Accept the one night stand

"It's okay, I will go and meet him," I finally responded without any other option. My voice was quiet, trembling, but it was enough.

He was right. I honestly needed the money, and he already knew why I badly needed it. The medical bills were piling higher than I could breathe, and no amount of double rehearsals or extra shows could cover them. I had no choice but to let him sell me, because what else was I supposed to do, let my relative die?

“Fine,” the director said, leaning back in his chair, smug and satisfied. “Then go get yourself ready. Tonight will change everything for you.”

I forced myself to stand, then made my way to the door. I didn’t dare look back at him. I walked out of his office, every step feeling heavier, like I was dragging chains. Luckily, the hallway was dark and quiet. By the time I reached the dressing room, the other dancers were already gone.

I dropped onto the wooden bench and bent forward to untie my pointe shoes. My toes throbbed, still raw and blistered from hours of dancing. Quickly, I undressed and went to the shower. The hot water ran down my skin, yet all I felt was cold dread seeping deeper into me. My mind was racing with tonight's possibilities.

What kind of man was he?

A billionaire, that’s all the director had said. But did that mean old? Cruel? Married? Would he be the type to see me as nothing more than a prostitute he could buy and toss aside? Or would his eyes linger like the men in the audience, hungry and entitled?

I couldn’t stop the questions and my stomach kept grumbling as I asked myself.

By the time I stepped out, my skin was red and raw.

I dressed slowly, hands trembling as I pulled on a fresh leotard and jeans over it. The fabric clung to my damp skin, uncomfortable, but nothing compared to the questions in my head. After throwing my hair into a loose bun, I reapplied simple make up and slung my bag over my shoulder.

I paused at the door of the dressing room, fingers gripping the handle. Beyond this point, there was no turning back. I breathed in and out then headed outside the theater.

"Iet me do this ... its only a one night stand," I grumbled to myself as l hailed a taxi. The chilly air nipped at the tip of my nose and shuddered from a gust of wind , blowing a few stray wisps of hair into my face but I ignored it and sat in the car.

I watched the lights of the city through the cab window as we raced down the busy streets. My heart began pounding uncomfortably, as if it didn't belong in my chest any longer when I realized that we were about to reach the Yellow Haven Suite.

The cab slowed as the driver pulled into the glowing circle of light outside the Yellow Haven Suite. I didn't move out of the car immediately. I sat there for a moment, frozen, my hands clutching the strap of my bag so tightly that my knuckles turned white.

“Miss, we’re here.”, The driver cleared his throat impatiently.

"Yeah", I swallowed, my throat bone dry. My hands moved before my courage caught up with them, pulled a few crumpled bills from my wallet and pressed them into his hand.

"Keep the change,” I muttered, even though there wasn’t much change to give.

Who I was about to face tonight?!

I inwardly asked myself as I pulled my coat tighter around myself and stepped out into the sharp night air. My heels clicked against the marble entrance, echoing louder than they should have, like a warning bell I couldn’t ignore.

Inside, the lobby was warm, glowing with chandeliers that dripped crystals like frozen tears. My eyes darted nervously to the reception desk where a woman in a sleek black uniform gave me a polite smile.

I managed a stiff nod, then walked past her, every nerve screaming that I should turn around and run. But my legs carried me to the elevator instead. My stomach tightened when I pressed the button and the golden doors slid open silently, welcoming me into the mirrored cage.

The elevator chimed. My breath caught when the doors parted, revealing a plush carpeted hallway lined with dim lights. I stepped out slowly, clutching my bag, scanning for the suite number the director had scribbled down for me.

Room 1207.

Each step toward it felt like a countdown. My fingers shook when they brushed the door handle, my heart racing so loudly I swore he could already hear me from the other side.

I whispered under my breath, barely audible. “Please… don’t let him be a monster.”

And then I opened the door. To my surprise, the lights in the room were off which only meant the person, I was meeting was probably not here yet.

I let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my shoulders slumping under the weight of all that tension. For now, at least, I was alone.

Setting my bag on the marble counter near the minibar, I toed off my boots and wandered further in. The suite was decadent, thick carpets, velvet drapes, a bed big enough to swallow me whole. Everything about it screamed money, power, untouchable wealth. And yet here I was, the fragile little ballerina who had sold herself for a number on a contract.

I glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 10:07 p.m. He wasn’t late yet, but the minutes already felt like hours.

I went to the minibar, pulling out a tiny bottle of vodka. My hands trembled as I twisted it open and swallowed half in one gulp, the liquid burning its way down my throat.

“Get it together,” I whispered harshly to myself. “It’s just one night. One night, and then you go back to your life.”

The liquor clouded my head and before I knew it, I no longer cared who walked through the door. My body was now going through the motions. I pulled out more mini bottles and made a basic cocktail over ice.

I sank onto the couch, clutching the little bottle, my body tense as if it knew before my mind did. The silence shifted.

A click.

The unmistakable sound of the suite door unlocking.

My heart lurched into my throat. My fingers tightened around the glass bottle, as though it could somehow shield me. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, only listened as the soft thud of leather shoes moved across the floor.

And then, he rounded the corner.

The breath rushed out of me in a sharp exhale.

He was nothing like I expected.

Black hair styled back , slightly longer in the front than on the sides, with a few stray stands falling over his forehead. A short, neatly trimmed beard graced his perfectly square jawline. His features were strong, and he was devastatingly handsome.

I didn't know whether it was alcohol but my hands shook at my sides, and I wanted to tell myself to stop staring, to stop imagining, but I couldn’t look away.