She chuckled, her eyes twinkling. "I'm sure we can. Don't forget you're in the right place."

I returned her smile. "I think one of your girls will keep me busy for the night."

Her brows lifted with intrigue. "Alright then, don't worry. I'll make the arrangements. You can go to your room"

But I shook my head lightly, cutting her off.

"Actually..." I trailed off, glancing past her.

"I think I've already found the one I want to spend the night with."

She followed my gaze as I subtly nodded in the direction of the bar, where the girl was attending to a customer with soft movements and a calm presence.

"Her."

Madam Rose turned slightly, eyes narrowing toward the girl.

"Oh! You mean Kayla?"

I gave a small nod, my voice low. "I don't know her name," I admitted, watching the curve of Kayla's back as she walked away. "But I want to spend the night with her."

Madam Rose smirked, her eyes gleamingase she had just won a bet. "I think she'll be perfect," she said. "I'll handle everything."

And she did swiftly, Within a minute, everything was arranged.

I made my way to the room, with dim lighting. The faint scent of perfume clung to the upholstery. I collapsed onto one of the couches and leaned back, the soft cushions doing little to ease the weight pressing down on my chest.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, and her name lit up the screen. My little girl.

I swiped to answer. "Princess," I said softly.

"Daddy! How are you? How's work? You're not home yet."

That voice. It squeezed something in me.

"EM, sweetheart," I chuckled, forcing a lightness I didn't feel, "can you let me answer one question at a time?"

She giggled.

"I'm good," I continued. Then paused. The lie formed too easily. "But... I'm sorry, princess. I won't be coming home tonight. Some work came up. So please go to bed early, okay?"

There was a short silence on the line. I hated that silence more than anything. It always meant she was disappointed but trying not to show it.

"Okay, Daddy," she said at last, her voice smaller. "I'll tell Mr. Hops you're working late."

Mr. Hops. Her stuffed bunny. I closed my eyes and sighed.

"Give him a hug for me, yeah?"

"Okay. I love you, Daddy."

"I love you more, princess."

The call ended, but the ache lingered. I stared at the ceiling for a long time, the silence in the room so loud it hurt.

And somewhere beyond the door, a woman I barely knew was getting ready to offer me the comfort I deserve.

The moment was shattered as the door creaked open behind me.

Kayla walked in.

Her presence was quiet, almost ghostlike. But everything about her demanded attention the way that silky nightgown wrapped around her like it had been poured onto her skin, the way her hair tumbled messily down her shoulders. She looked nothing like the woman who'd approached me earlier tonight with calm detachment. And yet, she looked exactly the same.

Still, I didn't speak. And neither did she.

I placed my phone gently on the side drawer as if it were made of glass, then stood. My limbs moved on their own, heavy but determined, guided by something numb and primal. Without another glance at her, I headed into the bathroom.

The sound of the shower echoed seconds later steady, hypnotic. The water burned against my skin, but I welcomed it. I needed it. I wanted it to peel away the ache in my chest, wash off the guilt that clung to me like sweat.

When I stepped out of the bathroom, my skin was still dripping, my body bare. The vodka I'd downed earlier was no longer just humming through me, it was in full control now, muffling my conscience, numbing everything that made sense.

She was still there. Sitting at the edge of the bed. Motionless. Her gaze was fixed on the floor as if it held the answers to a life she couldn't escape.

Kayla POV

I sat at the edge of the bed, my fingers knotted together in my lap, eyes fixed on the floor as it could somehow offer me answers I wasn't brave enough to ask for. The silence was thick, suffocating. My mind was a whirlwind, but I kept my face composed until he came closer.

I felt him before I saw him. The heat of his presence, the quiet urgency in his footsteps. Then, without a word, he cupped my face gently and crashed his lips into mine.

My heart stuttered.

The kiss was deep, hungry like a starved lion finally tasting its prey.

I didn't resist. My hands found his chest, then his shoulders. Clutching him as I needed him so badly. I kissed him back, matching his urgency with equal need.

Our breath tangled, as if oxygen itself had become a luxury. Until he finally pulled away, his gaze burned into mine.

"What's wrong with me?" I murmured, to myself. "It's been so long since I felt this way, since I felt a kiss like this.

My stomach twisted.

He stared at me for what felt like forever, eyes still searching mine, as though trying to read some truth I hadn't spoken aloud. And then slowly he reached for the strap of my gown and began to undress it.

I shut my eyes tightly, my breath hitching.

He cupped my face and kissed me once more.

I didn't know what it was about his kiss, but it had a way of unraveling me. It wasn't rushed, it was deep. Like he was searching for something in the way our mouths moved together.

