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Amelia’s POV

I wrapped my hand around the pole, my body moving effortlessly as I swung myself up. The lights were low, the music pulsing through the room, and I could feel every eye on me, hungry, expectant. Just another night. I did my best to maintain eye contact with the men in the audience, my gaze flicking from one face to another. They wanted to feel seen, like I was dancing just for them. The usual crowd—older men, mostly married, some with children probably as old as me. Their eyes followed every move I made, and the sound of bills hitting the stage, raining down like confetti, kept me going.

They cheered, some more loudly than others, motivating me to do more, to push myself. It was the game we played. They pretended I was theirs for the night, and I pretended I cared about more than their money. It was always the same, the eager requests for private dances, the whispered offers of one-night stands as if money could buy anything they wanted. But no matter how much they offered, I always said no.

It wasn’t because I had some moral compass about being the other woman, no. I didn’t care if they wanted to cheat on their wives. That wasn’t my business. I had my reasons, my own lines I wouldn’t cross. Not that it mattered to them. To these men, I was jolie, the faceless stripper who ruled the night in New York. Beautiful, confident, dangerous. The kind of woman they whispered about behind closed doors, the woman their wives feared but couldn’t name. I didn’t give myself that title; they did. All I did was show up, do my job, and leave.

My body had broken more marriages than I could count, but it wasn’t my problem. Men could barely keep themselves together when I danced, and if an hour of watching me was enough to ruin their relationships, that was on them. Not me. That’s why I wore a mask. Always. If it wasn’t for that, I probably would’ve been tracked down and torn apart by jealous wives a long time ago. little did these women know that i cared less about their husbands, not just their husbands, all men, to me, men are not worth my time, finding a new boyfriend to me is like finding a new job where you don’t really have to work but still get paid. Call me a gold digger, but that’s just life, it isn’t fair to anyone and it’s unfortunate that i have to be that person to give them that wakeup call. I had my ways of dealing with men, that includes my fiancé; use, empty and replace.

Besides, this was just one part of me. I wasn’t just a stripper. I had too many roles to count—college student, hacker, part-time teacher, private investigator. I could be anything for the right amount of money. Well, almost anything. I wasn’t a killer or a prostitute, no matter what people might think. I did what I had to do to survive. Between tuition, rent, and my mom’s medical bills, life had given me no other choice.

I finished the routine, sliding down the pole, the stage lights catching the glint of sweat on my skin. The men were on their feet, applauding like I had just given them the best show of their lives. But as I let my eyes drift over the crowd, something—or rather, someone—caught my attention.

He was younger than the others, probably in his mid-twenties. Dressed in all black, his hair styled perfectly like he’d just walked out of some high-end magazine shoot. He looked out of place, too put-together for a place like this. And unlike the others, he wasn’t clapping. He wasn’t even smiling. Just sitting there with an unreadable expression on his face, his dark eyes fixed on me, but not in the way the others watched. It wasn’t lust. It was something else. Disapproval, maybe?

My pulse quickened. There was everything wrong about this man. Too young, too handsome, and far too wealthy-looking to be here. This was a place for older men, the kind who thought they could buy whatever they wanted. But this guy? He didn’t belong. And worst of all, he wasn’t impressed.

That irritated me more than I wanted to admit.

I swung myself back up the pole, eyes locked on him as I tried again, pulling out a few tricks that always worked. But no matter what I did, his expression didn’t change. It was like he was bored, or worse, completely uninterested. What the hell was this guy’s deal? After a few more minutes, it hit me—he was one of those guys. The kind who thought they were too good for this, too jaded to be impressed. I hated guys like that.

Screw it. I gave the crowd one final wave and stepped off the stage, heading backstage where my manager was already waiting for me.

“Amy, what took you so long to leave the stage? There’s a young man who’s been waiting for you for a while now,” my manager’s voice cut through the hum of the backstage noise.

I sighed, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “I hope he’s not asking for a private session because I’ve got a date in an hour, and I’m not missing it for anything.”

