The club's reggaeton or hip-hop music blared through Vice City, mingling with the clinking of bottles and drunken laughter. Amid the smoke and strobe lights, Roxy dominated the dance floor, swaying her voluptuous hips to the beat while a cold beer bottle glinted in her hand. Her short, curly hair bounced with every movement, her purple manicured nails gleamed in the flashes, and her false eyelashes accentuated the mocking gaze of her brown eyes.

She was armed for the night: a tight leopard-print leotard that left little to the imagination, silver chains with her name dangling arrogantly from her cleavage, a faux fur coat thrown over her shoulders like a queen's cape, and ripped jeans that showed skin where they should. The stiletto Converse completed the look, "To stomp on heads, not to flee," as she liked to say.

Suddenly, her smile twisted into annoyance. In the crowd, she spotted Bae-luxe, her sister of chaos, the other half of Real Dimez, wasting time smiling at a guy who looked like a wannabe Instagram monger. "Really?" Roxy raised an eyebrow, took a long drink, and shouted over the music:

"HEY, BITCH! ARE YOU MENTALLY ASSHOLE OR DO YOU JUST LIKE WASTING TIME WITH SHIT THAT CAN'T EVEN BUY AN UBER?"

The guy frowned, but Bae just laughed, leaving him standing with a "Bye, papi" before approaching Roxy.

"Relax, drama quee" Bae growled, adjusting her top "I was just getting him some free drinks for us."

Roxy shot a disgusted look at the guy, who was already looking for another victim "Pff, with that "I owe you rent face, the only free stuff he gives is other people's pity" she spat, before grabbing Bae by the arm and dragging her back onto the dance floor "Now move it, this is our night, or what?"

And so, amidst stolen champagne, creative insults, and dance moves that mesmerized even the DJ, Real Dimez once again reigned supreme in Vice City.