Chapter One: The Velvet Room

The music is loud. I can feel the heavy beat through the soles of my feet, vibrating up my legs until it settles in my chest. 

The Velvet Room is full of the smell of strong cologne and cigarette smoke. It is filled with men looking for a dream.

I am that dream.

Under the fluorescent red lights, I wasn't Zora Grey; the girl with a late parent and a mountain of medical debt just paid off days ago by an older man. 

I am a masked stripper named Sapphire.

I grip the cold brass of the pole, arching my back until I can see the ceiling. 

My brown hair sweeps the stage, and as I spin, the world becomes a blur of greedy faces. But there is always one face that isn't a blur.

In the VIP booth, Ethan sits like a king on a throne of sin.

He is always there every Friday. He never cheers. 

He never throws crumpled bills like the others. He just watches and then pays triple to claim me.

His eyes are like storm clouds: dark, heavy, and full of a lightning that makes my skin prickle even from across the room. 

He takes a slow sip of his Scotch, his gaze never leaving the curve of my waist. 

He knows what he wants. 

He already sees the Sapphire behind the mask. 

He knows he will always have me to himself because he has paid thrice the amount of the highest bidder for me for the past three months.

I finish my set with a slow, deliberate slide down the pole, my eyes locked onto his.

The crowd roars, but the only sound I hear is the blood rushing in my ears. As I walk off stage, a hand catches my wrist.

It is the floor manager, holding a thick envelope. 

"Your man, Ethan in Booth 4 wants a private as usual. An hour. He’s already paid triple."

My stomach flips. I look toward the booth. 

Ethan is standing now, adjusting his cufflinks. He doesn't look like a customer; he looks like a predator who has just finished tracking his prey.

"Tell him he can come in," I whisper, clutching the envelope.

I am selling my time, my body, and my dignity. 

I have been selling those for the past six months, but the last three months have been exclusively to Ethan because he pays the highest, making sure no one else has me.

Well, that is about to end.

The door to the private suite clicks shut, the sound final and heavy. 

The air in the room is thick, charged with the scent of Ethan’s expensive cologne and the raw, usual, electric tension around him.

He doesn’t wait for a conversation. He doesn’t want any dance performance.

Before I can even turn around, Ethan’s hand is in my hair, his fingers tangling in the brown strands and pulling my head back until I am forced to look up at him. 

My breath hitches, my chest heaving against the thin silk of my bodice.

"I’ve missed you since last Friday, Sapphire," he growls, his voice a low, gravelly vibration against my skin. 

"Tonight, I want to claim all my money's worth."

He spins me around, shoving me toward the desk in the center of the room. 

My palms hit the cold wood, and before I can react, Ethan is behind me, his massive frame a wall of heat pressing against my back.

"Please be gentle," I whisper, though I am not sure if I am really begging him to be gentle or rough. 

I just know every time he is done, he makes my whole body sore.

"Why should I be gentle?" He leans down, his teeth grazing the sensitive cord of my neck. 

One hand stays in my hair, keeping me pinned, while the other slides down to the curve of my hip. 

"You’re here for the money, aren’t you? You’re here to be used."

The first strike is sudden. 

The sharp Smack of his palm against my bum echoes in the small room. 

It is a stinging, shocking heat that makes me gasp, my back arching instinctively.

"Don't move," he commands, his voice dark and cold.

Smack. Another one, harder this time, right in the center of my bum cheek.

The pain is a flash of white light, but the rush of adrenaline that follows is intoxicating. 

My pulse is drumming a frantic, desperate rhythm in my ears. 

I feel small, exposed, and entirely at his mercy.

"You're a brat, Sapphire," he murmurs, his fingers now dipped into me. He fingers me so hard it will surely leave bruises inside me. 

"A beautiful, greedy little brat who needs to be taught who she belongs to."

He doesn't use a condom. He doesn't use tenderness. He takes me with a raw, bruising force that makes the desk creak under our weight. 

It is a collision of desperate hunger and dark possession. 

Every thrust, and every time his hand comes down hard against me, it reminds me that I am his property for one hour every Friday.

I bury my face in my arms, my muffled cries lost in the dark corners of the room. 

My body betrays me, clenching around him, chasing the very ruin he is promising. 

In that moment, he isn't just a client. He is my master, my punisher, and my only source of air.

When it is over, he doesn't hold me. 

He dresses up, adjusts his tie in the mirror, and tosses a stack of bills onto the desk next to my trembling form as an extra tip.

"Same time next week," he says, not even looking back.

I stay there, my skin burning and my heart shattered.

There won’t be a next week. It is going to be over.

My contract with The Velvet Room as their stripper ends this week. 

This is the last time I will see Ethan because my life is taking a new turn;

I’m marrying Arthur Reynolds, the multi-billionaire.

He is a man graceful enough to pay my debt when he saw I was harassed by my debtors, and he told me he wants me, loves me, and wants to care for me. 

He doesn’t know my present or past; he just knows I’m a struggling girl who needs help. 

He is an old man who needs comfort, so we decided to help each other.

Although I don’t love him, It’s a much better deal than Ethan’s rough sex, and dominance.