4.

A shaft of sunlight, piercing through a gap in the heavy curtains, stabs at my eyes. Groaning, I roll over, trying to burrow deeper into the plush duvet, but the events of the previous day rush back, dragging me fully awake. Keith. The offer. The sheer improbability of it all.

I quickly get up, make my bed – smoothing the crisp linen sheets with a lingering touch, still marveling at the sheer luxury – and go to the bathroom to freshen up. The bathroom is an oasis of marble and chrome, a stark contrast to the dingy communal facilities I’d grown accustomed to in the orphanage. I run cold water over my face, trying to scrub away the last vestiges of sleep and the lingering anxiety that gnaws at me.

Afterwards, I go downstairs to the dining room in search of breakfast. The house is silent, save for the faint clatter of silverware coming from the open doorway. Hesitantly, I step inside.

Keith is seated at the head of a long, polished mahogany table, a newspaper spread before him. He looks up as I enter, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He's dressed impeccably, in a dark suit that accentuates his broad shoulders and powerful frame. The man exudes an aura of quiet authority, a presence that commands respect without uttering a single word.

"Good morning, Amanda. I trust you've slept well?" he says, his voice a low, resonant rumble.

"Morning Mr. Grayson….Keith?," I stammer, my cheeks flushing. The formality feels ingrained after years of ingrained social conditioning. "Yeah, it was the best sleep I've had in a very long time!" I say as I sit down at the opposite end of the table. A servant, unnoticed until now, quietly approaches and offers me a glass of orange juice. I gratefully accept it, avoiding Keith's gaze.

"You can call me Keith little one, but only when we are alone alright!…and it's good you are here with me instead of being outside on the streets!" He says after drinking his coffee, a glint of steel in his eyes. The statement isn’t a boast, more a flat observation. He knows what he's saved me from, and so do I.

So what's next? I ask curiously.

"Signing the contract and I would like for you to tell me about yourself, but first you eat. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in days."

I suddenly realize how ravenous I am. I pile my plate high, acutely aware of Keith's watchful gaze. He doesn't speak, doesn't interrupt, as I hungrily devour the food. It's the most delicious meal I’ve had in years, and I can’t help but feel a sense of overwhelming gratitude.

Once I've eaten my fill, I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I know is coming. Telling my story is like opening Pandora's Box, unleashing a torrent of pain and shame. As I push my plate aside Keith grabs some papers of which I guess must be the contract.

"Here is the contract. Now read it carefully and ask me anything if you don't understand something ok?

I nod while grabbing the contract and start to read.

Terms of the Contract between Amanda Robinson & Keith Greyson:

* Residence and Provision: “You will live in the Greyson estate. You will be housed, clothed, and educated. You will never be hungry again. This is non-negotiable. You must be available and presentable.”

* Training and Loyalty: “You will be trained by Mr. Greyson. Not just in the arts of acquisition, but in languages, culture, and high society. You need to be able to enter a ballroom as easily as you navigate an alley. In return for this investment, Mr. Greyson demands absolute, uncompromising loyalty. You will not speak of me or my work. You will not steal for yourself. You will follow every directive, no matter how strange.”

* The Contract: “You are bound to me for five years of which your first year will mostly containing of training. Upon completion, you will be a wealthy woman, free to do as you please with a clean slate and a hefty settlement. If you break my trust before then, the agreement is nullified. The street will be the least of your problems.”

I swallow reading the last sentence. I think I don't want to find out how that would feel like! I put the contract down and grab the pen that Keith has dropped on the table while I read and sign the documents.

"Done!" I say pushing the papers back to him. Keith tilts his head. " No questions?"

"Ehm nope, not that I can think of, but if I have one later can I still ask?"

"Of course, now tell me all there is to know about you and please don't keep things hidden because I will find out so it's best you tell me now, alright?"

I gulp while trying to push the upcoming panic back down again.

"Okay, Keith," I begin, my voice barely a whisper.

