Phobia for Men in Suit

AURELIA

“This damn thong keeps getting up in my ass.” Darla hissed.

“You’re the one who insists on wearing them,” I said, adjusting the leather harness on my thighs.

“I’ve gotta look hot,” Darla said, fluffing her hair, “Maybe my prince charming will find me and get me out of this hell.”

“If your prince wants you in a thong, then maybe he's not so charming after all.”

I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and a wave of disgust churned in my gut— not at myself, but at the way I looked. My hair was pulled into a messy ponytail, my clothes exposing too much skin—just the way the men liked it.

Darla moved behind me and wore a choker around my neck, the bell in the center dangling.

I hated that stupid bell— made me feel like a pet. Each step I took with it was a constant reminder of just how much of an object I was to them.

But unfortunately, this was my job. It was either serving a tray of overpriced tequila while shaking my ass at a casino club or shoveling pig dung girl. God forbid I do the latter.

Don’t judge me—the pay was good and I needed the money to foot my bills.

It’s been six months since I ran away from home, and life was far from what I expected. Starting afresh was depressing, but at least I was rid of my father, and free from the violence and death that threatened to devour me with each passing hour.

My throat tightened as I thought of Rosella. I never heard or saw her again after that night. It was best that way, but each time I glanced at my phone, my heart ached to receive a call from an unknown number, telling me the good news that my father was finally dead.

A smack on my ass from Darla made me jump. I shot her a dirty look.

“Those drinks aren't going to serve themselves.”

She grabbed my hand and dragged me out of the dressing room. We got to the bar where we grabbed our separate trays to serve. ‘Don’t stop the music’ thumped through the speakers, threatening to burst my eardrums.

You’d think after three months of this job, I’d be used to it by now.

As I walked through the crowd, prying eyes were trained on me, some whistling, others calling out for me with a ring of their bell, but I’d mastered the skill of ignoring them while still looking approachable.

“Raven, come here,” a familiar voice called out my fake name and warmth sparked in my chest.

I spotted Herald at the far end of the club, seated alone, a cigarette dangling lazily between his fingers.

I walked up to him, leaned in, and served his usual.

“What's with the gloomy look tonight?” he said softly, a concerned expression etching his features.

“Don't I always look that way?” I replied.

“You think too much, kid,” his blue eyes gleamed as he scrutinized my face.

“And so do you. How are you feeling today?” I asked, genuinely worried about his well-being. He opened up the first day I served him, telling me about how his wife had died on her birthday last year. It traumatized him, and he drank to wash away his sorrows.

I pitied him. His eyes always carried that sad look, no matter how much he tried to hide him. He must’ve loved her so much. He was one of the few men here who respected the women and didn’t treat them like objects.

“I’ve been better,” he hummed as he took down a shot of his drink.

Suddenly, I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and I froze. I spun around, and my breath caught. The man standing behind me was easily the most handsome in the club tonight.

He towered over me, clad in an expensive-looking suit. Despite his sexy look, he radiated danger and I had no business with that.

“You look familiar. Had to get a closer look,” he said as he slid his hand into his pocket.

I faked a smile as I responded nervously, “I get that a lot.”

“I see… serve my table. We’ll have Don Julio.” He pointed to a table with a group of men dressed in suits, and my heart leaped to my throat. They all oozed a kind of danger I should steer clear of.

I nodded and walked off briskly to get their drinks. As I approached their table and served them with trembling hands, I kept my gaze fixated on the table.

Immediately after serving, I was about to dash off when someone grabbed my arm. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as my heartbeat raced.

It was the same hot man from earlier.

“What’s your name, beautiful?” he asked, his voice smooth but terrifying.

My throat suddenly tightened, as my lips parted, trying to get a word out.

Nothing came. At that moment, I forgot my fake name.

Cold sweat broke out on my skin.

Darla suddenly cut in. “Her name’s Raven, and she’s having her panic attacks right now. Let's get your meds, honey.”

The handsome scary man released me with a smirk and added, “I hope to see you again, Raven.

God, I hope not.

After Darla pulled me back to the bar, she glared.

“I could kiss you right now,” I said.

She crossed her arms around her chest. “What was that about?”

“Uh… I have a profound fear for men in suits.”

She rolled her eyes. “Whatever. Get your shit together.”

She left and I went back to my work. As I served, I kept glancing at the table with the men in suits, until they stood.

But they didn’t leave the club—instead, they disappeared into the back room we were strictly forbidden to go into.

Curiosity itched at my skin.

What was going on in there?

Against my better judgment, I found myself walking towards the door.