I didn't call a taxi.

I couldn't afford it.

I knew what people would say. I knew that, morally, I was the villain in this story. I was the woman tearing a marriage apart.

But when you're starving, morality is a luxury you can't afford.

People who judge me have never had to choose between their dignity and their next meal.

I didn't become a stripper because I wanted to be stared at.

I did it because bills don't pay themselves and the world doesn't give handouts to girls like me.

As I walked, my mind drifted back to the first time I saw him.

The club was loud, filled with the smell of cheap gin, expensive cigars, and sweat.

I was on stage, the neon lights washing over my skin in hues of pink and blue.

I swayed my hips against the cold metal of the pole. I moved with ease, arching my back until I felt the weight of every gaze in the room.

"You're irresistible!"

"Come with us!"

Men were shouting for me, but they didn't catch my attention. Sitting alone in a corner booth, he caught my eye.

David was different from the usual crowd of sweaty, middle-aged men with wandering hands.

He was slumped over a glass of amber liquid, looking like he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Even drunk, he was the most handsome man I had ever seen.

He had a sharp, defined jawline that looked like it was carved from stone, and his eyes were narrowed, tracking my every move with a dark intensity.

I knew a golden opportunity when I saw one. I made sure my next move was just for him, letting my body move in a way that I knew would catch his breath.

And it worked.

His eyes swept over my body as he ground his jaw.

When my set was over, I didn't go back to the dressing room. I went straight to him.

I sat on his lap, the silk of my outfit barely a barrier between us. He didn't push me away. He just looked at me with those heavy, intoxicated eyes.

"Why are you here all alone, handsome?" I purred, leaning in until I could smell the scotch on his breath.

"Just having some problems," he muttered, his voice gravelly and deep.

I let my hand slide up his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt.

"These problems?"

"They look like the kind of problems that need a distraction."

He didn't say anything, but his gaze dropped to my lips.

I could see the raw lust flaring in his eyes, a fire that started to warm me from the inside out.

"Why don't we settle this upstairs? In the VIP room," I whispered against his ear, my voice dripping with seduction.

"Just the two of us."

Technically, it was against the bar's policy. We were paid to dance, to tease, to entertain-but we weren't supposed to cross that line.

If the manager found out, I'd be fired on the spot. But looking at David, I didn't care about the rules.

I wanted him.

The way his large hands had gripped my waist, bruising and possessive, and the way he'd groaned-a deep, guttural sound that vibrated through my entire body.

"Shit...you're so sexy."

It was the kind of sound that made a woman lose her breath.

I hadn't expected that kind of raw passion from a man who looked like he spent his life behind a mahogany desk.

I had enjoyed every second of it, letting myself drown in the sensation of him.

He held me like I was the only thing keeping him grounded, and for the first time in my life, I wasn't just performing.

I was feeling something.

"Shit! I'm cumming!" he groaned like a beast, then his load shot onto my stomach.

When I woke up the next morning after that night, the bed was cold.

He was gone. No note, no number, just the lingering scent of his cologne on the sheets.

I was furious.

I spent at the bar digging for information. He didn't pay me, which was exactly why I was looking for him.

I bought the bartender two drinks and leaned closer.

"Do you remember the guy I left with?" I asked.

He smirked, pretending to hesitate.

"For another drink," he said.

I slid the glass over.

"David Kingsley," he muttered.

His voice dropped, eyes flicking around, like the name itself was dangerous.

Bingo.

I pulled up the search engine on my phone.

It didn't take long to find him.

He was a billionaire. I hit a jackpot!

My heart raced as I scrolled through his photos.

I knew right then that I had to find him.

I wasn't going back to that pole. I had found my way out of this hell I'd been in.

A few days after that night, I showed up at his corporate headquarters.

I wore my best dress-a tight, emerald green that screamed "classy."

I walked into that lobby like I owned the building.

"Who are you here to see, Ma'am?" the receptionist asked, her eyes widening as she took in my appearance.

