ENJOY 🖤🖤
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Jericho leaned back in his chair, satisfaction evident in the slow curve of his smile as he gestured toward the briefcase.
"Take it," he said to the masked man beside her. "Consider the deal sealed."
For a moment, the room felt heavier—thick with smoke, money, and something far more dangerous than either.
The man gave a slight nod, closing the briefcase with a sharp click before stepping back into position behind her.
She rose slowly to her feet, smoothing the front of her tailored jacket as though she had merely concluded a trivial business transaction.
"Have her prepared," she said, her tone leaving no room for delay.
Jericho nodded once, snapping his fingers toward one of the guards lingering near the door.
"Bring Holy Mary to the VIP suite," he ordered lazily, though the gleam in his eyes betrayed his excitement. "Our esteemed guest doesn't like to wait."
The guard gave a short nod and disappeared without a word, the woman turned slightly, her red heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she moved toward the window.
She looked out over the neon-lit expanse of the club below—the writhing crowd, the flashing lights, the illusion of pleasure masking something far darker.
"You run an efficient empire," she murmured with a dark smirk, and Jericho chuckled as he leaned back to his chair.
"Would you care to buy the club?" she inquired, arching a brow as a darker, more knowing smile played upon her lips while she cast a glance at him over her shoulder.
He met her gaze and returned the same smirk with quiet dangerous amusement.
The woman's smile did not change—but something in her gaze sharpened, as though Jericho had said the wrong thing without realizing it.
"Buy the club?" she repeated softly, almost amused, she turned fully now, stepping away from the window. The city lights painted faint reflections across her dark eyes, making them look almost inhuman under the club's dim glow.
"I don't buy things," she added. "I acquire outcomes."
Jericho let out a slow, appreciative exhale, as if her answer had confirmed something he already suspected.
"Outcomes," he repeated, tasting the word like fine liquor. "How poetic."
He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees now, his gaze never leaving her.
"Enough of your pointless discussion," she said coldly. "Bring her to the VIP suite within ten minutes. I will not tolerate any delay, Jericho."
He chuckled softly, tapping ash from his cigar.
"She will be delivered," he replied smoothly, "in perfect condition."
A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips.
"I would expect nothing less."
Without another word, she turned and began to walk away, her heels clicking softly against the floor, each step measured and assured.
Behind her, Jericho watched with growing intrigue, his expression darkening slightly.
Jericho tapped his fingers lightly against the armrest before reaching for his phone. He dialled a number and raised it to his ear, crossing his legs as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. Taking a long drag from his cigarette, he exhaled slowly, a trail of smoke escaping with his words.
"Go," he said into the phone, his voice calm and commanding. "Get her off the stage—now."
He ended the call and tilted his head back, a wide smile spreading across his lips as his eyes fell shut. His thoughts drifted to Kyla, and his smile deepened.
"Just keep making me rich, my little treasure."
He lowered his head slowly, the smirk still firmly etched on his lips as he flicked the ash from his cigarette into the tray beside him.
He leaned back further into his chair, spreading his arms along the armrests with effortless dominance.
A moment later, a knock sounded at the door.
"Come in," he said lazily, his lips curling into a faint smirk.
The door creaked open, and Catalina stepped inside. Her lips were bruised, her hair dishevelled, and her clothes slightly torn. She clutched them tightly around herself, as though trying to preserve what little dignity remained.
Her eyes brimmed with tears as she moved further into the room, quietly closing the door behind her.
She wore a leather mini skirt and a cropped singlet top, both now creased and unsettled from whatever she had endured.
Jericho's gaze shifted toward her—cold, sharp, and unrelenting.
For a fleeting moment, fear seized her completely, her body nearly betraying her, but she forced herself to steady, drawing in a shaky breath as she struggled to compose herself.
"Y-you sent for me," Catalina murmured, her lips trembling.
Jericho scoffed and rose from his seat, his ponytail shifting slightly as he began to approach her.
She swallowed hard, instinctively stepping back.
Jericho continued advancing, each step slow and deliberate, his gaze fixed on her like a predator closing in on its prey.