"Well, my name you already know, but my full name is Amanda Robinson. I'm 18 years old and currently homeless, as you might have already guessed… maybe I should start from the beginning… but please, Keith, don't judge me, please?" I beg him, my voice cracking with fear of what he might think of me. The vulnerability is a tight knot in my chest.

The warmth of his hand, the sincerity in his eyes, gives me the courage to proceed. I tell him about my childhood, the fleeting happiness I experienced before tragedy struck. I describe my little sister's illness, the agonizing months of watching her fade away, the crushing grief that consumed my parents.

"It started years ago when I was still very young. Together with my parents, I had a good life, until one day my little sister became seriously ill and died. My parents were broken, and they could not deal with the loss. They each tried to cope with it in their own way but eventually gave up, on life, themselves, and eventually also on me!! Because of the huge amount of medical bills we had to pay every month, my mom did something she normally wouldn't do… she became an escort for high-end clients, no sex, just being on the arm of rich men when they had a business dinner or stuff like that, or that is what she told us…"

I pause, swallowing hard, the memory still raw and painful. Keith squeezes my hand gently, urging me to continue.

"When my father found out, he went completely crazy!! He hit her very hard, and she ended up in the hospital with some fractures, and because of that, she couldn't work sometime anymore as an escort. My father one night went to that exclusive club somewhere in town where my mother used to work, and he ended up killing a man with his bare hands because that guy wanted to visit her in the hospital, he came across their messages and confronted him, and dad just lost it.

They kicked him out and called the police who arrested him afterwards, and now, well, the last thing I have heard was that he drank himself to death! My mom, well, she is now completely emerged in that escort work of hers, and she is "dating" one of those big shots in business or something… according to the news articles I've read online on the PC of the orphanage which we could use once a day.

When I grew older, she told me more about her "work," and she made me understand that she did this for us to get out of the huge debt we were seriously in because I used to blame her because of making dad angry.

But she told me that this work gave her the opportunity to get lots of money quickly and that that was impossible to get in a "normal" job.

So, I asked her how much, and one night she showed what's she got for just spending one evening with a client, and and I was so chocked when she showed me a couple of $1000 in her purse, and she said that was the basic price plus some extra bonuses because the guy was really happy with her services.

This was when I was 14 after which my father died and I was send to that awful orphanage and I never saw my mother again. I don't know what happened but the night she left, she promised to come back for me, but for some reason, she didn't, and I've waited… and waited, but....nothing in the end I just gave up of ever seeing her. Sometimes I dream of my mother when she will come pick me up and takes me with her in some fancy new house, and we life happily ever after, but my reality back in the orphanage was far from that!

I still remember him… Mr. Dubois… "it's your birthday Manda, let me give you your present!" He said while starting touching me in places I didn't like so I ran!"

I’m shaking now, tears streaming down my face. The memories are too vivid, too raw. I can almost feel Mr. Dubois’s clammy hands on my skin, hear his disgusting voice whispering in my ear.

"And after some days spending with a group of kids, getting almost caught by the cops and getting almost raped again, you've found me!" I end my horror story.

After I've stopped talking, I'm scared to look up at him. I anticipate disgust, pity, or even anger. He stays silent for what feels like an eternity.

Finally, he says, his voice soft but firm, "Amanda, look at me?"

He places his fingers under my chin and pulls it up to face him. His eyes are filled with something I can't quite decipher – compassion, perhaps, or understanding.

"Can I ask...why me?" I whisper.

"Well first of all I am very sorry that you went through all that on your own! And to awnser your question, I'm a rich man and I can do or buy anything little one. But sometimes it can get a bit lonely. So, when I saw you, I made up my mind to help you, to become the better version of yourself. I would like to be your guardian and teacher, I will pay for all your expenses, feeding, clothing, anything. I will train you to the expert level i think you can be and I will introduce you to my club where all the fun stuff happens"

What does he mean? "Club?, I don't understand?"

"My nightclub little one, where you will be training and working"

Nightclub? Wait!

"If you think I'm gonna dance naked in front of people than you can cancel that contract, right now!" I hiss back at him already regretting signing so quick. But then he presses his warm lips against mine and all i wanted to say flies out of the window with that one sering kiss thatn