My skin was glowing, my hair was perfect, and I looked like I belonged in a penthouse, not a slum.

They had no idea I'd spent my last few money on the taxi ride over. They didn't know I was a girl who grew up in the trash, raised on the streets with nothing to her name.

"I have an appointment with Sir David."

"Of course, right this way," she said, falling for the act completely.

When I walked into his private office, David was looking at some papers, his brow furrowed in concentration.

When he looked up and saw me, his jaw practically hit the floor.

"What are you doing here?! How did you find this place?" he demanded, standing up.

I didn't answer right away.

I just walked toward him, the click of my heels echoing in the large room.

Then, I leaned across his desk, letting my dress dip low to expose the curve of my cleavage.

I saw his eyes drop instantly. The anger in his expression flickered, replaced by that familiar, dark desire I'd seen at the club.

"I'm here to continue what we started. Besides, you didn't pay me," I whispered, my voice low and husky.

"I have a wife. That night is a mistake! And if it's about payment, I can give it to you right now," he said.

He was staring at me like a starving man looks at a feast.

He has a wife... but that didn't stop the desire building in my stomach, especially with just the two of us in his office.

"And that's even more thrilling, isn't it?" I countered, walking around the desk until I was inches from him.

"Your wife never has to find out. This can be our little secret."

I took his hand and forced it onto my breast, letting him feel the heat of my skin.

"Come on, David. Fuck me again. I know you want to. I can feel it."

He tried to push me away for a second, a final half-hearted attempt at being a "good man," but I didn't let him.

I crashed my lips against his, kissing him with hunger.

I felt his resolve snap.

Het out a cursed "Shit..." against my mouth.

Before I knew it, he was clearing the papers off his desk with one swift motion.

He lifted me up, spreading my legs as he pressed me down onto the cold surface.

The professional atmosphere of the office vanished, replaced by the same frantic energy from the VIP room.

That was the day I stopped being just a dancer.

From that moment on, we met in secret, fueled by the thrill of the forbidden.

I even managed to convince him to let me be his "secretary" just so I could be near him during the day.

I was playing a dangerous game, stepping into a world I didn't belong in, but as I looked at David Kingsley, I knew I would do whatever it took to keep my place at his side.

The cold snap of the night air finally broke as I reached the mouth of the alley that led to my building.

Reality hit me like a bucket of ice water.

Gone were the mahogany desks and the scent of expensive scotch.

Here, the air smelled of rotting garbage, stale beer, and the metallic tang of rust.

"Sandra! Back from another 'business trip?'"

The voice was raspy, belonging to one of the neighborhood drunks huddled around a plastic table.

They were passing around a bottle of cheap gin, their eyes bloodshot and wandering.

"Looks like she caught a big fish today, boys! Look at that dress!" another one jeered, followed by a chorus of whistles and crude laughter.

"Where'd you get that, Sandra? Did you have to work overtime on your back? You're a natural-born pro, after all."

I didn't even look at them.

I kept my chin up, my heels clicking sharply against the cracked pavement.

I was used to the insults.

To them, I was just the local "slut," the girl who used her body to pay for a life they couldn't touch.

But as I reached my door, my stomach gave a painful, hollow flip.

"Fuck."

I don't know who my parents were. I don't have a family tree or a last name that means anything.

The people who "raised" me told me they found me in a literal trash heap, wrapped in a dirty blanket.

They kept me around until I was old enough to be a burden, and then they kicked me out onto the street with a pat on the back.

"You're a pretty girl, Sandra," they'd told me.

"You'll find a way to eat. Beauty is a currency."

And that's how I ended up at the bar. That's how I ended up on a pole, selling my skin.

The next night, I arrived at the club with a heavy heart and a pounding headache.

I had no choice since I need to survive this night. I tried calling David, but he's not answering.

He usually lets me eat at his place while we're having sex.