"Of course I did," he said coolly. "Or do you now require an invitation to respond when you are summoned?"
Catalina shook her head quickly, her back nearly pressing against the wall as she struggled to maintain her composure.
"N-no… I came immediately," she replied, her voice barely steady, he stopped just inches away from her, his presence overwhelming, the faint scent of smoke clinging to him.
"Good," he murmured, his eyes flicked briefly over her dishevelled appearance, and a faint, displeased frown tugged at his lips.
"You look like a poop."
Catalina lowered her gaze, shame and fear warring within her. "I—there was an issue on the floor…"
Jericho raised a hand slightly, silencing her before she could continue.
"I am not interested in excuses," he said sharply, a tense silence followed, then his tone shifted—quieter, but far more dangerous.
"There is a client tonight," he continued. "A very important one. And she has taken a particular interest in Holy Mary"
He grasped her chin firmly, drawing her face closer to his. She pressed her palms against the wall behind her, her heart pounding relentlessly in her chest.
They had not yet finalised their divorce—though it loomed inevitably.
For now, she remained bound to him, nothing more than a puppet under his control.
Catalina's breath hitched as his grip tightened slightly under her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.
"Holy Mary…" she repeated faintly, as though testing the weight of the name.
Jericho's eyes narrowed.
"You will ensure she is ready," he said coldly. "No delays. No excuses. And absolutely no mistakes."
Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out, a flicker of hesitation crossed her face—brief, almost imperceptible—but Jericho caught it instantly.
His grip loosened just enough for her to speak, but his presence remained suffocating.
"If I may ask…" Catalina began carefully, choosing her words with caution, "who is the client?"
Jericho studied her for a moment in silence, as though deciding whether she was worthy of the answer, then he released her chin entirely and took a slow step back, straightening his shirt.
"That," he said quietly, "is not your concern."
Catalina immediately lowered her gaze.
Jericho turned away from her, walking back toward his chair. He picked up his cigar again, rolling it between his fingers before exhaling a slow stream of smoke.
"All you need to understand," he continued, "is that tonight is not ordinary business."
Catalina swallowed hard, her fists clenched tightly as the memory resurfaced—her bruised lips and torn clothes after a chance encounter with a strange woman on her way there.
The woman had, without hesitation, ordered her men to beat her simply for the slightest collision.
Could she be the client?
If she was, then she was undoubtedly dangerous. From the dark, oppressive aura that had surrounded her, it was clear she was no ordinary woman.
Catalina stole a brief glance at Jericho before swallowing once more, forcing herself to steady her nerves as she brushed her hair back with trembling fingers.
"I understand. I will do as you say, Rico," she murmured, offering a respectful bow before turning and quietly leaving the room.
Jericho let out a low, satisfied chuckle, the sound echoing faintly through the chamber and lingering long after she had gone.
The echo of Catalina's footsteps had barely faded before Jericho's amusement slipped—just slightly.
He lifted his cigar again, watching the ember glow as he inhaled, then dim as he exhaled. Smoke curled upward in slow, lazy spirals—like something dying without realizing it yet.
"Holy Mary…" he murmured under his breath, almost thoughtfully.
Then he smiled again.
*
*
Scott's car pulled into the club's underground garage, and he and Adrian stepped out.
Adrian adjusted his collar as his gaze swept across the area, taking in the chaotic atmosphere—cars parked tightly together, and through the tinted windows, silhouettes of bitches getting fucked.
A cool breeze brushed through Scott's hair, his shirt slightly open and fluttering with the wind. As they stepped further into view, several bitches turned their attention toward them, eye–raping them.
"I can't believe she made it here again tonight. Did you actually send that hundred million to her? Because if you did, I don't think she would still be here tonight, Predator," Adrian said as they walked toward the entrance.
Scott didn't slow his pace. His gaze remained forward, unreadable.
"I did," he said simply.
Adrian chuckled, glancing around the room as several bitches drew his attention.
