3

Adrian shut the door of his tiny apartment behind him, sagging against it as the silence wrapped around him. The day had drained him, body and soul. Alexander's icy refusal still echoed in his chest, every syllable a reminder of how invisible he was.

But invisibility wasn't an option tonight.

With a heavy breath, Adrian crossed the narrow living room and pulled the locked trunk from under his bed. His fingers lingered on the latch before snapping it open. Inside, neatly arranged, lay the tools of his second life—satin, lace, wigs, and silicone curves that sculpted him into someone else. Someone untouchable.

He peeled off his stiff secretary's suit, folding it with mechanical care, then paused to study himself in the mirror. Thin, pale, too ordinary. Glasses sliding down his nose. Adrian Cole: the invisible secretary. The nobody.

Not for long.

He reached for the silicone breastplate first, the cool material clinging as he pulled it over his torso. It settled into place like a second skin, instantly reshaping him. Full, round breasts pushed against the lace bralette he slipped over them, bouncing lightly as though they had always belonged to him. He adjusted the neckline, creating cleavage that whispered seduction with every movement.

Next, the padded panties—silicone hips and ass that curved his body into a silhouette men would turn their heads for. He smoothed the stockings over them, the illusion flawless, his figure transformed into that of a goddess.

A black corset cinched his waist, pulling his form into an hourglass. He inhaled sharply as it tightened, sculpting him into perfection. By the time he slipped on the glittering dress, snug against every curve, Adrian no longer recognised himself.

He perched his glasses on the vanity table, replacing them with mysterious, medicated green contacts. He added makeup—shadow to highlight his green eyes, gloss to make his lips gleam like temptation. A long black wig cascaded over his shoulders, framing a face that now belonged to someone else entirely.

In the mirror, Adrian Cole was gone.

In his place stood Adrienne, the coveted, enigmatic escort whispered about in penthouse lounges. Men paid fortunes for a night in her company, never guessing that beneath the silken skin and come-hither eyes was the same quiet secretary who fetched them coffee by day.

Adrienne leaned closer to the mirror, painting her smile slowly, carefully. It wasn't just makeup. It was armour.

By the time she slipped into her heels and slung her purse over her shoulder, there was no trace of Adrian's exhaustion, his fear, or his hopelessness. Only Adrienne remained, a woman carved out of necessity, mystery, and survival.

Tonight, she would shine.

Tonight, she would earn.

Tonight, she would save her mother.

Adrienne had perfected the performance. Lower the voice, soften the gaze, smile with mystery. Money always followed. Enough to buy her mother another month of care, another chance at survival.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I've got this." Her voice was a sweet, velvet whisper, mastered from her seven months as an escort.

Opening her eyes, she sashayed out of her room and out of her micro apartment.

The night breeze blew cool against her skin as she stood in front of her house and waited for a ride.

Soft girl, soft life; she didn't need to walk down the street on her heels to catch a ride—they always found her.

She suddenly heard someone cursing behind her and turned to see her stepfather muttering curses as he stared at his phone in frustration, his half-bald head glistening under the bright street lights.

She smiled in satisfaction and looked away from him. She was used to this, seeing him frustrated as he tried to reach Adrian through the phone.

Adrian was dead, for now.

She always made sure to switch Adrian's phone off before leaving the house. Adrienne had a different phone, only used to contact her company, Maison Nocturne.

She had been so lucky to meet the wealthy owner of her estate agency coincidentally on the night her mother was diagnosed with cancer seven months ago.

The middle-aged man had been in a little disagreement with a young lady, and Adrian had absentmindedly watched the scene unfold in front of his apartment. After a few minutes, the young lady had left, and when the man was about to leave, Adrian had seen something fall from his pocket.

He had rushed and picked the company card up, offering it to the man. He had expected a simple 'thank you.' Rather, Adrian got an offer that changed him.

That night, Adrienne was born out of desperation and hopelessness. And Adrian was glad it happened.

