Billionaire's Untouched Flower

"You’re three weeks late, Ana."

Mia’s voice was sharp, cutting through the silence of the lit café. Ana bent her head, gripping the ceramic mug in her hands as if it could somehow shield her from the weight of her best friend’s disappointment.

"I know," Ana murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"You promised me, Ana. You said you’d pay back as soon as your stepmother was settled. But instead, you….." Mia exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "You gave her everything, didn’t you?"

Ana swallowed the lump in her throat, staring at her untouched coffee in front of her. She didn’t need Mia’s judgment, she already carried enough guilt to drown herself.

"She needed it," Ana said finally. "She said she’d be kicked out of the apartment if she didn’t pay."

"And what about you?" Mia’s voice softened, but the frustration lingered. "You’re struggling, Ana. You barely have enough to eat. You’re behind on rent. And yet, you keep handing over everything to that woman."

Ana knew for a fact that her best friend was right. That woman. That was what Mia called her stepmother, never acknowledging her as family. But Ana couldn’t bring herself to turn her back on the woman who raised her, no matter how cruel or selfish she had become.

"I'll figure something out," Ana said, forcing herself to sound confident, though she had no idea how.

Mia sighed, rubbing her temples before looking at her with something close to pity.

"I didn’t want to suggest this," she said hesitantly, "but I have a job for you. It pays well. You’ll be able to cover your debts and even save up to get out of that toxic household."

Ana looked up, anxious to know. "What kind of job?"

Mia hesitated. Then she leaned in, lowering her voice. "I need an extra girl at Crimson Veil tonight."

Ana blinked. "Crimson Veil?" The name alone sent a chill down her spine. It was one of the most exclusive gentlemen’s clubs in the city, frequented by high-rolling businessmen, politicians, and men with pockets deeper than the ocean.

"You don’t have to do anything crazy," Mia said quickly. "Just dance. Work the floor. Make conversation. Trust me, it’s easy money."

Ana’s stomach twisted. "Mia, I…. I..."

"Look, I know what you’re thinking," Mia interrupted, grabbing Ana’s hands. "But you need this. It’s one night. Just one. If you don’t like it, you never have to do it again."

Ana bit her lip. Mia wasn’t wrong. She was drowning, barely holding onto the scraps of her dignity. She had promised herself she’d never sink this low, but what other choice did she have? One night wasn't going to hurt her.

"Just one night?" she whispered.

Mia nodded. "Just one."

That night, Ana’s heart pounded as she stepped into the club. The air was thick with perfume and the scent of expensive whiskey, the dim red lighting casting a sultry glow over the room.

As Ana stepped through the doors of Crimson Veil, a wave of heat and perfume hit her like a tangible force. The air was thick with the mingling scents of expensive whiskey, cologne, and the faint trace of vanilla-scented candles burning at the private booths. The room pulsed with deep, sensual bass, the music slow and intoxicating, wrapping around her like a velvet rope she couldn’t untangle from.

The lighting was low and seductive, casting everything in hues of crimson and gold. Spotlights roamed the glossy black stage, where a woman moved like liquid sin, her body bending effortlessly under the glow of neon reds. Silk curtains framed the VIP sections, offering just enough secrecy to tempt the imagination, yet not enough to fully hide the silhouettes of powerful men indulging in their vices.

Ana’s stomach twisted. She had never been in a place like this. A place that smelled of desire and money. A place where power played out in whispered deals and stolen touches.

She tugged at the hem of her short satin dress, feeling like an imposter among the confident women who worked the floor with effortless grace. "Just one night," she reminded herself.

Mia had given her the easiest job, floor work. She wasn’t expected to perform on stage, only to mingle and entertain the wealthy clients.

But even so, she felt exposed. She felt vulnerable.

"Relax," Mia murmured beside her, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. "No one’s going to bite."

Ana inhaled deeply and stepped forward, she could see past clusters of men in tailored suits, their gazes lingering as she walked by. She kept her chin up, reminding herself she was in control.

And then she saw him. Throne Lancaster. A man who commanded the entire room without uttering a single word.

A very wealthy man, everyone knew who he was, Throne Lancaster. She had only seen him on T.V shows, in different interviews on his company.

Even she knew his name. CEO of Majesties, a billion-dollar luxury brand specializing in high-end footwear. Ruthless in business. Cold, calculating, and dangerously attractive.

He was seated in a private booth, he had a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, watching the floor with an unreadable expression.

Their eyes met. Ana’s breath hitched. His stare was intense, piercing through her, looking at her with so much intimacy.

Ana couldn’t hold up, she was a very shy person and wasn't someone who mongled with men. She felt a burning sensation of looking. But she knew she had to keep moving.

The more she tried to keep a straight face on her new job the more distracting she found Thrones gaze. A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he lifted his glass in a silent invitation.

Mia was standing beside her, she had noticed every movement from Thrones side, she immediately nudged her. "That’s Thorne Lancaster," she whispered. "If he wants you at his table, go."

Ana’s pulse raced. She had never done that before, never spoken to anyone she didn’t know, never been a striper before. This wasn’t part of the plan. She was supposed to blend in, not attract the attention of the most powerful man in the room.

Yet, her feet moved before she could stop herself, offcourse she remembered her debts.

She approached his table, every nerve in her body screaming at her to turn around and run.

But then he spoke. "Sit."

A simple command. Deep and authoritative.

Ana hesitated for half a second before lowering herself onto the seat across from him.

His eyes roamed over her, slow and deliberate, making her shiver.

"You don’t belong here," he mused, swirling the liquid in his glass.

Ana forced herself to meet his gaze. "And yet, here I am."

His smirk deepened. "Would you like a drink?" he asked smoothly.

Ana shook her head. "I don’t drink."

"Smart girl." He took a sip of his whiskey, watching her over the rim. "But I didn’t call you over for small talk."

Her stomach twisted. "Then why did you?"

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "Because I want you to dance for me."

Ana’s throat went dry.

She had barely survived walking into this place, let alone performing for a man like him.

She forced herself to keep her voice steady. "I’m not a performer."

Thorne chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent shivers down her spine. "No," he agreed. "You’re not. But I think that’s exactly why I want to watch you."

Her fingers curled into fists in her lap. One night. That’s all this was.

"Fine," she murmured, standing. His eyes darkened with something dangerous. "Good."

The music shifted, deep, sensual beats thrumming through the speakers. Ana took a steadying breath, pushing down the embarrassment curling in her stomach.

The moment she started moving, she felt his gaze on her, a gaze that was watching her, devouring her and owning her. She had never felt more vulnerable.

When the song ended, she turned back toward him, breathless. His expression was unreadable.

Then, slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek, black business card.

He slipped it into her purse without breaking eye contact.

"I would love to see you again" His voice was a seducing and barely above a whisper.

Ana had performed so well, she was an introverted dancer, and was so good with her waste movements. Ana stared at him with her heart pounding.