I grabbed my backpack, ready to head into the dressing room and change into something more appropriate for a normal human interaction when my manager chimed in again. “He’s offering $5,000 for just a one-hour private session. You wouldn’t want to—”

“Of course I wouldn’t miss that!” I interrupted, flinging my bag to the floor without a second thought. “Where is he?” $5,000 for an hour? That’s more than most people make in a week. All I had to do was give him a lap dance, maybe throw in a few spins on the pole. Easy money. And let’s face it, I wasn’t going to say no to good cash.

I strutted into the dimly lit room where my client was waiting, the familiar red glow casting long shadows across the space. As soon as I stepped inside, my eyes landed on him—the same guy from the audience earlier. The young one. The one who hadn’t even bothered to clap, let alone look impressed. A part of me was surprised he’d pay so much for a private session, considering how unbothered he seemed.

“I thought you hated my performance on stage,” I said, arching a brow as I walked further into the room.

He didn’t hesitate, his voice deep and laced with a thick accent I hadn’t noticed before. “I did. It was boring. I’m giving you another chance to redeem yourself.”

Rude much?

“You’ve got an accent,” I said, trying to be polite. “Where are you from?” I let my eyes roam over his face, taking in every detail. Sharp jawline, thick brows, striking blue eyes, full lips, and dark hair that fell perfectly across his forehead. God, he was hot. Probably the most attractive man I’ve ever laid eyes on, but there was something off about him. Something...cold.

“Take off your mask,” he ordered, ignoring my question altogether. His voice was calm but commanding, like he was used to getting what he wanted.

“Sorry, can’t do that. Security reasons,” I replied smoothly, grabbing a rope from the table as I made my way to his chair.

“What are you doing?” His brows furrowed, eyes narrowing as I approached.

“I’m tying you to the chair,” I said matter-of-factly.

“Why is that necessary?”

I leaned in close, my lips brushing his ear as I whispered, “It’s for your own good. So you don’t get tempted to touch me.” My voice was soft, seductive. I felt his body stiffen beneath me, but he didn’t stop me from tying his wrists to the arms of the chair.

I climbed onto his lap, straddling him. “So, what’s a good-looking man like you doing in a strip club?” I asked, moving my hips against him in slow, deliberate circles.

His eyes didn’t waver. “I was curious about the famous faceless stripper,” he said, his voice low, intense. “Is Jolie your real name?”

“No,” I whispered, smiling slightly. “Jolie is French. It means ‘pretty.’”

He scoffed. “So, you think you’re pretty?”

I let out a small laugh, placing my hands on his chest, feeling the hardness of his muscles beneath the fabric. “Absolutely. It’s not up for debate. It’s a fact.”

“For someone who hides behind a mask, do you really think you deserve that title?” he shot back, and I could feel the challenge in his voice. He was trying to get under my skin, trying to provoke me into taking off my mask. But I wasn’t playing his game.

“Who do you think you are to question me?” I asked, my patience wearing thin.

“I’m someone you should never get to know,” he replied darkly. His words felt more like a warning than anything else.

I trailed my fingers from his chest up to his neck, my eyes fixated on the eagle tattoo just above his collarbone. I was about to touch his face when, suddenly, his hand shot up and grabbed mine. I flinched, my eyes darting to the rope on the floor—shredded. How the hell did he do that?

“I thought I tied your hands,” I said, shocked.

“You’re not allowed to touch my face,” he replied calmly, his grip firm but not painful. With one effortless shove, he pushed me off his lap and stood up, brushing himself off. “This was a waste of money,” he muttered under his breath, glancing at me with mild disdain. “Keep the money. I’m not asking for a refund.”

And just like that, he turned and walked out, leaving me standing there, stunned. No one had ever hated my performance that much. I tried everything, but he just seemed... untouchable. Was it me? No, it had to be him. Maybe he was gay. Yeah, that had to be it.

I stormed back to the dressing room, shaking off the weird encounter. As I picked up my phone, my heart sank. Twenty-one missed calls from Josh. Oh no. My fiancé.

Panic set in as I realized what time it was—8:15 p.m. I was supposed to be at his place by 8:00. I rushed to change into a corporate outfit and heels, practically running out of the club and hailing a cab.

