Chapter 3

Bella’s pov

I stood in front of the mirror, breathing like someone about to rob a bank.

The makeup girl Lila, I think her name was tightened the straps of my dress and handed me a pair of black stilettos with the kind of heel that could puncture a man’s ego.

“You’ll be fine,” she said, chewing on her gum.

“Just smile. Whisper. Look like sin wrapped in silk, but don’t let them unwrap you.”

Easy for her to say. She didn’t have my knees.

I stepped into the heels and stood straight. Or tried to.

With its crimson velvet adhering like a second skin and slits high up my thighs and low enough at the breast to expose the kind of vulnerability that couldn't be repaired.

The dress was hardly a dress at all, No bra, no safety net.

This wasn’t the kind of place where you dressed to feel good about yourself. You dressed to sell the illusion that you were already owned.

Crystal appeared behind me. She didn’t smile, but her eyes gave me a once-over that felt approving.

“You look edible.”

“Comforting,” I muttered.

“You remember the rules?” she asked.

I nodded. “No touching unless I allow it. No extras. No drugs. No drinks unless I watched them get poured.”

“Good girl.” She adjusted a strand of my hair. “Tonight’s your test run. VIP only. They’re expecting you.”

My throat tightened. “What do I do?”

“Make them fall in love with you,” she said

“Then leave them wanting.”

*****

The Velvet Room was more noisy tonight.

The room throbbed with a dark, alluring energy.

The lights made everything shine, from the dangerous-looking chandeliers to the wine-colored drapes, all while a strong, sensual scent filled the air.

I was led through the hallway by Crystal.

I walked down the hallway, feeling like I was about to get married.

A man in a suit waited at the end and opened a large, soundproof door, similar to a bank vault.

Inside, it was quieter. More dangerous.

The VIP lounge.

Low leather couches, dim amber lighting, and men with faces that didn’t belong in newspapers but probably owned them.

Cigars burned in ashtrays made of crystal. In their tumblers, pricey whisky glittered like gold.

A string quartet played somewhere out of sight.

And I was the entertainment.

I stepped in.

Every eye turned to me.

Some hungry, Some bored, One or two—appraising.

I barely knew how to breathe as I moved slowly, my heels pounding on the marble floor, my hips swinging like though I belonged here.

Every move was calculated. Innocence wrapped in seduction. A lamb dressing like a wolf.

A man waved me over. Older. Greying at the temples. His cufflinks gleamed like warning signs.

“Come here, sweetheart,” he said smoothly.

I obeyed.

He hasn't touched yet. Just watched me as I sank gracefully to my knees between his legs and began to move. Not vulgar. Not frantic. Slow. Hypnotic.

He whispered something to the man beside him, something about my eyes. I ignored it.

I concentrated on my breathing, the music's beat, and how my body moved as if it had been doing so for ages.

And in a way it had

Maybe not like this.

But I’d danced to survive before.

After some time, he produced a substantial pile of bills from his wallet.

“Keep going”, he said.

You’re worth it.”

Another man called me over. This one younger, maybe someone’s spoiled heir.

I gave him a seductive, cunning smile and lightly touched the edge of temptation with my finger as I moved it down his chest.

I had three piles of money in my thigh strap by the end of the hour, along with a few whispered offers that I graciously turned down.

*****

Backstage, Crystal raised a brow when she saw me.

“Not bad for a first-timer,” she said, counting my money.

$11,200.

More than enough to stay.

I remained silent. I was still floating, still recovering from the weird, dizzying rush of simultaneously being powerful, desirable, and watched.

Max appeared in the doorway like a shadow slipping through the cracks. He didn’t look at the money. He looked at me.

“You danced like a secret,” he said.

I blinked. “A secret?”

“Something hidden. Dangerous. Worth dying for.”

I didn’t know whether to thank him or run.

“Get some rest,” he said. “ You are on the schedule now”

I turned to go but his voice stopped me

“Oh and Bella?”

“Yes?”

“Next time, keep your eyes off the cameras.”

I froze. “What cameras?”

He smiled.

But his eyes? They weren’t smiling.

*****

That night, I walked home alone.

Jade had left early with a client, and I didn’t feel like crashing on her weed-scented couch again.

I wanted air. Space. A moment to just exist without someone trying to own me.

I took the long route. past deserted pavements and closed stores.

It was not safer, but the city was quieter at two in the morning.

It never really slept, It just blinked slower.

I stopped in front of the bakery window, gazing at the tempting pastries.

My stomach rumbled, reminding me that I hadn't eaten since lunchtime.

Then I felt it.

That prickling heat at the back of my neck.

Like I was being watched.

I turned.

No one.

Just shadows. Streetlamps.

A dog barked somewhere in the dark

I shook my head

“Paranoia,” I whispered. “Get a grip.”

But when I reached Jade’s building, something stopped me.

A box.

Sitting on the doormat.

Wrapped in black paper. No ribbon. No tag.

After staring at the box for a while, I summoned the courage to pick it up and carried it inside.

Jade’s room was locked. She wasn’t at home.

I sat on the couch to open the box while my heart was racing.

Inside was a small gold charm—an eye.

Delicate. Ornate.

And a note.

“They looked at you tonight. I didn’t like it. Keep dancing, baby girl. But don’t forget who you belong to.”

There was no signature.

Just the faintest trace of cologne.

The same scent I remembered from the Velvet Room.

From somewhere behind the curtain.

From Him.