CHAPTER FIVE

I couldn't get the conversation I had with Dorian out of my head. I don't understand why I'm hurt. Everyone judges me. It's nothing new. Why am I hurt over his own judgement. I mean who wouldn't judge. I just thought I saw something different in his eyes rather than judgement.

“Amara, you have a private dance request.” my colleague called from across the room.

I swallowed. Kept my face neutral. Professional. I didn't flinch.

I stepped into the room.

Dorian was seated. Calm. Hands resting on the arms of the chair. Leaning back. Watching.

My chest hitched. Pulse spiked. But I didn't show it. Not in front of him.

“Why are you here?” I asked, keeping voice steady.

“Was I banned from coming here? It's a club Amara.” He stated.

I waited. 

“To prove you wrong,” he said. Calm. Dominant.

Controlled.

I raised an eyebrow. “Prove me wrong?”

“That you think I judge,” he said, eyes sharp. “That I'm like other men.”

I scoffed and crossed my arms. “And a private dance is your way of proving that?”

“Yes. I know it will,” he said without hesitation. No doubt. That confidence irritated me more than I could admit.

I smirked. “Interesting method.”

“I told you,” he said, unbothered. “I know how to get answers.”

I nodded, forcing a neutral expression. “Then you should know the rules. No touching. No talking. You watch. I perform. That's it.”

“I'm aware,” he said. Calm. Dominant. And something about his certainty made my stomach clench.

“Good,” I said. “Because if you cross the line, we stop. Immediately.”

“I won't cross lines,” he said. “Not without permission.”

“Hmm,” I said. “We'll see.”

I adjusted my outfit. Took a breath. This was work. Nothing more. Professional. I reminded myself of that with every step.

The music started. Slow, deep, rhythmic.

I stepped toward the pole, heels clicking softly. Every movement precise. Measured. Confident. Untouchable.

And then I saw him.

Dorian. Sitting there. Watching. Not hungry. Not judging. Just… watching.

My chest tightened. Skin tingled. Every nerve was alive.

I wasn't performing for him. Not really. I was performing for myself. And somehow, that made it worse.

I climbed the pole, spun, swayed my hips. Every move professional, practiced, perfect.

And his eyes never left mine.

Not once.

I twirled, arched, leaned back. Our eyes locked.

Everything in the room disappeared except him. And me.

I was aware of every inch of myself. My body, my balance, my rhythm. Every flick of my wrist, every tilt of my head.

And I noticed him noticing me.

Not like a predator. Not like a man wanting a show. But he was trying to understand. Trying to see me. See all of me.

And I realized something.

I didn't know if I hated him for this… or wanted it.

My pulse raced. My stomach fluttered. I could feel it in my chest, my fingertips, my thighs.

And yet… I never faltered. Never broke my rhythm.

When the song ended, I stepped down from my pole, heels hitting the floor softly.

I walked towards him, slow. Professional. Every nerve screaming otherwise.

He didn't flinch when I stopped in front of him. Hands on hips, I let my eyes meet his.

“You didn't leave,” I said. Neutral. Flatly.

“I didn't” he said. And the words carried weight. More than he probably intended.

“Why” I asked. Curious, defensive, trying to cover my own trembling pulse.

“To prove you wrong,” he said again. And there it was. That calm, precise dominance that both infuriated and unnerved me.

I shook my head. “ You think i care if you judge me?”

“Not at all,” he said. “But I want to make sure you know I'm not like that.”

I laughed softly, bitter. “ A private dance, and this is how you prove it?”

He didn't answer immediately. Just studied me. Eyes sharp. Never blinked. Pulling me apart without touching me.

“Alright,” I said finally. “Rules. Again. No touching. You don't speak. I perform. Got it?”

“I've got it,” he said. Calmly.

The next song started —slower, intimate.

He didn't move. Didn't shift. Just watched. Calm. Dominant. Unflinching.

I slid down into a lap dance, moving close enough for him to feel my presence but not breaking my professional boundary.

Our eyes stayed locked.

Every movement, every sway, every tilt of my body was controlled. And entirely for him, even though he hadn't asked.

He didn't reach. Didn't say a word. Just watched. His presence filled the room. Dominant, commanding and silent.

The pull between us was unbearable. Physical. Electric.

My skin tingled. My chest heaved. My mind screamed to stay professional but I couldn't look away.

And I didn't.

I stayed on him. Eyes locked. Full attention. No breaks.

He watched every movement, but there was no judgement in his expression. No hunger. Just appraisal and fascination. Something I didn't understand.

And that puzzled me.

Because he wasn't acting like other men. He wasn't objectifying me. Not once.

I didn't falter. Didn't hesitate. Lap dance complete, I rose and moved back to the pole.

Spin. Sway. Turn. Arch. 

And still, I didn't break eye contact.

The song ended. I stepped down. Heart pounding. Breath uneven.

I walked past him. Not close. Not touching. Just passing.

He didn't move. Didn't speak. Just kept watching. Calm. Dominant.

And I knew the tension between us had shifted.

It wasn't attraction— not yet. It wasn't love— not even close.

It was… something. A pull I couldn't name.

I left the stage. Walked towards the hallway.

And even then, I could feel him watching me.

The tension followed me. Tight, tangible, heavy.

I didn't speak. I didn't look back.

But I could feel it.

And it scared me.

Because I knew it wasn't over.

I pushed open the door to the hallway, le

tting the silence swallow me.

And in that silence, I realized something I wasn't ready to admit.

He didn't judge me.

Not at all.

And that made my chest ache… and my pulse race.