He doesn't know that I rarely eat because I don't have money, and he doesn't know that I don't earn enough because the bar management's deductions are so high.

He doesn't know about my hell.

I spent an hour in front of a cracked mirror, layering on foundation and cheap glitter.

"Look who finally showed up!" my manager barked the second I stepped into the dressing room.

"I'm sorry," I muttered, not looking at him.

"Sorry doesn't pay the electric bill, Sandra! You know the policy. You're late again, and you're back on the street. Get out there and earn your keep."

I walked onto the stage, but my mind wasn't on the music.

It was back in that study. It was back on the desk. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw David's face-the way his jaw tightened when he looked at me, the way his eyes betrayed his "perfect husband" act.

I needed a plan. I needed a way to make sure he couldn't just throw me away.

I thought about his wife, Cyndrel. She had everything I wanted. She had the house, the security, the name. She had the man who looked at me with such filthy, beautiful desire.

'I want you.'

The next day, I didn't go back to the club.

I put on my best outfit again, ignored the burning hunger in my gut, and headed straight back to his empire.

I showed up with my head held high, adjusting the strap of my bag as I walked past the front desk.

But when I reached his executive floor, the office was cold. The lights were dimmed, and the usual hum of activity around his desk was gone.

"Where is Sir David?" I asked, trying to keep the edge out of my voice.

One of the junior staff members looked up, frowning at me with a mix of confusion and judgment.

"You're his secretary, aren't you? Shouldn't you be the one keeping track of his schedule?"

I felt a flush of heat creep up my neck. I was a fraud, and for a split second, I felt like they could see right through my expensive-looking dress to the girl who lived in the slums.

"He didn't mention anything to me this morning," I lied, my voice steady.

"Well, we don't know either," the staffer replied, turning back to their computer.

"He didn't come in today. He took a personal day off probably."

A personal day. That meant he was home.

I turned on my heel and walked out. I hailed a ride and gave them the address. I needed to see him.

When I arrived, the sheer size of the mansion always took my breath away.

It was a palace of stone and glass, surrounded by perfectly manicured lawns. I stayed back, hiding near the line of trees that bordered the driveway. I looked up at the second-floor balcony, and my breath hitched.

David was there. And so was Cyndrel.

They looked like something out of a movie. She was laughing at something he said, her head tilted back, and David... he was looking at her with a softness I had never seen.

He reached out, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. He was smiling-a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes.

I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms.

It shouldn't have mattered. I knew he was married. I knew I was only using him for his money, for a way out of the dirt.

But seeing him look at her like that felt like a hot knife to my chest.

Did I mean absolutely nothing to him? Was I really just a body he used when he was bored or angry?

Did I finally... fall for him?

I watched as Cyndrel kissed him on the cheek and headed back inside, leaving him alone on the balcony.

This was my chance.

"David!" I called out.

He froze.

He looked down, and when his eyes landed on me, the warmth I had seen seconds ago vanished.

It was replaced by a look of pure, unadulterated dread. He rushed off the balcony and met me near the side entrance, his face contorted in a snarl.

"Sandra, what the hell are you doing here?" he hissed, grabbing my arm and pulling me further into the shadows of the garden.

"You shouldn't be here. I told you it's over!"

"You can't just throw me away, David," I whispered. "Why are you pushing me like this?!"

"Because my wife is starting to get suspicious!" he snapped, his voice a harsh whisper.

"She's asking questions about you. I can't have you hanging around the office or the house. You're fired! You need to get out of here and never come back!"

"No!" I said, digging my heels in.

"I'm not going anywhere until you talk to me properly. You can't just erase me!"

I tried to reach for him, tried to use the manipulation that had always worked before, but he shook his head, looking at me with a coldness that terrified me.

"Sandra, you don't want to see what I'm capable of," he warned.

"You should be grateful I'm even letting you walk away."

He turned to leave, his back as rigid as a stone wall.

He was really doing it.

He was cutting me off, sending me back to the trash heap without a second thought.

