Chapter 3

Smoke and Mirrors

This time, I didn't flinch.

I saw him the moment I stepped onto the floor, same booth, same shadows hugging the corners, same relaxed posture like he owned the night and didn't need anyone to confirm it.

But he didn't look at me. Not at first.

He sipped his whiskey, eyes scanning the room like he wasn't waiting for anything or anyone. But I knew better. There was intention behind that calm exterior. A pause between moments. A silence with weight.

I kept moving. Pretended not to care. But my hands felt warmer, clammier. I hated that.

I was just refilling glasses for a group of finance guys when I heard it again.

that voice.

Low. Controlled.

"I was starting to think you quit."

I turned slowly, already knowing who I'd see. "Nope. Still here."

He smiled. Not wide. Just enough.

"I was hoping you would be."

I exhaled a laugh through my nose, unsure what to say next. He gestured toward the empty seat across from him.

"No drinks this time. Just five minutes. Sit."

I hesitated. Naya would flip if she saw me off-task, even for a moment. But something about him, his stillness, the way he didn't push made it feel less like a risk and more like a pull.

"I can't," I said softly. "I'm working."

"I'll keep it short," he replied, almost amused.

I should've walked away. Instead, I found myself glancing around, and before I could stop myself, I sat.

Only for a second, I told myself. Just one.

"I'm not allowed to do this," I said.

"You're not doing anything," he said, leaning forward. "We're just… talking."

There was a pause. A long one.

Then he asked, "What's your name?"

I studied him, unsure if I wanted to give it. Names were powerful things. Personal. Intimate. But something in me, it whispered tell him.

"Candy," I said.

"Candy." He repeated it like he was tasting it.

"I'm Cyprian."

Of course his name was Cyprian. It fit the sharp edges, the slow drawl, the air of expensive secrets.

"You always watch the staff like that?" I asked.

He smiled at that, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Only the interesting ones."

"And what makes me interesting?"

He didn't answer right away. Just looked at me, like he was trying to peel back layers.

"You don't belong here," he said finally. "Not in this club. Not in this world."

I bristled. "You don't know me."

"No," he agreed. "But I see things. And I know when someone's pretending."

I stood then, abruptly. The warmth I'd felt before had vanished, replaced with a flush of annoyance.

"Enjoy your drink, Cyprian."

I walked away without looking back, pulse racing. Who the hell did he think he was?

But the truth? He was right.

I was pretending.

Deciding I needed a break, I went through the back into the hallway.

Two steps into the hallway behind the VIP section, a hand roughly caught my wrist, pulling me to the side. I turned, heart hammering, to find Naya, my manager, giving me a hard stare.

"Hey Naya, what's happening?" I asked, confused at why she would use so much force on me.

She didn't answer right away, just released my wrist like I was something she couldn't stand to touch, then flipped her hair to the back with that usual fake confidence.

I stood still, calming myself. She was always like this. I cleared my throat, waiting for her to speak.

"There are some VVIP guests I want you to serve tonight, Candy," she said with her usual disgust. My name sounded dirty coming from her lips.

Naya never liked me. Not from day one. Maybe I reminded her of who she used to be. Maybe she just hated me for existing. Either way, she made sure to remind me every chance she got.

"I'm sorry, Naya, but you know I don't take those gigs. I know exactly what goes down with that crowd and that's not part of my job. I'm just here to serve drinks and do my shift. I'll pass."

I tried to keep my tone polite, even smiled a little. But she wasn't having it.

"You fit the description of what they want," she said, voice rising just a little.

"These are not your average VIPs. These are the kind of men that make the world spin with one call. Billionaires, Candy. And all they asked for is for you to pour them drinks and stand in the corner. You won't be alone, another girl will be there with you."

I stared at her.

"I said no, Naya."

She stepped in even closer, voice dropping. "You'll be paid triple your salary tonight."

I blinked.

Triple?

The number sat in my chest like a brick.

I could pay rent for two months. Stock the kitchen. Put some money aside for Mia, my sister's tuition. Maybe even fix the mess with my light bill I'd been avoiding for weeks.

Just stand in a corner and serve drinks. That's what she said.

I thought hard about it.

But I knew better.

"I don't want to get involved in that mess," I said quietly. "I'm not here for that kind of work."

She tilted her head. "Then maybe you're not supposed to be here at all."

I looked at her, and the words hit harder than I expected.

"You're threatening to fire me?"

"I'm saying," she said with a smile that wasn't a smile, "that I need someone I can depend on tonight. If that's not you, I'll find someone else. And you'll be free to go… permanently."

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

It wasn't fair. But life hadn't been fair in a long time.

And right now, I couldn't afford to lose this job.

"…Where do I change?" I asked, barely above a whisper.

She smiled wider now. Fake. Plastic. Triumphant.

"Third locker on the left."

The locker room was cold and quiet. I walked in slowly, heart pounding. It always smelled like perfume and hairspray in here, like the ghosts of a thousand shifts never left.

I opened the locker.

There it was....

A tight black satin dress with thin straps and a slit that nearly reached the top of my thigh. There were matching black stilettos underneath, taller than anything I would ever wear by choice.

I stared at the dress for a long time, just breathing.

This wasn't me. This wasn't who I was. But survival didn't ask questions.

I changed slowly, each piece of clothing I took off felt like peeling off my dignity. When I was done, I stood in front of the mirror and barely recognized myself. Glossy lips. Heavy lashes. Black dress. Long legs.

I looked like I belonged to the night.

I looked like bait.

I walked out of the locker room, each step on the heels felt like walking into a decision I couldn't undo.

The hallway to the VVIP suite was dimly lit, long, and quiet, so quiet I could hear my own heartbeat. My shoes echoed with every step, clicking against the floor like a countdown.

I passed the last regular booth and turned toward the restricted section. Two security guards were already stationed by the gold-accented doors. One of them opened it when he saw me coming.

I stepped into the VVIP lounge.

The air hit me first, rich with expensive cologne, fine cigars, aged whiskey. The kind of scent that whispered danger in a tailored suit. Soft jazz drifted from hidden speakers, the lights dim but deliberate, casting gold shadows across crystal glasses already set on the table.

I wasn't early.

Four men sat inside silent, composed, radiating power like it was stitched into their skin. They didn't have to speak to be felt. You could taste their presence.

I took a step forward and then I saw him.

Cyprian.

Our eyes collided across the room, sharp and sudden like a slap.

And just like that my lungs forgot how to work.

But something was different.

Gone was the calm, unreadable mask he wore like armor.

He looked… furious.

Like my presence alone had set something off.

Like I had just walked into a storm with no way out.