It wasn't like I had a choice.

I stared at the mirror in the club’s back room, hands clenched around a cheap plastic cup of something that burned like acid. My reflection looked like someone else.. glitter on my collarbones, lashes thick with mascara, lips too red, too loud. Like I was screaming without making a sound.

If I didn't do what Matt wanted, he’d sell the house. That was the deal. He made it clear.

He didn't even yell this time. Just leaned in real close, calm and cold, told me if I didn't pull through, he’d get the papers signed by morning. And that I shouldn't test him.

I knew that tone. That voice. The one that came after the pills, after the cocaine, after the fourth beer when he’d look through me like I was just a problem to solve. A weight around his neck.

Sometimes he hit me. Not with fists .. not always .. but words that sliced deeper. Silence that punished.Pressure in the bedroom when I said no and he said, But you're mine.

And I stayed.I stayed because he was the only one left. Because sometimes he cried when he touched me, and I believed there was still a part of him that loved me.

Or maybe I just didn't know how to leave.

My hands were shaking. I drank the whole cup in two gulps .

“Stage One, let’s go!” someone called behind me, voice sharp and tired. A woman with too much eyeliner and a clipboard.“You're up, sweetheart .”

I stood too fast. My stomach lurched .

“I can’t do this,” I whispered .

But no one was listening.

The music pounded like a heartbeat on the verge of collapsing.Lights pulsed red and violet through the heavy curtains. I stepped out into it, into a world of heat and shadows and too many eyes.

The pole stood in the center like a crown I hadn't earned .

My heels clicked against the stage, unsteady.Every part of me felt wrong. Too exposed.Too loud. Too alone.

Someone whistled.Another shouted something vile .

I tried to tune it out. Just sway a little. Breathe. Think of nothing.

But the air was too thick. The lights too bright. The music too fast. My body wouldn't move the way it was supposed to.

I took one step toward the pole .. and stumbled .

Laughter rippled through the crowd.

I tried again. Reached out. Missed .

Two men in the front row leaned in, close and drunk and hungry.

“Hey, sweetheart,” one of them slurred.“You look like you need a hand.”

The other grabbed my ankle.

I flinched back hard, almost fell.

“Back the fuck off.”

The voice came out of nowhere. Low. Calm. Lethal .

The hands dropped away.

A figure stepped between me and the stage .. tall, dark, sharply dressed in black slacks and a half-open shirt, like he’d stepped out of a different universe entirely.

He didn't yell.He didn't need to. The two guys backed off like they’d been slapped .

He turned to me.

“Come on,” he said quietly.

I hesitated, heart in my throat.

Then I ran.

We slipped out the side door, through a hallway that reeked of stale beer and fake vanilla perfume. Out into the night.

Cool air hit my skin and I almost collapsed against the brick wall, gasping like I’d been underwater.

“Jesus,” I muttered, half-laughing, half-crying.

He stood a few feet away, watching me like I was a puzzle he hadn't decided how to solve yet.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

I nodded, then shook my head. “I don’t even know.”

He looked rich .. but not the flashy, Vegas kind of rich. The quiet, dangerous kind. Designer shoes. Watch that probably cost more than my rent. A jawline sculpted like sin, dark hair falling just a little into his eyes.

And his eyes .. God .. they were this impossible grey, like storms and smoke and secrets. I should've been scared.Maybe I was. But I also didn't care.

“I should go,” I said, swaying a little.

“Where?” he asked. “Back in there? Or to the guy who sent you?”

That pulled me up short.

I blinked at him. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No,” he said. “But I know you looked like you were about to fall apart on that stage. And you didn't look like you chose this.”

I wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.

Instead, I said, “Why do you care?”

He shrugged.“I don’t. Not really. But I couldn't just watch.”

There was a long pause.

“You want a ride?” he asked.

I should've said no. I was drunk. He was a stranger. Everything in the after-school-special part of my brain was screaming, bad idea, bad idea, bad idea.

But the thought of going home to Matt made me physically ill.

So I nodded .

The car was sleek and black, like something out of a dream. The leather seats swallowed me up as we drove through quiet streets I didn't recognize.

He didn't say much. Just glanced over at me once, like he was checking to make sure I hadn't passed out.

“Where are we going?” I asked finally.

“My place.”

“Of course,” I muttered, mostly to myself.

But when we pulled up to a penthouse building with floor-to-ceiling windows, I didn't argue.

I should have.

I didn't.

The rest is blurry.Heat and breath and mouths colliding.Hands that felt too good and lips that made me forget my own name. I don’t remember taking off my clothes, or him taking off his.

Only that for a little while, the world stopped hurting .

His skin was warm. His voice, when he whispered things I don’t remember, was gentle in a way I hadn't felt in years.

And I let him.

God, I let him.

I woke up hours later, not morning yet .. the sky outside was still navy blue, the kind that comes just before the sun breaks .

My head throbbed .

I sat up slowly, chest tight, nausea blooming low in my belly.

The stranger .. Jace, he’d said his name was Jace .. was still asleep beside me, arm flung over his face like he hadn't a care in the world.

I looked at him.

I looked at the door.

And then I bolted .

I pulled on my dress, grabbed my coat, and slipped out of that apartment as quietly as I could.

Because oh God .. Matt.What had I done?

I ran barefoot down the hallway, heart in my throat.

I had to get home.

Before he noticed I was gone.

Before everything exploded .