I felt the desperation rise up in my throat, choking me. I couldn't go back. I wouldn't!

"David, wait!" I cried out.

He stopped, but he didn't turn around.

"What now?"

"I'm pregnant," I said, my eyes welling with fake tears.

"And you're the father."

I knew there was no going back from this.

The silence that followed was deafening. I watched the color drain from David's face when he looked back at me, his professional mask finally shattering into a thousand pieces.

I had him.

"No. You're fucking bluffing," David spat.

He didn't look like the passionate man from the VIP room anymore.

He looked like a man protecting his fortress, his eyes cold and full of venom.

"You're not fucking pregnant, Sandra. We were careful. Every single time. It's impossible!"

"David-"

"If you're just trying to ruin my life, then get the fuck out of here," he snarled, stepping into my personal space to tower over me.

"I am done with this. I am done with you. I don't want to continue this charade for one more second. I'm happy with my wife. Do you understand?! I love her!"

He turned his back on me, dismissing me as if I were nothing more than a stain on his expensive driveway.

Panic flared in my chest. I lunged forward, grabbing his arm, my fingers digging into the expensive fabric of his suit jacket.

"David, look at me! You're all I have!" I cried, "I'll tell you everything! I'm not some high-class. I'm struggling, David. I have no one. Why do you think I was at that club? I'm poor. I'm a nobody!"

He didn't move, but I could feel the tension in his arm.

I kept going, my voice cracking with a desperation that wasn't faked.

"I don't make the kind of money you think I do. Everyone thinks the men at the club just rain cash on us, but it's not like that. And since that night with you... I stopped. I stopped letting them touch me. I still dance because I have to eat, but I haven't let anyone else near me since the moment you laid hands on me. You're the father, David. Please, have some mercy!"

For a split second, I saw his gaze falter.

A flicker of something that looked like pity crossed his face, and for a heartbeat, I thought I had him.

I thought the lie-the biggest, most dangerous lie I had ever told-was going to work.

I needed him to be tied to me. I needed the security he provided!

But then, his expression hardened. The wall went back up, higher and thicker than before.

"What is the concern here, Sandra? Money?" he asked, his voice dripping with condescension.

"I am cutting ties with you. Completely."

"David, wait-"

"Enough!" he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls of the mansion.

"I don't want my wife to catch you here. And I'm warning you-if you try to tell her a single word of this, you won't like what I'm capable of. I have resources you can't even imagine. I can make you disappear from this city, and no one would even look for you."

He shook my hand off his arm.

"David, look at me! Believe me!" I screamed, reaching out one last time,

"Have some mercy on the child I'm carrying! How can you be so heartless?!"

He adjusted his cuffs and started walking back toward the mansion, back to his beautiful wife and his perfect life.

"I don't care even if you are telling me the truth. Kill that child."

My whole world drained.

"Guards!" he yelled, his voice cold and commanding.

"Take her away. Make sure she never sets foot on this property again. If she shows up at the office, call the police."

The security guards appeared almost instantly-two large men in black uniforms.

"Goodbye, Sandra."

It was that easy for him. He used me when he was angry, used me when he was bored, and then threw me away.

The guards dragged me down the long, gravel driveway, my heels scuffing against the stones.

When we reached the main gate, they shoved me.

"Stay out, girl," one of them muttered.

I lost my balance and fell hard onto the asphalt. The impact jarred my bones, and I felt the sharp sting of the road as it tore through my skin.

I sat there on the ground, my dress ruined, my knees and palms scraped and bleeding.

The iron gates hissed shut.

I looked down at my bloodied palms, the tears finally blurring my vision. I was back where I started-in the dirt, with nothing but my lies to keep me warm.

David was gone, and I was just another mistake he had erased from his ledger.

I wiped my face with the back of my hand, smearing blood and mascara across my cheek.

As if on cue, the sky opened up. A low rumble of thunder shook the ground beneath me, followed by a jagged flash of lightning that illuminated the dark road.