Some leaned on walls carelessing their thighs, while some sat crossing and uncrossing their legs, while others bit their lips or ran their fingers along their nails in a flirtatious manner, openly returning his gaze with playful interest.
"Maybe it was a signed contract. Jericho is capable of anything when money is involved. I wonder what kind of agreement she signed that prevents her from quitting—she has been dancing here for three years now," Adrian said, brushing his hair back, one hand tucked into his pocket.
"Men throw bundles of cash onto that stage every night. I'd wager she's earned thousands upon thousands of dollars. It's surprising she's still here, when she could have used that money to build a better life."
Scott scoffed, not sparing a single glance at any of the women around them.
"Jericho… who exactly is he?" Scott asked in a calm, dangerous tone, without sparing a glance as he continued walking.
Adrian let out a low breath, his expression shifting slightly at the question.
"You're just asking that now?" he said, glancing sideways at Scott, he didn't respond, his pace steady, his attention fixed ahead.
Adrian clicked his tongue softly.
"Jericho runs this place… and a lot more than this place. Let's just say he doesn't ask permission to operate—people come to him."
Scott's jaw tightened faintly, though his expression remained unreadable. "That doesn't answer my question, Adrian"
Adrian sighed exhaling out deeply.
"He's not someone you can define in a single sentence. You could say he's obsessed with money—willing to do absolutely anything, anything at all, just to keep the cash flowing. I wouldn't be surprised if he even made the girl sign a lifetime contract. That man is a madman."
Adrian chuckled. Scott clenched his fists inside his pockets, his teeth gritted, his jaw tightening.
Scott's eyes stayed forward as they pushed through the entrance doors of the club. The music hit them first—low, thumping, alive. The kind of sound that swallowed thoughts and replaced them with impulse.
Inside, the club was a storm of lights, movement, and sin dressed as luxury. The air shimmered with perfume, smoke, and money being wasted without hesitation.
Scott's eyes shifted toward the stage, but it was a different woman dancing on the pole.
Adrian couldn't believe it either.
Scott's fists clenched tighter inside his pockets. A slow, ruthless smirk curled on his lips—cold, sharp, and dangerous.
The girl was also an exceptional dancer, wearing only black pants, adorned with multiple earrings, layered neck chains, and waist beads that shimmered under the club lights.
She moved as though she wasn't human—like she belonged entirely to the music itself.
Every turn of her body drew noise from the crowd, applause, whistles, the cruel worship of strangers who didn't know her name, only her shape under the lights.
But still, the crowd wasn't reacting to her the way they did to Holy Mary. Holy Mary's dance was slow, structured, and intoxicating—almost ritualistic.
This, however, felt different: more energetic, more chaotic, less captivating to the same hypnotic standard.
"Fuck, we missed the show. Damn, what a fucking waste. Bulldog is a fucking bastard," Adrian muttered, brushing his hair back in frustration.
Scott didn't respond immediately.
His eyes stayed fixed on the stage, but not on the dancer anymore—as if he was looking past her, through the lights, through the noise, searching for something that wasn't there.
Adrian clicked his tongue. "I told you—if Holy Mary isn't on that stage, the entire place feels completely different. No energy, no atmosphere. Just drinking, smoking, and fucking any bitches you want. But the moment she steps on that stage, your bitch will be so fucking boring"
Scott remained silent for a moment, his gaze fixed on the stage as his jaw tightened slightly.
"She stayed on stage longer than this last night," Scott said coldly, glancing at his wristwatch. His expression darkened. "Why is tonight different?"
Adrian exhaled slowly, his earlier frustration fading into something more cautious as he followed Scott's line of sight.
"Maybe that madman is changing the schedule," he said under his breath. "Or maybe something happened backstage."
"You purchased her for a hundred million yesterday," a soft voice remarked from behind them. "But today, a more lucrative client has acquired her for a billion."
The sharp click of heels followed, drawing their attention as they turned in unison.
A bitch approached—dressed in a sheer black mesh outfit that left little to the imagination, her figure boldly on display.
She chewed her gum with casual indifference, occasionally looping it around her finger, her blue high heels striking the floor with deliberate confidence.
