Romans de Fortune writer

Could Adriel have possibly taken action? No, that's so soon. Or the loan sharks? No, she had cleared all her father's debts. Nyla quickly dialed her father’s number with shaking fingers to erase her confusion.The phone rang twice before he answered, sounding far too cheerful for a man whose house had just been emptied.“Dad? Where are you? What happened to our things?” She burst out. There was a brief pause on the other end, then his familiar sigh. “Nyla, calm down. I can explain.”“Explain?” she echoed, pacing the small empty living room. Her footsteps bounced off bare walls that used to hold family pictures. “You sold everything, didn’t you? You gambled it away again.”“No,” he said quickly. “I didn’t gamble anything. I sold some of the properties, yes—but not for the reason you think.”She let out a bitter laugh. “Then what reason could possibly make sense?”Another pause.“I’m getting married.”The words dropped like a stone into water.For a long moment Nyla couldn’t speak.“Y

“No. It couldn’t be.” Nyla staggered back, staring at the face in front of her.Sharp jaw with dark hair. The same arrogant mouth she remembered from years ago.Adriel Stetson.The name crashed through her like a storm.Adriel Stetson known for his bullies during Highschool. High school corridors. Cruel jokes. Tripped books. Whispered insults that had once made her dread walking into class.The boy who had turned her teenage years into a daily nightmare.Now a man so powerful and sitting in front of her with his defenses stripped away.Her hands flew to her mouth.“All this time, it was you.”She breathed. The room suddenly felt too small and too hot for her. Everything made sense—and nothing did.The way he watched her. The way he never spoke. The strange intensity in his gaze shows that he had recognized her and had been toying with her.Anger, humiliation, and disbelief tangled together inside her chest.Nyla couldn't gather her thoughts, if word of this gets out she'll be ruined.

Nyla learned quickly that nothing at The Velvet Embrace was ever simple.Night after night, the routine stayed the same. She served drinks, smiled when required and performed when called just as she was thought. And every single night, the silver mask man, Maestro, was there quietly and watchfully and rarely spoke to anyone at all which unsettled her.Sometimes she convinced herself she was imagining the attention. Other times she felt it so sharply that she nearly missed steps on the floor.“Relax, he watches everyone.” Selene told her one evening when Nyla confessed her nerves. “But not like that,” Nyla murmured.Selene only smiled and walked away.The paychecks kept coming—ridiculously large, embarrassingly helpful—and Nyla told herself that was all that mattered. Tuition was covered. Bills were paid. Her father even laughed again when she brought home groceries without counting every naira.Still, something about the masked man tugged at her peace.Then came the night everything

Nyla stopped just short of the curtain with a tray balanced in her hands and her heart hammering so hard she was sure someone would hear it.“Wait,” she whispered, turning back to Selene. “I don’t think I can do this.”Selene arched a perfectly drawn brow. “Can’t do what?”“This… private event.” Nyla lowered her voice. “You said high-roller. You said masked clients. What if something happens to me there?”The older woman studied her for a moment, with an unreadable expression. Then she gave a small, almost bored shrug.“Nothing happens here that isn’t agreed to,” Selene said. “Security is everywhere. Cameras, guards, contracts. You’re safe—as long as you follow the rules.”Nyla swallowed. “And if I don’t?”“Then you leave. Simple.”Simple. The word sounded too light for the knot twisting in her stomach.Selene stepped closer and tapped the silver tray. “Listen to me. Tonight’s client pays more than most people make in a month. For one evening of work.”“How much is ‘more’?” Nyla asked

The kitchen back door of The Rusty Anchor swung open with a soft whoosh as Nyla slipped inside, hit by the familiar reek of stale beer laced with lemon cleaner.She kicked off her scuffed boots and traded them for the non-slip clogs on the shelf, then yanked her apron from her backpack. The strings tangled in her haste, but she knotted them tight. For a brief second, she felt almost safe—like the apron was armor. But the air hummed wrong today, heavy with something she couldn’t name.She stepped into the bar just as Derek, the manager, materialized behind the counter, holding a glass up to the light. He didn’t look at her, but she knew he’d been waiting.“Cutting it close, huh?” His voice was calm, too calm.Nyla froze. “The lecture ran long. Professor wouldn’t—”“Schedule’s not optional,” Derek snapped, setting the glass down with a sharp click. He finally turned to face her. “Apron off.”Her stomach dropped. “What?”“You heard me.”The words didn’t register at first. “Derek, come on