CHAPTER ONE

I sat at the edge of the old couch, my heels kicked off, my feet aching, my back sore, my mind somewhere far away, wondering what life would be like if I didn't work as a stripper working to pay hospital bills which by the way, are ridiculously high. My reflection stared back at me from the cracked mirror on the wall. Heavy makeup. Glossed lips. Dark lashes. A version of me that existed only under neon lights.

Davina leaned against the counter, scrolling through her phone, one hip popped out like she owned the room. She always looked too relaxed for a place like this, like Luminous Club was just another café she worked at instead of a building full of secrets, desperation, and drunk men with loose wallets.

“ You're doing that thing again “ she said without looking up.

I blinked. “ What thing?”

“The dissociating thing. Where your eyes go empty like you're not even here.”

I rolled my eyes. “ I am here.”

“ Physically,” She said. Then she glanced up at me.

“Mentally? Not so much.”

I exhaled slowly, dragging my fingers through my hair. Sweat clung to my skin, mixed with perfume and the faint smell of alcohol that never quite left the air.

“ I'm just tired,” I said.

“ You're always tired.”

I didn't argue. Because she was right.

Davina put her phone down and crossed her arms.

“ How's your mom today?”

The question hit me like a bruise I kept forgetting was there until someone pressed on it.

I swallowed. “ The nurse said her fever came down a little.”

“A little is good,” she said gently.

“ A little is still bad.”

She didn't respond immediately. She never tried to sugarcoat things with me. That was why I loved her.

I look down at my hands. My nails were painted a pale pink —soft, innocent looking. A lie.

“ They're increasing her meds again,” I said. “Which means more money.”

Davina sighed.

“I've picked up two extra shifts this week,” I added quickly, like that would fix anything.

She shook her head. “ You're already overworking yourself, Amara.”

I laughed softly. “ Overworking is better than underpaying hospital bills.”

Silence stretched between us.

Davina walked over and sat beside me. “ You shouldn't have to do all this alone.”

I shrugged. “ I always have.”

That wasn't self pity. It was fact.

“It gets better, you know,” she said.

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

She hesitated, then said, “ I might have something.”

I glanced at her. “ Something like what?”

“A job.”

I frowned. “If this is another VIP that tips in compliments instead of cash, I'm not interested.”

She rolled her eyes. “ Not like that. It's… different.”

Everything in my life was always “different “ right before it went wrong.

“ What kind of job?” I asked cautiously.

She hesitated again, which immediately made me suspicious.

“Davina.”

“Okay, don't freak out.” She said quickly. “But it's basically just pretending to be someone's girlfriend for a night.”

I stared at her 

She stared back 

I blinked. “ Say that again.”

She sighed. “A fake date.”

I laughed. Out loud. “ You're joking.”

“I'm serious.”

“No, you're not.”

“I am.”

I stood up from the couch, arms crossing.” You want me to lie about my entire existence to some random man for money?”

She winced. “ When you put it like that…”

“That's exactly what it is.”

She held up her hands. “Listen, it's not shady. It's just… appearances. He needs a date for a family thing. That's it.”

My skin crawled. “ Why can't he find a real girlfriend?”

“Because he doesn't want one.”

That should've been my first red flag.

I shook my head. “No.”

“Amara—”

“No.”

She sighed. “He's rich.”

“So?”

She smirked slightly. “ Like billionaire rich.”

I looked at her slowly.

“Don't do that,” I said.

“What?”

“That face. That ‘ I know you're listening now’ face.”

She leaned in. “One night. A few hours. You sit, smile, eat food, go home. That's it.”

I stared at the floor.

“ How much?” I asked quietly.

She named the amount.

I inhaled sharply.

“That's —”

“Enough to cover your mom's next treatment cycle,” she finished.

My chest tightened. 

I hated how quickly my resistance crumbled. I hated how easy survival mode kicked in.

“What's his name?” I asked.

She smiled. “Dorian.”

I waited.

“Dorian Wellington.”

I snorted. “ That sounds fake.”

“It's not.”

I shook my head. “I don't do billionaire.”

“You already do rich men,” she pointed out.

“Not like this.”

“This is safer,” she said. “You don't have to touch him.”

I hesitated.

“Or dance.”

Another pause.

“Or pretend you're okay with being looked at like a product.”

My throat tightened.

“You just have to exist.”

I hated that that part made my chest ache.

I looked up at her. “Tell me everything.”

She grinned. “I knew it.”

“I didn't say yes.”

“You will.”

She pulled her phone out and showed me a photo.

He looked… normal.

Not flashy. Not arrogant. Just quiet. Controlled. His suit was tailored perfectly, but his expression wasn't snug. If anything, he looked bored.

And strangely… lonely.

I frowned.

“That's him?” I asked.

“Yes.” 

“He looks… calm.”

She nodded. “He's not creepy. Just private.”

My brain started spinning.

“How old is he?”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Why does he need a fake girlfriend?”

“Family pressure.”

I scoffed. “Poor rich man.”

She nudged me. “Don't be like that.”

I sighed. “Where would it be?”

“At his place.”

I stiffened. “Absolutely not.”

“For dinner,” she clarified. “His dad and sister.”

That made it less creepy. Slightly.

“You'd go, eat, smile, maybe talk about how you met, t

hen leave.”

I closed my eyes.

My mom's hospital bills flashed through my mind.

The machines.

The beeping.

The tired smile.

My guilt.

My exhaustion.

“One night,” I whispered.

Davina smiled. “ One night.”

I swallowed hard.