A slow, knowing smile curved her lips as she drew closer.
They recognized her as the same bitch that rode Max's dick the previous night.
The woman stopped just a few steps away from them, tilting her head slightly as her eyes moved between Scott and Adrian with open amusement.
"A billion," Adrian repeated, letting out a low whistle. "Who the hell pays that much for a single night?"
The woman chuckled, popping her gum.
"You'd be surprised what people are willing to pay for something rare," she said smoothly. "And Holy Mary?" — she leaned in slightly, lowering her voice — "She's not just rare… she's super addictive."
Scott's expression didn't change, but something dark flickered in his eyes.
"Who the heck is the client?" he asked, his tone calm—but heavy with something far more dangerous beneath the surface.
The bitch smirked, clearly enjoying the tension, then she leaned closer, her lips brushing just near his ear as she whispered.
"A devil in heels." She pulled back just as quickly, smiling like she hadn't said anything at all.
Scott's eyes darkened instantly. Adrian heard it too, though it was only a whisper. His eyes widened as his thoughts drifted to the Apheus Empire, and he turned to look at Scott.
Scott's gaze remained fixed ahead, but the darkness in his eyes deepened—cold, calculating, dangerous.
Adrian swallowed, lowering his voice.
"You're thinking the same thing, aren't you?" he muttered. "A devil in heels… that doesn't sound normal."
Scott didn't answer immediately, instead, he turned slowly toward the bitch, his expression unreadable, yet suffocating in its intensity.
"Where did they take her?" he asked.
The bitch arched a brow, clearly amused by his tone.
"I have no fucking idea. All I saw was her being taken from the stage by three men. I followed them discreetly and overheard them mentioning that their mistress had purchased her for an entire billion dollars. I do not know which floor they took her to, but one thing is certain—she is still somewhere within this club," she said casually, twirling a strand of her hair around her finger as a faint, knowing smile played on her lips, her gaze drifting toward them.
Adrian shifted closer to Scott, whispering to him.
"The Apheus Empire is the only organization led by a woman. You need to abandon whatever plan you're forming in your head and get the hell out of here. If it truly was a member of that organization who purchased her for that amount, then this entire club could be soaked in blood. They would eliminate anyone who sees their faces before they ever leave this place," Adrian whispered.
Scott didn't move immediately.
For a long moment, he simply stood there—silent, unmoving—while the bass of the music pulsed through the floor beneath them like a second heartbeat.
"Blood or no blood," Scott said coldly, "she's leaving with me."
Adrian's eyes widened slightly. "Predator—don't be a fucking bastard. This isn't a street gang. We're talking about Apheus."
Scott finally turned his head, and the look he gave Adrian was enough to shut him up.
"I didn't come here to negotiate," Scott said coldly, already turning to run.
But Adrian seized his arm and pulled him back.
"Are you insane? If that truly is Apheus, we don't just walk in there. If we do, we won't make it out alive. And I still don't understand why you're trying to save a mere stripper you barely met yesterday—"
Scott's gaze dropped to Adrian's hand gripping his arm, then slowly lifted back to meet his eyes.
"Let go," he said quietly.
Adrian hesitated, letting out a frustrated sigh before finally releasing him.
Scott ran out of the room, Adrian ran after him immediately.
The bitch picked up a glass of wine from the bartender and took a slow sip, her gaze lingering on their retreating figures.
She retrieved her phone and dialed a number, taking a slow sip of her drink as her gaze remained fixed on the door. A faint, knowing smirk curled on her lips.
"Robert's son has just arrived, ma'am," she muttered, tightening her grip around the glass.
Her gaze swept across the room.
The audience lay scattered in disarray—some slumped in their seats, fast asleep with half-empty glasses of wine resting on the tables. Others had collapsed on the stairs, motionless.
Shattered bottles littered the floor.
Near the bar, a bartender lay unconscious amid broken glass.
One after another, the remaining guests began to fall into an unnatural sleep, yet the dancer on stage continued her performance, completely unaware of the unfolding chaos.