When his tongue slid into my mouth, I didn't hesitate. I responded before I could even think, grabbing onto him, my fingers digging into his skin as if he were the only solid thing left in my life.

His lips trailed lower, down my neck, slow and tender, and I arched beneath him without meaning to. My body responded as if it knew him, like it wanted more. And when his lips finally found my breasts, and his hand moved across my skin with this unspoken gentleness, a soft gasp escaped me.

I'd been touched before too many times.

I'd been undressed, handled.

But this felt different.

There was something deeper in his touch, something that didn't feel like lust or power or entitlement. It felt like something I'd never had.

I closed my eyes, letting the sensation pull me somewhere warmer, somewhere far from the cold transactions I was used to. I trembled under him not just from need but from the terrifying realization that I didn't want this to be another job.

But then

He stopped.

"He just stopped."

He rolled away from me, onto his back, lying flat at the edge of the bed.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

I stayed still, stunned. My heart thudded in my chest as my thoughts spun with panic.

Why did he stop?

Did I do something wrong?

Did he see through me?

Did he sense the hesitation I tried to hide, the shame I couldn't scrub off no matter how many times I played pretend?

Maybe he could feel that I wasn't used to being touched like I mattered.

The minutes ticked by, thick and heavy. An hour passed, maybe more. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly. He didn't say a word.

Just when I started to believe he'd fallen asleep, his arm reached out and wrapped around my waist. He pulled me into him, his chest warm against my back.

"Just sleep," he whispered, his voice like gravel in the dark. "I don't think I want to have sex with you."

My heart cracked.

The words weren't cruel, but they landed like a blade.

I sank.

Was it rejection?

Did I repulse him?

Or did he pity me?

Did he look at me and see the girl who was just surviving, who was trying too hard to seem okay?

Maybe I'd made him uncomfortable. Maybe I was stiff or awkward or maybe he saw through me in a way no one else had.

I didn't reply.

"I couldn't.

I just laid my head on his bare chest. His skin was warm. His heartbeat was steady.

And for the first time in years, I let myself stop pretending. I let myself feel safe.

No words. Just stillness.

Wrapped in the arms of a stranger who didn't want to use me.

And in that rare silence, somewhere between heartbreak and something I didn't have a name for, I finally drifted off to sleep.

The sound of the running water stirred me, from the bathroom, but my eyes remained shut. Moments later, I heard the door creak open. He stepped out, with a white towel slung low around his waist as he reached for his suit from the bed side and began to get dressed.

I finally sat up in bed, fixing my face into that blank expression unreadable. The one I used when I was sixteen and first learned what it meant to survive.

I didn't say a word as I raised and made my way to the bathroom. When she returned a few minutes later, she began pulling on her clothes in silence.

I stood, walked past him and entered the bathroom. I didn't even shut the door all the way. I just splashed cold water on my face, raised my mouth quickly, and avoided the mirror.

The girl staring back at me in there I hated her.

When I returned to the room, he was buttoning his shirt, tie slung around his neck. He didn't say anything. I didn't either.

I rummaged through my bag, searching for the nightgown I wore the night before. I found it and folded it neatly, but frowned when I realized something was missing.

Where are my panties?

I crouched beside the bed, checking beneath the pillows, under the mattress, even sweeping my hand under the bed frame. Nothing.

Then his voice cut through the silence.

"Are you looking for this?"

My heart stuttered.

I turned sharply, and there he was sitting casually on the edge of the bed, dangling my panties between his two fingers like it was some kind of trophy.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

My face burned. God. I rushed over and snatched it from him, too stunned to even speak.

He chuckled.

And for the first time I noticed the curve of a smile on his lips.

He hadn't smiled yesterday.

Is he mocking me now?

"You don't have to feel embarrassed, sweetie," he said, voice annoyingly smooth. "Don't forget I was the one who took it off."

That was it.

I snapped inside. Like something cold cracked in half.

Embarrassed? Sweetie? He thought this was funny?

If there was one thing I couldn't stand more than being broke, it's being mocked and that was exactly what he was doing.

I shoved my feet into my heels, grabbed my bag, and moved toward the door. He had already paid madam Rose far more than her usual rate. And yet he hadn't even had sex with me.

Not that I ever liked the sex. Sometimes, I cried through it.

I was almost at the door when his voice came again.

"Wait."

I stopped but didn't turn. Not right away.

I didn't want to hear another smug comment.

When I turned, he was walking toward me, one hand extended holding what looked like a business card.

I hesitated, staring at him warily. "What's that?"

"Take it," he said softly.

I stepped closer, but didn't take it.

