The sun had barely risen when Blaire finished washing her face. She changed into a pair of jeans and a plain sweater. She took a deep breath, opened her bedroom door, and walked down to the first floor dining room.

Blaire stepped into the sunlit room. She forced down the bile rising in her throat and managed a polite, obedient smile at her adoptive parents and siblings sitting around the long table.

She pulled out a chair and sat down. She deliberately picked up a piece of whole wheat toast and chewed it slowly. The repetitive motion helped hide the slight tremor in her fingertips.

Clotilda set her coffee cup down. She used a sickeningly fake tone of concern to ask how Blaire slept last night. Her eyes, however, scanned Blaire's stomach like she was inspecting a breeding mare.

Blaire took a deep breath and looked straight into Clotilda's eyes. She kept her voice light as she answered that she slept fine. Then, she dropped the bomb. She announced her decision to move into the university dorms.

The air in the dining room froze instantly. Danita's knife screeched against her ceramic plate, leaving a harsh, ugly sound hanging in the air.

Ewald, the patriarch, lowered his morning paper. He frowned deeply and demanded a reason, playing the role of the strict but caring father.

Blaire delivered her prepared excuse. She claimed she needed to undergo intensive, closed off training to apply for the MFA scholarship. She used academic ambition as her shield.

Clotilda immediately snapped her objection. She argued that an unmarried girl living on campus would ruin the family's reputation. Blaire knew the real reason was Clotilda's fear of losing control over her walking organ bank.

Calhoun, who had been silent, suddenly placed his silverware down. He used an authoritative tone that left no room for argument. He agreed to let her go, but added a hard condition: she had to return home for dinner every single weekend.

Blaire met Calhoun's bottomless dark eyes. She knew this was his absolute bottom line. She clenched her jaw and nodded, accepting the compromise.

Danita saw the shift in power and rolled her eyes. She used a fake, innocent voice to suggest Blaire go see Kamryn tonight, trying to push their entrapment plan forward.

Hearing that name made Blaire's stomach cramp violently. She forced a bitter smile and flatly rejected the idea, citing her heavy workload.

Breakfast ended in a suffocating, bizarre silence. Blaire grabbed her backpack, muttered an excuse about the library, and practically ran out of the estate.

She walked several blocks away from the massive iron gates before her tense shoulders finally dropped. She picked up her pace and headed toward a small, inconspicuous CVS pharmacy on the corner.

She pushed the glass doors open. The blast of air conditioning hit her face. Blaire pulled the brim of her baseball cap down low, keeping her head angled away from the security cameras mounted on the ceiling.

She walked quickly to the feminine hygiene aisle. Her eyes scanned the shelves until she found the small box of Plan B. She grabbed it, but as she turned around, she bumped hard into a heavy set woman pushing a cart.

The woman loudly complained. Several other customers turned their heads to look. Blaire panicked, hiding the box behind her back and mumbling a string of apologies.

Once the attention shifted away, she hurried to the self checkout machine. She fed crisp cash into the slot, grabbed her change, and crumpled the receipt into a nearby trash can.

Stepping out of the pharmacy, Blaire ducked into a deserted alleyway. Her hands shook as she ripped the cardboard box open. She popped the pill out of the blister pack and swallowed it dry, without any water.

The chalky pill scratched the back of her throat. A bitter taste coated her tongue, but a fierce spark of satisfaction lit up her eyes. She had just ruined their master plan.

Blaire walked to a nearby park and sat down on a wooden bench. She pulled out her phone and started searching for high paying part time jobs.

She scrolled past the coffee shop listings. Minimum wage would never be enough to fund her escape from New York.

Her thumb swiped faster. She navigated to a hidden, underground New York forum, looking for something off the books.

A flashing neon banner caught her eye. Club Velvet was urgently hiring premium resident dancers. Daily cash payouts. Strict privacy protection.

Blaire clicked the link. The hourly rate listed on the screen made her heart pound against her ribs. It was the only way she could gather enough cash in a short amount of time.

She read the job description. It required revealing outfits and softcore, sensual performances. Years of conservative upbringing made her stomach twist with shame.

Then, the memory of Clotilda's face talking about draining her blood flashed in her mind. The visceral fear of death instantly crushed any moral hesitation.

Blaire clamped her teeth together. Her eyes hardened into cold steel. She tapped the application button without a second thought.

An encrypted chat window popped up. The manager told her to come to the back alley door at ten o'clock tonight, wearing a mask, for an audition.

Blaire locked her phone screen. She stared at her pale reflection in the black glass. She told herself that to survive, she had to become someone else entirely.

