CHAPTER 2

LILY'S POV

“You are fired.”

The words were heavy in my mind. My body froze, unable to move. The breakup affected only me but losing my job might mean the end of the line for my dying mother who lay in a coma on a hospital bed. 

My twin sister, Amelia, wouldn't be able to afford to pay the bill alone. The hospital management would suspend my mother's medical treatment if we missed the weekly payments. 

Should I beg? Will he change his mind? Or should I just turn around and leave? 

The first time I saw him was at my former place of work, a jewelry store where I worked in the sales department. On that day, he came in to buy a wristwatch. We exchanged contacts and it's been glamorous until now. 

Dorian picked up his trousers to put them on while Bella reached for her glass of wine. 

“Where are my pants?” Bella asked. 

“I think you dropped them in my office.” 

“I'll call Kara to get them for you,” he continued. 

Their conversation faded into my hearing as I stepped out of the bedroom. 

The sudden and strange change in Dorian’s demeanor worried my heart. Just the other night, he cuddled me on the bed, gently stroking my nipples. As I moaned, he breathed words of reassurance into my ears.  

Why did he treat me this way? Was there anything I did wrong? I couldn't place his motive between money or wealth because his family was richer and more powerful than Bella's. He didn't give me closure, which planted a void that might always be in my mind. 

I met Kara again while walking through the empty corridor, finding my way out. She had been eavesdropping the whole time. She wore an apron and a basket was in her hands. 

She was one of the few witnesses of my relationship with Dorian. She saw the beginning and now the end. 

“I'm sorry,” Kara whispered, her voice reeked with pity. 

I gave her a look then forced a reply. 

“Kara. Thanks.” 

I wiped my face then picked up the pace. As I got into my room to pack whatever I had in there, every dress and jewelry had a memory of Dorian attached. They no longer carried our blissful moments, such as dinners and dates. Why take along items that will remind me of him? I decided to leave them. 

On my way out, I met two other domestic workers. They whispered something to themselves quickly before falling silent. They weren't audible but I felt I was the subject of their little gossip. 

The cold winter air threatened to rip my skin off as I stood outside waiting for a taxi to come by. I thought about calling Shawna but how do I explain my shame to her. 

She was probably thinking Dorian and I were having a blissful time. What a shame. 

Shawna advised me to date him when Dorian first reached out. She called it the opportunity of a lifetime. An opportunity many ladies in the city would beg for. She called me lucky. So lucky. I wondered what she would call it now. 

A taxi driver stopped and I got inside the car. 

“No. 12 Wesley Street,” I said. 

“Yes ma’am,” he replied. 

Just a few minutes away from my apartment, an old bungalow house at the edge of the street, a strip club caught my eyes through the glass window. Good, just what I needed. 

I leaned closer to the taxi driver. 

“Can you drop me here?” 

“Ok.”

He parked the car just in front and I got out.  

“Make it a Long Island. Strong,” I said to the bartender who immediately turned back to get bottles of alcohol from the wine shelf behind him. 

He set a shot glass on a small circular towel and filled it with two kinds of alcohol. 

“Ice?” he asked. 

I nodded and he dropped two cubes of ice in it. 

I gulped the glass quickly and slid it to him for another shot. 

He poured me another one. I gulped it like before. 

On my third request, the bartender halted, hesitating to fill up my shot glass. 

“Are you alright, miss. This is a very strong mix,” he said, squinting his eyes at me. 

“You may want to slow down a bit,” he warned.

“Just pour the alcohol please,” I replied, shooting him a look. 

He obeyed. 

I turned my head around to give the club a sweeping look. It was full. Very typical of a Sunday night. The whole place pulsed with low music and loud laughter. 

Two strippers mounted the stage. Half naked. Heavy makeup. They smiled and danced to the men who kept their eyes on them. 

A haze of cigarette smoke filled the atmosphere.

Everybody was drinking with at least one other person except for one figure with a white hair and a black suit.

 A bottle of alcohol was on the table in front of him. His face carried a gentle frown as he stared at the strippers twisting and turning on the dance stage. 

As I was about to turn my head back to continue my alcohol business he glanced and our eyes met each other. We held each other's gaze with an unblinking stare for a moment. 

He only moved his eyes when a bottle-girl filled his glass. 

Who was that? He wasn't like the rest of the clubbers. He was calm. Almost like he didn't belong here. But did I care? 

I thought I'd had enough for tonight. I reached for my purse to pay but I couldn't find it. I remembered seeing it last in the taxi. Whatever, only a little cash was in it. I look from the bartender’s eyes to the glass cup in front.  

“Come on now. Don't pull that shit on me,” he said, folding his arms on his chest. 

 I was about to reply when the white-hair man pulled out a stool chair from under the bartender's table and sat beside me. 

“What’s up?” he said with a deep voice. 

I stayed silent.

As he sat inches away I noticed the fleck of green in his eyes. Maybe it was the reflection of the club lights. 

“Nothing,” I replied. 

The bartender backed away but he still carried that frown on his face. 

I pulled out my phone from inside my pocket to make a digital transfer. 

The bartender turned his attention to the white-haired man and asked what he wanted. 

“I will have what she's having,” he said, nodding toward my glass. 

“Long Island. Strong?” the bartender asked. 

“Whatever, just bring it,” the white-haired man replied. 

He turned his head. I felt his gaze fixed on me as I hurried through my phone to make the payment. 

“Hi,” he said. 

“Hello,” I replied, barely audible. 

I stood up to leave. 

“Leaving already?” 

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure you’ve had enough?” 

He stared into my eyes too long without flinching. I began to wonder if I had truly had enough. The coming days would be hard for me. I was sure of that. I might as well numb myself tonight at least. 

I sat back down in the stool and the bartender filled my glass again. I took the fourth round then the fifth but that was it for me. 

“I'm new to the city,” he said, taking another shot of the alcohol. 

“Oh. Yeah.”

“Tell me. Why have you been crying?” 

I shot him a side look. 

“I haven't been,” I responded, blinking. 

“Anyone could see it.” 

“See what?” 

“Your swollen face.” 

I fell silent. 

“It's nothing,” I replied. 

“Did you lose someone perhaps?” he continued. 

“No. I didn't.” 

“So tell me what happened to you.” 

“I don't wanna talk about it,” I responded. 

“Why not?” 

I shot him a stern look. “Maybe because it's none of your business.” 

He fell silent before smiling a bit. 

“You are a hard one,” he said, still smiling. 

He signaled for the bartender to fill my glass again. 

“Drink on. The bill is on me,” he said, raising the glass to his mouth for a gulp. 

“No. I'm okay,” I said, pushing the shot glass away. 

He didn't stop. He just kept gulping more and more shots until his senses began to dull evidence from his utterances.

He was so drunk that he nearly slipped from th

e stool. I caught him midway down though. His weight stretched my muscles, as I raised him back on his butt. 

He raised his hands up lazily, “Nova. Take me home,” he said.