Even the DJ had collapsed behind his console, unconscious—though the music still roared from the speakers, loud and uninterrupted.
"Party room cleared, Woman King," she muttered.
Without another word, she turned and walked out, her heels striking the floor with precise, unhurried steps.
Meanwhile, Adrian caught up with Scott as they stepped into the dim corridor beyond the party room, the music fading into a distant, muffled throb behind them.
"You're really not listening, are you?" Adrian said sharply, struggling to keep pace. "This isn't some normal underground boss. If Apheus is involved, then this is bigger than your ego, bigger than your money—bigger than whatever obsession you've got with that girl."
"You won't understand even if I explain anything to you right now. Just shut up and stay behind me as we go inside—wherever they're keeping her—and get her out. If you're that scared, then get out of my way, because I'm getting her home tonight," Scott said sharply.
He strode toward the elevator and pressed a random floor number, his breathing heavy.
Adrian let out a resigned sigh as the doors slid open, and they both stepped inside.
*
*
«MRS KATH'S ROOM»
"Why would you tell your son that a member of the Apheus Empire kidnapped him twenty-three years ago, Katherine?" Mrs. Valencia demanded.
Kath stood before the glass wall, her expression calm despite the beads of sweat forming on her forehead—evidence of the pain she was enduring in her lower body.
For a moment, she said nothing.
"Scott told me he returned to find the woman who kidnapped him twenty years ago, and as the good mother that I am, I gave him a hint. I do not believe you have any right to take issue with that, Valencia," Kath said, turning her head toward her as their eyes locked.
Mrs. Valencia stared at her in disbelief, unable to believe what she had just heard.
"A hint?" she repeated coldly. "You call that a hint?"
"Listen, Valencia, I know everything about the Apheus Empire, and Scott is my son. He has spent years traumatized by the incident of his kidnapping," Mrs. Kath said as she walked slowly toward her, her eyes burning with an emotion that could not be easily defined.
"He has lived in darkness and can barely sleep, because the moment he closes his eyes, he is dragged back into that nightmare. As a good mother, I believe the only solution was to tell him about the very organization responsible for his suffering."
Valencia burst into a chilling laugh as Kath came to a stop in front of her.
"You've just signed your son's death warrant, and yet you still have the audacity to call yourself a good mother?" she said coldly.
"You think giving him a hint will end his suffering? Scott is not like us," she continued darkly. "He does not understand how deep this runs. He does not understand the rules, the consequences, or the history behind the name you so carelessly placed in his hands."
Kath held her gaze steadily, her expression unshaken despite the weight of Valencia's words hanging in the air.
"I will save my son. I will not allow them to kill him. I will do everything within my power to protect him—even if it means sacrificing myself and standing on the front lines of this war," Kath said. "Valencia, I will save him. You do not need to pretend that you truly care about us."
Valencia's smirk faded.
"Wow, you have always had a talent for noble speeches, Katherine. We are best friends, remember? I truly care for you. I took you in like a sister in this house. I even convinced my husband to marry you, and after you cheated on him. I was there for you. I did everything a sister would do for her sibling, yet it has come to my attention that everything I did, you treated as though it meant nothing. Let me tell you something you do not truly understand," Valencia said, stepping directly in front of her, her gaze hardening.
"If you truly intend to stand against the Apheus Empire, then understand this, Katherine—you will not be facing shadows. You will be facing people who erase entire existences without hesitation. Not only will you get your son killed, we will bury two at once. They will not only kill you; they will cut you into pieces and sell you off, just as we did to his mother."
Valencia's lips curled into a menacing smirk.
Kath's mind seemed to fracture under the weight of the words, her trembling fingers curling into tight fists as grief and shock collided in her chest.
Valencia watched her closely, unmoving.
"Do not act surprised," she said coolly. "You chose to reopen doors that should have remained closed."
Kath staggered slightly, one hand instinctively bracing against the glass wall behind her.
Her legs weakened beneath her, and she gripped the edge of the glass wall tighter, as though it were the only thing keeping her upright.