"What, you want me to be your personal sex worker?" I snapped, pain tightening my throat. "Even though you didn't have sex with me last night just because you weren't in the mood?"

I hated that I'd said that. Hated that I sounded hurt. But I was. I didn't even know why. It wasn't like I had any right to feel disappointed.

I shook my head quickly, like I could rattle the shame out of me.

"Don't think I'm doing this because I want to... or because I enjoy it," I added, my voice trembling. "I don't have a choice."

My eyes burned, and before I could stop it, the tears came. I just hate how I cried easily.

"Hey," he said gently, "you should listen to what I have to say before jumping to conclusions."

His voice was calm.

"I don't want anything from you. You have paid more than you should have, but I"

My breath caught when he interrupted.

"I want you to be a Mom to my daughter"

My breath hitched.

"What?" I whispered.

I blinked once. Twice. My heart slowed, then picked up again in rapid thumps.

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep inside me.

Yes you heard me right.

"There's an upcoming kindergarten family event at my daughter's school," he said, slipping his hands into his pockets like he was just asking for the time. "And she needs someone to play the role of her mom. Just for that day."

I froze.

A mom?

His daughter's mom?

He had a daughter?

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I blinked, trying to make sense of it, but my brain felt sluggish, like it couldn't compute what he just said.

Who in their right mind would want a bar waitress, a sex worker to act as a mother figure, even if it is just for a day?

It sounded like a twisted joke.

"I..." I stammered, feeling the ground tilt beneath me. "Why me? Why would you want me to be a mom to your daughter?"

My voice cracked on the word "mom."

I wasn't even sure what shocked me the most, finding out he had a child, or that he wants me to pretend to be a Mom to his child.

"I just want you to be a mom to my daughter."

He repeated it, like it was nothing. Like he was asking me to hand him a napkin or lend him a cigarette. But I knew better. There was something behind his words. Something he was hiding.

A chill crawled up my spine.

What if he wants to hurt me?

"I'm not interested," I said firmly, my voice sharp with finality. I turned on my heel, went to grab my earrings, which I had left earlier in the bathroom. When I stepped out of the bathroom, I wasn't surprised to find the creepy man had left.

I grabbed my bag and walked out, not bothering to look back.

He must've figured out I knew about his plan.

The thought made me nauseous. What if I'd fallen for it? Played the part of the sweet pretend mom, followed him into his world, only to disappear into it like all those girls you hear about on the news?

I shivered.

But Madam Rose wouldn't hand me over to someone dangerous. Not willingly.

At least... I hoped not.

The bar pulsed with music and lights. My eyes scanned the crowd until I spotted Madam Rose in the distance.

The woman was a spectacle elegant in her early sixties with long curly hair cascading over her shoulders. Her makeup was always flawless, her nails perfectly fixed, and her lips gleamed with red gloss. She wore a tight, leather gown adorned with tiny sparkling studs, the kind of outfit that drew attention.

If you didn't know her age, you might think she is still in her thirties.

Each step Madam Rose took commanded the room. Everyone at the bar knew she was the owner. People might expect her to be stern, but she was far from it. She treated her customers with warmth and respect. That is why the bar was always packed to the brim.

I smiled as I approached her. Among all the waitresses and sex workers, Madam Rose had a soft spot for me. She knew I didn't enjoy the job, hell, she probably saw it in my eyes the very first day, but she also knew I needed the money. And she made sure I earned well.

"Madam Rose," I called, trying to keep my voice steady.

She turned, a brilliant smile spreading across her lips as her eyes landed on me. "Kayla, darling," she purred, her voice smooth like warm honey.

"Do you need a drink?" She asked me with a playful smile.

"No, Madam," I replied.

"So, how was it?" Madam Rose asked knowingly. Her smile faded a little, sensing the tension. She always knew I returned from those rooms with a heavy heart.

If only I had a degree. I could've had a better job...

"He paid well more than usual," Madam Rose said flatly."

She laughed, clearly impressed.

"Yes! I was honored to have him in my bar last night. Damien Cole is a real gentleman."

Damian Cole. The name echoed in my mind. It sounded familiar, but I pushed the thought away.

Still... there was something about him that didn't sit right.

"He's kind of... creepy," I murmured.

"He's not," Madam Rose replied firmly. "You only think so. Did he do something to you?"

"No... I mean" my words were cut off when Madam Rose's phone rang.

"We'll talk over the phone, dear," Madam Rose said, already walking away to take the call.

I sighed, my mood darkening again as I walked out of the bar, ignoring the lustful stares from the men loitering around, their hungry eyes tracking my every step.