His mother was alive because of Adrienne, her unknown, confident, and seductive daughter.

Adrian would forever be grateful to Adrienne.

"Um, excuse me, young lady," her stepfather suddenly approached her.

With the most condescending look she could muster, she eyed him from head to toe in complete disdain.

"I'm sorry to bother you. I was wondering if you know my son, Adrian. I've been trying to get to him, but he's not answering my calls. Do you perhaps know where he went tonight?" her stepfather spoke with hesitation, his eyes admiring the beauty before him.

A car suddenly honked in front of Adrienne. "Going somewhere tonight?" a familiar taxi driver asked.

"Pathetic," Adrienne scoffed as she tore her eyes away from her stepfather.

Head held high, she walked toward the taxi and entered the open back door.

The taxi zoomed off, leaving her confused stepfather behind.

"Same place, Adrienne?" the taxi driver asked.

"Yes, Maison Nocturne," she replied, hugging her purse to herself.

She kept her communication short with people to avoid exposing herself. Just as she was busy on her phone, a call came in from Mr. Archen, her boss and owner of Maison Nocturne.

She creased her perfect brow; he never called unless it was important, and she wondered what the important news might be.

"Hello, boss, good evening," she greeted softly.

"Go straight to the hotel in the location I sent you. Find the room with the matching number and wait. Your company will get there in ten minutes. Don't disappoint me, he's important. Your four hours have been paid for, and your account has been credited. Do not disappoint me, Adrienne." Mr. Archen's calm, yet sharp voice informed and ended the call immediately.

Before anything else, she quickly checked the information her boss sent to her and informed the driver about the change of route.

Then, she thought, hard and deeply.

'Who could this important client be?'

She normally picked her clients through the company's site, where the rich folks lined up for an hour with her. Not the other way around.

She always picked, but tonight, she got picked.

An hour was the maximum time she offered because she needed to leave and not let any of them master her mannerisms or have room to find loopholes in her disguise.

'Who was he?'

The man must be powerful to be able to make Mr. Archen bend his rules for him.

"We're here, beautiful," the driver announced.

Adrienne glanced out of the window and onto the luxurious five-star hotel, its ambience intimidating yet alluring.

"Thank you." She paid the driver and got out of the car.

Her heels clicked with perfect precision on the floor as she stepped into the reception, heading straight for the elevator.

Heads turned, men and women alike—everyone was captivated by Adrienne's dazzling beauty. They were her business. She walked right into the elevator and watched the door slide closed.

A deep breath left her mouth, and for a brief moment, Adrian pushed through, feeling nervous and unsure about his strange guest. But Adrienne was back in the next second, straightening her shoulders and back as the elevator slid open.

Not wasting time, she walked out of the elevator and along a broad passage lined with doors on each side.

"Room 411," she murmured as she stood in front of the door.

She raised her hand to knock but paused and decided to trust the knob.

It opened.

She knew it would; after all, her guest wouldn't be here for a few more minutes.

She stepped into a suite, the luxurious room glittering with sophisticated white and black designs.

Looking around, she found a sofa in the corner and walked over to it, lowering herself onto it.

She looked at the time and lifted her face to the door.

"One more minute, Mr. Rich guy, and I'll get to see your face," Adrienne murmured, a smirk glued to her face as she stared at the door, counting down in seconds.

In the last second, the knob slowly twisted, and the door was pushed in.

She thought she'd seen every kind of client—lonely politicians, restless heirs, hollow magnates. But when those polished, shiny shoes stepped in, followed by the overly familiar figure of Alexander Devereux, Adrienne's world collapsed.

The billionaire didn't look like a boss anymore. No suit jacket, no boardroom mask—just raw power, dressed in black, his icy blue eyes sharper than ever.

And when those eyes landed on Adrienne, they didn't look away.

Adrienne's pulse thundered. The one man Adrian couldn't afford to tempt, the one man who could destroy him with a word, now looked at him with a unique interest.