By the time I arrived at Josh’s place, it was already 9:00. I didn’t bother knocking, just walked straight in. The scene that greeted me made my stomach drop—Josh, sitting at the dining table with a bouquet of roses in front of him, looking pissed, and... my mom? Eating silently at the same table.

My purse slipped from my hand, landing with a thud as the tension in the room thickened.

 “Mom? What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice edged with irritation as I shot her a scowl.

“Amy! You’re finally here,” she replied, her voice dripping with sarcastic sweetness. “Why would you keep this young man waiting?”

I crossed the room in a flash, eyes narrowing. “You haven’t answered my question,” I said, my patience hanging by a thread.

She leaned back in her chair, completely unbothered. “You wouldn’t tell me who your fiancé is, so I came to find him myself. And we had a really nice talk.” She flashed a smug wink at Josh, whose face was still etched with disappointment, his eyes avoiding mine.

“Mom, you need to leave. Now.” My tone was sharp as I grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her chair and practically shoving her toward the door. I locked it behind her before she could cause any more damage. The second I turned around, I saw Josh, still seated, his eyes glued to his phone.

I stood there for a few moments, not knowing what to say, waiting for him to speak first. Finally, he did.

“You didn’t tell me you’d be working late,” he said, his voice cool, almost detached. His eyes didn’t leave his phone.

“Uhmm… yeah, my team had a midnight operation,” I said, the lie slipping out effortlessly. “It came up last minute, so I couldn’t call you. I’m sorry.”

Josh finally looked up, his eyes piercing mine with a look that sent a chill down my spine. “I just called your boss,” he said. “He said you left the office at 4:00 this evening. Where did you go after work, Amelia?”

My throat tightened. “Oh, well, I was with Tasha, but I went back to the office after…”

“You goddamn liar!” Josh shouted, cutting me off. His voice was raw with anger, his hand raking through his hair in frustration. “How long will you keep lying to me?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but he tossed his phone toward me. I caught it instinctively, and as I glanced at the screen, my heart stopped. There I was—dancing half-naked in the strip club, my mask firmly in place, but there was no mistaking that it was me. For a moment, my lips parted in shock, but I quickly wiped the expression off my face and tried to play dumb.

“She’s got a really nice ass, though,” I said with a nervous laugh, feigning ignorance.

Josh wasn’t amused. His expression hardened. “And I’m sure she looks familiar,” he said bitterly. “I bought you that lingerie on your birthday, Amelia. This is how you repay me? Prostituting yourself even when we’re engaged?”

My heart clenched, but I shot back without thinking. “Josh, I’m not a prostitute! I’m a stripper. They’re two different things.”

“Don’t you raise your fucking voice at me, you whore!” he yelled, his words slicing through the air like a blade before his hand came down hard, slapping me across the face. Pain exploded across my cheek, but the shock hurt more. “you’re a greedy person! It’s impossible to please someone like you!” His voice dripped with venom.

I could feel my blood boiling. “You don’t have the right to call me that. I am not a whore!” I screamed back, rage making me lash out, my hand slapping him just as hard. The sting of my palm against his skin rang through the room like an echo. How much has this bastard given to me to make him think he could raise his hands on me?

Josh’s eyes widened, filled with disbelief, he probably didn’t think i’ll ever be able to hit him back. He looked at me like he couldn’t comprehend what just happened. And then, slowly, he shook his head.

“You don’t deserve this,” he muttered under his breath, grabbing my hand roughly. In one swift motion, he pulled the engagement ring off my finger. The coldness of his touch and the finality of the gesture stung worse than the slap.

I scoffed. I wasn’t surprised, not really. The second I saw my mom sitting at that dining table, I knew it was over. My mother is mentally unstable, so she says shit most of the time, i’ve been trying to raise money for her medical bill but i’ve barely been able to raise enough for us to survive on.

“Fine. Let’s break up.” I said it like it was nothing, turning my back on him, heading for the door. But just as I reached for the handle, his voice stopped me.

“I also want back the car, the phone, the house, the debit card—everything I’ve ever given you.”

I froze, my hand hovering over the doorknob. I swallowed hard, my entire body going rigid, but I didn’t turn around. I just stood there, letting his words sink in.

It was all falling apart—everything. And for a moment, I wasn’t sure what would be left of me when it was over.