5
Bella's POV
The knock on my door jolted me from my thoughts. My chest tightened when I heard the familiar voice from outside: "You've got a client."
I sighed heavily, dragging myself to my feet. My legs felt like lead as I walked to the small wardrobe in the corner. Grabbing one of the few dresses I owned, I slipped it on reluctantly. The fabric clung to my skin, and I hated how exposed it made me feel. But this was my life now, wasn't it?
Moments later, the door creaked open, and in walked the client. My heart sank as my eyes met his. He was handsome—too handsome, with sharp features and an air of arrogance that made my stomach churn.
"Let's get this over with," I mumbled under my breath, turning away to avoid his piercing gaze.
But as soon as his hands touched my shoulders, a wave of disgust rolled through me. His grip was firm, and the heat of his palms burned against my skin in a way that made my stomach twist. I tried to suppress the nausea building inside me.
"Don't be shy," he said, his voice dripping with entitlement.
I clenched my fists, feeling bile rise in my throat. "Stop," I said firmly, shrugging his hands off me.
He didn't listen. His hands roamed, rougher this time, and I panicked. "I said stop!" I yelled, trying to push him away.
But he didn't stop. Instead, he grabbed me tighter, his face inches from mine.
And then, the door slammed open with such force that the hinges groaned in protest. My head whipped around, and my breath hitched.
The man in the doorway radiated an aura of power so intense it seemed to suck the air out of the room. He was tall, his broad shoulders filling the frame, and his presence was impossible to ignore. His piercing icy blue eyes locked onto mine, sending a shiver down my spine. It was as if those eyes could see straight into my soul, reading every thought I'd ever had.
Jet-black hair, neatly styled, framed his sharp features. His jawline was razor-sharp, shadowed by a hint of stubble that only added to his rugged appeal. Tattoos peeked out from beneath the cuffs of his tailored suit, snaking along his wrists and hinting at stories I wasn't sure I wanted to know. The ink seemed out of place against the polished fabric, but somehow it suited him
He leaned casually against the doorframe, but there was nothing casual about the way he studied me. Every inch of him exuded danger, confidence, and control. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as if he had brought the weight of his world with him.
Without a word, he raised a gun and pulled the trigger.
The sound of the shot rang out, deafening in the small room. The client slumped to the ground, blood pooling beneath him.
I staggered back, my hand flying to my mouth as I stared at the lifeless body. My heart pounded so hard it felt like it might burst.
The man lowered his gun, his expression cold and unreadable. He stepped over the body casually, as if it were nothing more than an inconvenience.
"W-what…" I stammered, backing away until I hit the wall.
I sat frozen on the bed, my mind still reeling from the deafening gunshot and the lifeless body being dragged out like trash. But before I could process anything, the man who'd pulled the trigger turned to me again.
His dark eyes locked onto mine, unreadable and intense. He stepped closer, his movements smooth and deliberate, like a predator sizing up its prey. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.
"Are you scared?" he asked, his voice deep and calm, as if what had just happened was completely normal.
I swallowed hard, trying to find my voice. "Who are you?"
He ignored my question, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from my face. His touch was surprisingly gentle, but it made my skin crawl. My instincts screamed at me to run, but my body refused to move.
"You're different," he murmured, almost to himself, his fingers trailing down my cheek.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," I stammered, my voice barely above a whisper.
"You will," he said cryptically, leaning in closer. His scent, an intoxicating mix of leather and something darker, filled my senses.
"Wait," I said, placing a trembling hand on his chest to stop him. "I can't… I don't want…"
"Shh," he cut me off, his voice low and commanding. "You're here because you work here, aren't you? Let me be a client for today,"
I hated how his words struck a chord deep inside me. He was right, I needed money. For Mia. For Noah. For the endless bills that felt like a noose tightening around my neck. But the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, made me feel exposed in a way I wasn't prepared for.
When his lips finally met mine, it wasn't tender or gentle. It was intense, filled with a raw hunger that left me breathless. I wanted to resist, to push him away, but my body betrayed me. The weight of my desperation, my exhaustion, my helplessness, everything crushed me until I couldn't fight anymore.
He moved with purpose, his hands firm yet oddly respectful, as if he were taking his time to explore every inch of me. My mind screamed at me to stop this, but a small, buried part of me whispered, What else do you have left?
When it was over, I lay on the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling, feeling emptier than I ever had before. He stood, buttoning his shirt with the same calculated precision he'd used all night.
He pulled a thick wad of cash from his pocket and placed it on the table. "That should help with your problems—for now."
I stared at the money, my heart sinking. It was more than I'd ever seen in one place, but it felt like blood money.
As he walked toward the door, he paused and glanced back at me. "You'll see me again," he said with a smirk, his tone both a promise and a threat.
Then, just like that, he was gone, leaving me alone in the room with nothing but my shame and the suffocating weight of what I had just done.