Blaire pulled her cheap black trench coat tighter around her body. She walked through the graffiti covered alleyway in the industrial edge of Manhattan. She stopped in front of a heavy, unmarked iron door.

The small viewing panel on the door slid open with a harsh scrape. A pair of bloodshot eyes stared at her for a few seconds. Heavy chains rattled, and the door swung inward.

Blaire took a deep breath and stepped into the dim, narrow hallway. The heavy bass of the club music instantly vibrated through the walls, making her teeth rattle.

Vince Kowalski, the floor manager, walked up to her. He chewed on an unlit cigar. He looked her up and down and told her to show him what she had to work with.

Blaire swallowed her humiliation. She unbuttoned the trench coat and let it fall open, revealing the tight black leotard underneath. Vince's eyes widened as he took in her perfect proportions.

He hired her on the spot. He shoved a liability waiver onto a clipboard and handed her a pen. Blaire signed the name "Jessica" on the dotted line without hesitating.

Vince pushed her into the crowded communal dressing room. The air was thick with the suffocating smell of cheap perfume and aerosol hairspray. Several dancers shot her glares full of territorial hostility.

Blaire ignored them. She sat down at a vanity mirror and picked up a wild, burgundy red wavy wig. She pulled it over her head, completely hiding her natural dark hair.

She applied a thick layer of foundation, covering her innocent features. She painted on heavy, dark smoky eyeshadow and a bright, aggressive red lipstick. The woman staring back at her in the mirror was a complete stranger.

She changed into the club's uniform: a black lace bodysuit and thigh high leather boots. She took three deep breaths, locking the weak, frightened Blaire away in a dark corner of her mind.

The stage director kicked the door open and yelled for Jessica to get on deck. Blaire stumbled slightly in the unfamiliar heels before finding her balance.

She pushed past the heavy velvet curtains. The blinding glare of the stage spotlights hit her face. The massive crowd of men below erupted into deafening whistles and shouts.

The visual assault made her want to shrink back, but the fear of the Terrell family pushed her forward. She straightened her spine and began to move her hips to the sultry saxophone beat.

She blended her years of classical ballet flexibility into the pole routine. She executed a flawless, inverted split high on the brass pole. The crowd went absolutely insane.

At that exact moment, behind the one way glass of the VIP booth on the second floor, Kamryn Lane leaned back against the leather sofa. He swirled the amber whiskey in his crystal glass.

He was bored out of his mind by the businessmen kissing his ass. His cold eyes swept over the main stage below, and then, they stopped moving.

The dancer in the red wig. Every spin and extension she made dripped with a lethal, natural seduction. It was completely different from the vulgar grinding of the other women.

Kamryn narrowed his eyes. His body unconsciously leaned forward. He could not see her face under the heavy makeup, but the curve of her waist and the line of her legs triggered a deep muscle memory.

His mouth went dry. He yanked at his silk tie, annoyed. For some reason, the image of the inexperienced, sweet body from the hotel bed yesterday flashed in his mind.

On stage, Blaire finished a spin and ran a finger over her red lips. Her dazed eyes swept across the second floor glass. It felt as if she was looking straight into Kamryn's soul.

That accidental glance struck a match to Kamryn's suppressed possessiveness. He lifted his glass and downed the burning whiskey in one swallow.

The men in the front row started throwing crumpled bills at the stage. A few drunk patrons reached out, trying to grab Blaire's slender ankles.

Blaire let out a sharp gasp. She quickly shimmied higher up the pole to avoid their sweaty hands. A flash of genuine panic broke through her sexy facade.

Kamryn saw that panic. The interest in his eyes instantly morphed into a dark, violent possessiveness. A primal instinct to protect what was his flared in his chest.

He turned his head to look at Mitch Duggan, his head of security standing in the shadows. He gave an order that left no room for debate.

Kamryn tapped his long finger against the glass. He told Mitch to bring the redhead to his booth, completely unharmed.

Down on the stage, the music faded. Blaire stood panting, bowing to the crowd. She prepared to kneel and collect the cash scattered on the floor. That was her survival money.

Before she could bend down, two massive men in black suits stepped out from the edge of the stage. They grabbed her arms in a vice grip.

Blaire panicked. She thrashed and screamed for help, but the crowd just cheered louder, assuming it was part of the show.

They dragged her off the stage and hauled her down a dark, private corridor leading to the second floor. She was being taken to a VIP booth, and she had no idea what nightmare waited for her inside.

The heavy door to the VIP booth opened, and Blaire was shoved roughly inside. She stumbled forward, her knees hitting the thick Persian rug with a painful thud. The door clicked shut behind her, locking automatically.

