knew she hadn’t meant it. Behind the kind eyes and sweet words, you could hear the hint of jealousy layered in her voice. By the look of the girl, you knew she had mistaken your smile as something as a thank you as she skipped off to prep for her performance with the other girls.

You sat down on your table. Your infamous red hair looked extremely bright tonight, matching with your full cherry toned lips. The outfit you wore will cause quite a scandal in the newspaper tomorrow morning. There was barely anything there, and you could hear the ladies in town shaming you. For a top, you wore a laced corset in the colour of ivory with a matching skirt at the bottom with ripples of feathers flaring out. Over it was a see through robe. It was thin, made of cotton or so. It made the men howl with hunger the moment you had stepped on stage.

It was now time for the other girls to go on stage, and as they dispersed, so did their chatters. In no time the room fell silent. You were fixing your make up when you heard steady footsteps dragging against the floor. Growing wary, you snapped your neck to the direction of the sound. It was one of the boys who worked at Windy Harlem. He was young, one of the few oriental boys that your father hired. Hard to find them in these parts.

Immediately as soon as you looked at him, you saw his body tense up and his face growing red. In his hands was a bunch of leaves with a golden wrap around it. You didn’t know what kind of leaves they were, but they were definitely green and leafy, if that ought to make sense.

“If I may be excused, Miss. Rose. A customer had demanded to have this be specially delivered to you.” The boy said. You weren’t sure if he was nervous, or it was his actual voice, because when he spoke, his voice cracked often. In between the sentences he had to clear his throat. Perhaps it was the case of the nerves. That happened to men often when they spoke to you.

It wasn’t a case of being narcissistic on your part, it was true facts. It took about a couple of dates and observance that you realize that, despite men holding much power in society and social affairs, when stumbling across a fair lady, the rational part of them becomes lost into a sea of ual thoughts.

Leaves? Are you kidding me?

“Come here,” you beckoned him with one finger. Slowly, the boy came striding forwards. His eyes cautious as if ready to run off if you were to eat him. When he brought the bouquet over, you could see clearer now that the leaves were folded intricately into the shape of a rose. It was almost as if it was a REAL rose. You let out a gasp, clearly impressed, “How beautiful are they!” Your eyes glistened in admiration. “Who are they from?”

“Er, I can’t say. It’s a secret.” The boy replied, looking apologetic after answering. You took the bouquet in your