"I truly wanted to help you," Valencia said coldly. "But you chose your own path. Bear whatever consequences come with it. You gave him a hint that will not only destroy both of you, but also condemn him to a life of endless darkness. I know you are still receiving messages from them. The deaths of you and your son are only inches away, Katherine. Whatever happens to both of you—just know that I will not be sorry."
With that, Valencia turned and began to leave the room.
Kath shut her eyes tightly as hot tears slid down her cheeks, her strength finally failing her as she collapsed to the floor.
Valencia brushed her hair back, opened the door, and shut it firmly behind her. She paused briefly, casting a final glance at the door before continuing down the corridor.
Behind her, Katherine broke into uncontrollable sobs.
*
*
«MRS EVELYN HARTWELL— ESTATE»
"A billion just for a girl? What if she doesn't even have the mark, Lia?" Mrs. Evelyn asked sharply on the phone, her voice laced with anger.
She sat on the couch in the living room, legs crossed, her gaze fixed on the television.
A lit cigarette rested between her fingers, its ash falling onto the table scattered with cigarette remnants and empty wine bottles. Her expression hardened as she exhaled slowly.
"I am certain she bears the mark. I only need to confirm it; and if she does not, I will recover the money and leave the club. I know exactly what I am doing, Viper," Lia said over the phone.
Evelyn's fingers tightened slightly around her cigarette as she lifted it to her lips, taking a slow drag before exhaling the smoke in a steady stream.
"Isn't it time you quit, Lia? Remember your lost lover—she jumped off the bridge and drowned. Her body was never recovered, but no one survives a fall like that unless they are an exceptionally strong swimmer—and you and I both know she wasn't. I would advise you to stop the search," Evelyn said, smoke curling from her lips as she spoke.
Silence followed.
Then, her lips slowly curled into a smirk.
"You always did know where to press. But let me remind you of something, Viper—I will not end the search. I will never do that. The search ends only when I find her. Her body was never recovered, which means someone must have saved her. And as for the billion, that is not your concern. It is my money, not yours, and I will recover it once I confirm she does not bear that damned mark," Lia said angrily before hanging up.
Mrs. Evelyn raised a brow, then let out a dark chuckle before placing the phone back on the table.
She picked up the remote, switched off the television, and rose to her feet. As she turned to leave, she stopped abruptly—finding Bianca and Stacy standing there, staring at her.
"Who jumped off the bridge, Mum?" Bianca asked, her eyes widening.
"It's just a story, sweetheart—a long-standing story. I thought you both were spending the night here. Are you heading somewhere?" Evelyn asked as she walked toward them.
Bianca exhaled softly and exchanged a glance with Stacy. After a brief pause, they both turned back to her and nodded.
"Just to chill out," Stacy replied with a bright smile.
Evelyn returned the smile and gently patted their cheeks with a fond expression.
"Next week is my daughter's birthday. I will come tomorrow evening to personally deliver the invitation to your father. You are all invited," Evelyn said to Stacy.
Stacy exhaled heavily, while Bianca's face lit up with a wide smile. She bit her lip and tucked her hair behind her ear, silently screaming yes in her mind over and over again.
"Thank you, ma'am. We will definitely come and cheer her up. I give you my word," Stacy muttered.
Evelyn smiled and shifted her gaze to Bianca, who winked at her before looking away. Evelyn returned the smile, gently patting their shoulders before beginning to walk away.
"Don't be late out there. I hope I am clear enough," Evelyn called over her shoulder as she made her way upstairs, a confident smile on her face.
"Of course, Mum!" Bianca shouted after her.
Stacy quickly dragged Bianca toward the exit, and they left the house.
Evelyn shook her head in quiet amusement as she continued her ascent. Reaching the upper floor, she let out a long, relieved sigh—at least they had not overheard the full conversation on the phone.
*
*
«THE HELLISH VIRGIN—EMPIRE»
On the rooftop, Kyla sat on a chair with her hands tied behind her back and her legs bound together.