The rain started as a drizzle and turned into a downpour within seconds, soaking through my ruined dress and chilling me to the bone. It was classic, really. Even the weather was mocking me.

I forced myself to stand, my legs shaking. I had to function. I had to get home.

That night, back in my cramped, leaking apartment, I lay on my thin mattress and stared at the ceiling.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands. I felt the ghost of his touch.

I found myself reaching down, my fingers trembling as I tried to find some release.

I was already wet...just the thought of him.

I closed my eyes and imagined it was him who was fingering me-his weight, his heat, the way he'd growl my name when he lost control.

"David...!" I gasped, arching my back as I hit my climax.

But as the pleasure faded, a wave of nausea hit me.

I sat up, clutching my stomach.

I thought it was just the disgust I felt for myself, or the thought that at this very moment, he was probably doing the same thing to his wife. It was pathetic. I was pathetic.

When I tried to stand up to get a glass of water, the world tilted.

My vision went black around the edges, and a sharp, piercing dizziness made me stumble back onto the bed.

Shit.

I pinched the bridge of my nose, praying for the room to stop spinning. I figured it was just the hunger.

But the next morning, it wasn't just hunger.

I barely made it to the shared bathroom in the hallway before I was violently sick.

My stomach cramped, and a cold sweat broke out across my forehead. I couldn't even stand up without feeling like I was going to pass out.

Fear began to settle in my gut. I took the last of my savings-money I was supposed to use for rent-and went to a small, rundown clinic nearby.

The doctor was an older woman with tired eyes and a surgical mask that smelled like antiseptic.

She looked at the results of my tests, then looked at me.

"You're pregnant, Miss," she said.

Her voice felt like a gong ringing in my ears.

"About four weeks along."

I froze.

My mouth hung open, and I felt my heart hammer against my ribs.

"No... that's not possible. I was careful. I was using pills. I did everything right!"

I started to shake.

I couldn't have a baby!

This couldn't be happening! I collapsed into the plastic chair, the tears finally breaking through.

For the first time, I didn't cry because I was manipulative or angry.

I cried because I was genuinely, utterly hopeless!

"I think you need to tell the father," the doctor said gently.

"Whether he stands by you or not, he needs to know."

I wiped my eyes with a trembling hand.

I didn't have a choice anymore. The lie I told David yesterday... it wasn't a lie anymore.

"Give me the papers," I whispered.

"Give me the prescription, the test results, the evidence. Everything!"

With the medical documents clutched in my hand, I went back to the mansion.

I didn't care about the guards!

I didn't care about his threats!

When I arrived, the gates were open.

There were luxury cars lined up the driveway.

Music was blaring from the house, and I could see colorful balloons tied to the balcony.

I tried to walk toward the front door, but a valet intercepted me.

"You're not allowed here, Miss. This is a private party," he said, looking at my bedraggled hair and cheap shoes with disdain.

"What kind of party?"

"It's a baby shower," he replied.

"Mr. and Mrs. Kingsley just announced they're expecting. Someone like you isn't on the list."

My eyes widened.

My blood turned to ice.

They were celebrating their baby? While he had just thrown mine into the dirt?

"No! Let me in!" I screamed, shoving past him.

He tried to grab my arm, but I was fueled by a manic, desperate energy.

I ran toward the front entrance, dodging guests in silk dresses and tuxedos.

I reached the grand foyer just as David was standing in the center of the room, a champagne flute in his hand, his arm draped proudly around Cyndrel's waist.

"David!" I shrieked, my voice tearing through the refined chatter of the room.

The music didn't stop, but the conversation did.

A hundred pairs of wealthy, judgmental eyes turned to look at me-the girl in the torn dress, dripping with rain and clutching a crumpled medical report.

David's face went from a celebratory glow to a mask of pure, horrified white.

"I told you," I gasped, holding the papers up for everyone to see.

"I told you it was yours!"