Chapter 6: Drink the Galaxy. Wake Up Clear.

Bonnie's POV

After several rounds of experimentation, I confirmed that the stone could dissolve in alcohol and release a stunning blue luminescence. With a touch of food coloring to adjust the hue, it could even produce a dreamy blue-violet glow that looked like a galaxy swirling in a glass. It was so beautiful that I stood there staring, completely transfixed.

I couldn't stop thinking about how insanely well a cocktail like this would sell.

Of course, before I put anything in front of a paying customer, I had one non-negotiable step: making sure it was safe for human consumption. I didn't have much money at the time, but I wasn't about to use myself as a test subject. I valued my body — even if it wasn't exactly the most beautiful one out there.

So I worked a full week at Doomsday Nightclub, saved up enough, and sent a dissolved sample off to a lab. The results came back and completely shocked me. Not only was the substance harmless to the human body, it could actually neutralize the negative effects of alcohol.

Medicine had already found various ways to treat alcohol-related damage, of course — but those treatments almost always required giving up drinking entirely. Now, there was something new: a substance that could be taken alongside alcohol and cancel out the side effects.

Just think about how many people loved drinking but had been forced to quit for health reasons. Imagine their faces when they encountered a cocktail that was delicious, dreamlike, and could actually counteract the downsides of alcohol. How thrilled they would be. I had found a massive business opportunity.

The very next evening after receiving the lab report, I officially launched the Dream Galaxy Cocktail at Doomsday Nightclub, and came up with a tagline I was immediately proud of:

Drink the galaxy. Wake up clear.

Just as I had predicted, the cocktail became a local sensation.

Every day, hundreds of people came specifically to try a Dream Galaxy Cocktail and experience that feeling — a wild night out, followed by a perfectly clear head the next morning, not a trace of a hangover.

On top of that, I launched a social media check-in promotion: customers who posted a photo with their Dream Galaxy Cocktail and collected a certain number of likes, comments, or shares would receive one free cocktail in return.

I had to say — I was an absolute genius. After the promotion launched, the front pages of every major social platform were flooded with Dream Galaxy Cocktail content, and comment sections filled up with people writing things like: What is this? It looks so beautiful. If I never get to try it, it'll be the greatest regret of my life.

"Layla!" The bartender came rushing into the kitchen, wiping the sweat from his forehead, his expression tense with urgency. "The ingredients for the Dream Galaxy Cocktail still haven't arrived? The customers out there are going crazy — they're even threatening to never come back to Doomsday Nightclub if I don't bring something out soon!"

I smiled and shook my head. "Don't worry. They won't actually stay away."

And I meant it.

Three days into the unlimited launch, I had officially announced that due to the scarcity of raw materials, only one hundred glasses would be available per day — first come, first served, no reservations.

That announcement only made the customers more frantic than ever. The lines outside grew longer and longer. Some people laid out bedding on the sidewalk in front of the entrance overnight. Others started reselling their spots in line, making a tidy little profit for themselves.

After Doomsday Nightclub's foot traffic surged, the nearby shops benefited as well, and the name "Queen Layla" began spreading through the surrounding blocks. I took the opportunity to create a Queen Layla social media account, which gained hundreds of thousands of followers within just a few days. Companies started reaching out for promotional partnerships, and the offers kept climbing higher.

My financial crisis was, for all practical purposes, completely resolved — and all of it traced back to that mysterious, inexplicable visitor from another world.

Now, with Doomsday Nightclub and the Queen Layla brand burning hotter by the day, the small venue could barely contain the growing crowds, and I was already thinking about whether to reinvest some of the profits into expanding the space.

But there was one very real problem: there was only one stone, and it would eventually run out. I hadn't received any new visitors from the other world since then, which meant no way to restock.

That was part of the reason I had introduced the limited-quantity policy in the first place.

I was still turning that problem over in my mind when Doomsday Nightclub received a very unusual guest.

"Nova Cavendish?!" The first customer to recognize him let out a shriek. "The most ruthless predator in the financial district — the sole heir to the Cavendish family — worth hundreds of billions — what is he doing here?"

"Nova Cavendish? I literally just saw him on the cover of a financial weekly yesterday, and now he's standing right in front of me — in a place like this?" The crowd's exclamations nearly drowned out the music still pounding through the club.

Surrounded by bodyguards, Nova lightly raised one finger to his lips.

The room fell silent almost instantly — even the DJ cut the music. Everyone held their breath, waiting. His dark gold hair and sapphire-blue eyes caught the light, gleaming, and he smiled with the unhurried composure of a man who had never once needed to raise his voice.

"I'm here this evening to pay a visit to the owner of this establishment — Queen Layla." He looked out across the room with quiet ease. "Would someone be kind enough to let her know that Nova Cavendish is waiting for her?"

I knew I couldn't keep hiding. I took a few slow breaths, stepped out from my corner behind the bar, and walked toward him. "Hello, Mr. Nova Cavendish. I'm Layla. What brings you here?"

Nova looked at me with those deep, warm eyes. "Is there somewhere a little more private we could speak? There's something rather important I'd like to discuss with you."

I glanced around the club, feeling the awkwardness settle in.

There was no private room, no quiet corner — nothing except the kitchen. But could I really bring someone like him into the kitchen?

Nova seemed to read my discomfort before I had to say a word. He gave a slight, gentlemanly bow and extended one hand.

"Perhaps we could talk in my car?"

The suggestion came at exactly the right moment, and I nodded with relief. "Of course, Mr. Nova Cavendish."

"Nova is fine," he said. He led me to a Lexus LM waiting outside, handed me a bottle of Perrier, twisted off the cap himself, and slid in a pure gold straw before passing it over. I took it carefully, terrified I might somehow knock the whole thing over.

"So, Mr. Nova — what was it you wanted to discuss?"

He leaned back against the seat, legs crossed, his polished black shoes catching the light. Both hands rested on his knee, and when he spoke, his voice carried that particular, unhurried quality — low, smooth, and effortlessly compelling.

"Ms. Layla," he said, "I want to buy the formula for the Dream Galaxy Cocktail." A brief pause. "Or, alternatively — I want to buy you."

I froze.