Her veil had already been removed—Lia had torn it off the moment she first met her. Her hair fell loosely across her face, scattered and unkempt.
Lia stood with one leg resting on the edge of the rooftop, her expression unreadable. Her men stood not far behind her.
A wide-brimmed hat sat firmly on her head as the breeze swept across the rooftop, stirring the hem of her long jacket suit. Her hands remained tucked inside her pockets as she watched in silence.
Kyla slowly lifted her head, strands of hair clinging to her damp face as the wind swept across the rooftop. Her vision was blurry at first, but gradually it sharpened.
Her eyes widened.
She looked down at herself and realized she was restrained—her hands tied behind her back, her legs bound together. Her gaze drifted upward to the sky. It was still night.
Bright rooftop lights flooded the space around her, harsh and unforgiving. Fragments of memory flickered through her mind.
Leaving the pole.
Being escorted to a private room by the client who had purchased her for the night.
Then— a masked man, then the sudden blow, and then nothing but darkness.
Lia's eyes fell on her, and a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips. She lowered her heel from the edge of the roof, turned fully toward Kyla, and began walking toward her in slow, deliberate steps.
"The pretty girl has finally decided to wake up," Lia said with a bold smile.
Kyla swallowed hard, beads of sweat forming on her forehead as her heart pounded violently against her chest.
"W… who are you, and why am I here?" Kyla asked, her lips trembling.
Lia let out a quiet chuckle, adjusting the brim of her hat.
The wind moved between them, lifting strands of Kyla's hair across her tear-streaked face, then she crouched slightly, bringing herself closer to Kyla's eye level.
"I'm Lia—the one who bought you for tonight, and the one you were meant to entertain. But I didn't actually purchase you for entertainment. What I want is as simple as the alphabet. I will check whether you bear the mark I am looking for—between your legs—to confirm if you are the one I left something there," Lia said with a dark smile.
Kyla's breath hitched sharply, her face draining of color as she instinctively tried to pull back, though the restraints held her firmly in place.
"I don't even know you. If this is all you want, then tying me up wasn't necessary. I would have simply complied and let you check whatever you needed, and then you would have let me go—rather than knocking me out, bringing me here, and tying me up like an animal," Kyla muttered.
Lia raised a brow in mild amusement, then slowly straightened up.
"Such a bold little cat. No wonder Robert decided to make you the price of your parents' debt and marriage arrangement. Look at you—the hottest lady in town, yet no one knows you are the pig in Robert's house. But I like your boldness. And I would bet it is the very reason the handsome gentleman took an interest in you as well, searching the entire building for you," Lia said with a chuckle, pulling out her cigarette and lighter.
Kyla's eyes widened as realization struck her—she was no longer wearing her veil, and Scott was searching for her, which meant she was still inside the club.
How did he know she was here? a part of her mind spiraled, trying to make sense of it. Of course—people always posted clips of her performances on various platforms. That had to be it.
But instead of relief, a strange confusion settled in her chest, should she be happy or afraid that he was looking for her? Was he alone or was he with Adrian and Stacy too?
A sharper thought cut through her fear—Adrian and Stacy must not find out her real identity. If they saw her face like this, she was as good as dead.
"You should have searched for whatever you wanted to confirm while I was unconscious. And even if I wasn't, you should have simply told me to spread my legs, and I would have done it. Instead, you brought me here and put my entire life—the secret I've built—at risk. I don't even know you, and I don't even think I have whatever you're trying to confirm on my fucking pussy!" Kyla shouted through tears, struggling against her restraints.
Lia lit her cigarette, took a slow drag, then calmly extinguished it before turning to face her with a short, dark chuckle.
"You're right—I should have confirmed it while you were unconscious. But that was because I've been waiting for a friend I missed so fucking much," Lia said, leaning forward as she gripped the armrest tightly.
Kyla's eyes burned with anger.
"Robert's son—Scott Wellington—that's my little gentleman I'm waiting for. My old-time bestfriend," Lia added menacingly, exhaling thick smoke into Kyla's face.
Kyla coughed uncontrollably.
*
*
TBC
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