The silence in the room was absolute. The soundproofing completely killed the heavy bass from the club below. The only sound was the faint hiss of a humidifier in the corner.

Blaire slowly lifted her head. Her eyes adjusted to the dim, amber lighting. Her gaze landed on the man sitting in the center of the massive leather sofa, radiating the aura of a king holding court.

When she recognized the cold, flawless face of Kamryn Lane, her heart stopped beating. It felt like an invisible hand had reached into her chest and crushed her lungs.

Pure terror made her shrink backward. She quickly ducked her head, letting the wild red wig fall forward to cover her face. She prayed to whatever god was listening that he would not recognize her.

Kamryn leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes roamed over her body like a predator assessing a trapped animal. The look was highly invasive.

He let out a low scoff. The deep sound vibrated in the quiet room. He mocked her, saying she looked like a terrified rabbit, completely different from the slutty dancer on stage.

Blaire ground her teeth together. She forced her vocal cords to tighten, dropping her voice into a raspy, unfamiliar register. She told him she was just a dancer, calling him "sir."

The submissive answer seemed to irritate Kamryn. He stood up. His expensive leather shoes made soft, heavy thuds against the rug as he walked toward her.

He stopped right in front of her. He looked down, then suddenly lifted the toe of his polished shoe, hooking it under her chin and forcing her head up.

Blaire had no choice but to look up. Her heavily painted face was fully exposed to him. She bit the inside of her cheek until it bled, refusing to let the panic show in her eyes.

Kamryn's gaze lingered on her thick eyeliner for a second. His brow furrowed slightly, as if something didn't add up, but the raw lust in his eyes quickly burned away the doubt.

He bent down suddenly. His large hand clamped around her wrist. He yanked her up from the floor with brutal force, pulling her flush against his hard chest.

Blaire gasped. She pressed her hands against his chest, trying to push him away. His other arm wrapped around her waist like an iron band, locking her in place.

Kamryn lowered his head. His nose brushed against her cheek. He inhaled deeply, then scowled in disgust, muttering about the cheap, nauseating perfume she was wearing.

Before Blaire could struggle again, Kamryn's hand moved to the back of her neck. He tilted her head back and crashed his mouth down on her cheap red lipstick.

The kiss was a punishment. It was a violent invasion. He forced her lips apart, kissing her with a frantic, consuming hunger that terrified her.

As their mouths clashed, a sudden, violent jolt of recognition hit Kamryn's brain. The soft yield of her lips, the faint, underlying scent of citrus beneath the nauseating perfume-it was identical to the woman from the hotel yesterday. His brow furrowed in deep confusion. Impossible, he thought, his mind racing to reject the absurd coincidence. It's just a cheap trick. But the physical memory was undeniable, making his heart hammer in a way he despised.

A wave of absolute degradation washed over Blaire. She had suffered under his body just yesterday, and now she was being violated by him again.

Her fear instantly turned into blinding rage. Blaire clamped her teeth down hard on his lower lip. The sharp metallic taste of blood flooded both of their mouths.

Kamryn let out a muffled groan of pain. He shoved her away. He lifted his thumb and wiped the blood from his mouth. His dark eyes flared with a dangerous, violent light.

Blaire fell back onto the sofa. She panted heavily, her chest heaving. She glared at him like a cornered leopard, ready to fight to the death.

To her shock, Kamryn did not explode. He licked the blood off his lip. A low, dark chuckle rumbled in his chest. Her wildness seemed to turn him on even more.

He walked over to the small bar cart and poured himself a drink. With his back to her, he stated his terms in a voice made of ice. One million dollars a month. Be his exclusive mistress.

The number hit Blaire like a physical shock. One million dollars. It was enough to disappear forever, to completely sever ties with the Terrell family.

But then Kamryn turned around. The absolute contempt in his eyes made her stomach turn. If she agreed, she would truly become the cheap whore he thought she was.

Blaire curled her hands into fists. Her nails dug so hard into her palms they broke the skin. She stood up, looked him dead in the eye, and used her raspy voice to spit out two words: "Dream on."

The muscles in Kamryn's forearm tightened around his glass. He clearly had never been rejected by a bottom tier dancer when offering that kind of money.

He closed the distance between them in two strides. He slammed the crystal glass down on the coffee table. The glass shattered, the sharp crack echoing like a gunshot in the room. The temperature plummeted to freezing.

His hand shot out and gripped her throat. He backed her up until her spine hit the wall. He ground his teeth together, warning her not to push her luck. No one in New York said no to Kamryn Lane.

Blaire's face flushed red from the lack of oxygen. She did not break eye contact. She forced the words out through her restricted windpipe. She called him an arrogant bastard and told him he made her sick.