Chapter 1

                                                    {Mirabel}

"No...no. Mira, don't do that. It's too dangerous. We can't go back to that place again!"

That was the inner child in me screaming, horrified to see where I was stepping into.

But that inner child is twelve, young, traumatized, and doesn't know better.  Because if she did, she'd know that there's no place safer than where you're most wanted.

No one expects a criminal to stay at the place she committed a crime. And I'd run, but I somehow ended up right back here.

Velmora.

A country known for its wealth, its power and its secrets. And for someone like me, it's the perfect place to disappear.

A place  where  I could easily make a few bucks here and there  while keeping my secret tucked safely beneath a pile of other people's.

And somehow , it had worked  for more than a decade now.

"Fuck!" The man behind me grunted, rubbing his erection on me as he stuck some bills into my bra. "Rub that ass on me, baby."

The twelve-year-old Mirabel would call me a slut.. perhaps, roll her eyes at me and curse me the fuck out.

Of course, she was never exactly innocent. But that Mirabel still craves safety, stability, freedom and happily ever after with the man she loves; a life that she'd have a much better chance of having if she was not born to her parents in the first place. Or better yet...

If she's not been born at all

So, I bit back the bile rising in me and forced out a flirty grin as I leaned back against the man's shoulder and let his hand wander over my body.

Safety, stability, and freedom  are nothing but a cruel hope, and a happily ever after is just our childhood Disney fantasy.

Money is the only absolute. And here I am, making extra bucks off a horny man.

So, fuck whatever the twelve-year-old Mirabel might say or think. I've outgrown that nerd anyway.

The man behind me groaned, leaning forward to lick the tip of my ear. His hands groped my breast while shoving another band of money in my bra top.

"I could do this every day." He grunted. "You sexy thing." He smacked my ass.

"You like this?" I faked a moan, grinding my ass against the hard ridge between my ass cheeks. "You want all this to yourself, don't you?"

"Fuck!"

I'm not usually a slut, at least, I tend not to be. But if you believe dancing with a stranger in an expensive crowded club while goading the stranger to do dirty things to you is slutty, then perhaps, maybe I am a little slutty.

But being slutty makes me money, and who would say no to free cash.

Or maybe it's not free after all.

I felt a tongue in my ear. Sharp teeth grazing the shell as the man's hand moved lower, sneaking into my shorts to sniff out my pussy.

I know where this is going: somewhere off my radar and I should have seen it coming.

"We can escape upstairs." The man's tone suggested this was not a question or a request. "I promise to be generous with the tips and the... tip."

That sounds stupid, and I am sure this man does not want to hear that. Neither does he want me saying no, I don't fuck stranger for money.

Because to him, I am a slut and slut gets fucked for money.

Disgust and rage coursed through me, almost blinding my vision. But I need to calm down. Being disgusted and angry wasn't going to get me out of this trouble I put myself in.

But I'm not going to let a stranger fuck me. Twelve-year-old Mirabel is even going to get madder.

So, I managed a flirty grin in my face, turning around in the man's arm to face him.

I glided my hands over the smooth plane of muscles on his clothed chest, inching down to his belt where I lifted his shirt and let my fingers trailed over bare skin.

He groaned, his pupils dilating.

"You want to fuck me?" Of course he does. And I'd be down for it if I'm even remotely into it. I'd go on my knees for him and let him eat my pussy if I thought that could satisfy him. But this man wants me in more than one position judging by his hooded gaze. He leaned down to trail his tongue over my jaw: biting and licking.

Oh fuck! I need to think fast.

My fingers twitched slightly, and I felt a slight tremor in my lips, excited. Thinking fast and on my feet is my best forte anyway.

"Great." I mewl . "Let's go somewhere private hotshot."

Grabbing his large hand in mine while his other remains firmly on my ass,  I pulled us out from the sea of bodies dancing and grinding against each other on the dance floor and towards the bar. Not to get drunk, but to find an escape route.

I let my eyes scan the area, jumping from one face to another until they settled on a  man sitting a few steps away

The bar area was of course, scanty. People rarely come to Vesper club to sit around and drown their sorrow in bottles of expensive wine and vodka.

People came here to have fun, fuck, get lost in their desire and for people like me,  make money off unsuspecting  man. But the man sitting alone a few steps away from me, draining a glass of whatever expensive liquor he'd ordered, didn't seem like one of  Vesper's  regulars.

He looked... lonely.

Or maybe just bored.

Either way, a man sitting alone in a club like this, drinking enough expensive liquor to make my rent look pathetic, was practically begging for a distraction

Which made him the  perfect victim for my carefully crafted story.

I tightened my grip on my dance partner's hand and pulled him towards my newest target.

Because here goes nothing!

"Baby!" My voice was sultry, a little too high pitched as I draped myself over this lonely man. "Did I keep you waiting for long?"

Muscle tensed beneath my arms, and I felt the man's breath hitch.

For a second, I thought he'd whipped around and tossed me ten feet across the bar.

Instead, he calmly set his glass down. Calmly.

No startled jump and not even a drunken slur. Just a slow deliberate movement as he turned his head towards me. And suddenly, I was the one struggling to breathe

A pair of deep blue eyes met mine, slanted beneath thick, defined brows that were now slightly arched.

I gulped, trying to maintain a steady breath as my gaze flitted down to the straight strong-bridge of his nose.

"Baby?" Amusement laced his voice, but the irritation underlying it was impossible to miss.

Fuck! This man was not your average drunk man, or a heartbroken man who wanted to drown his sorrow in expensive liquor. Or if he was, I don't think he appreciated my little form of distraction or even my presence.

But I'd not survived for this long by worrying about other people's feelings or what they thought. And, this was one of those moments where my priorities take precedence over other's

So, without further thinking...because I don't do that much anyway...I traced my fingers along the dark stubble that framed his sharp, and defined jawline.

"I know you're mad that I took too long." I purred. "But look who wants to fuck me. Isn't he hot?"

For a second, I'd forgotten about my dance partner because he has been way too silent for a man who wants to fuck me.

So, turning around, the lustful hooded gaze of my stranger has been replaced by a confused glare. Even though he still has one hand planted on my ass, and the other firmly in my grip.

"This is my husband, hot stranger." I smiled up at him. "We sometimes do this to spice things up."

The stranger stared at me, dumbfounded. Perhaps, waiting for me to declare it all a big prank. But I already told you, I don't do much thinking. The words simply barrel out of my mouth the moment they take form in my mind.

Beside me, my supposed husband remained silent.

His gaze moved from my face to my dance partner, then slowly back again.

For one brief second, I thought he'd bark in my face to fuck off. But he didn't.

Instead, he focused his gaze on me.

Mouth tightly set in a thin line. Not amused, and not...very angry.

Well...if he's not planning on telling me to fuck off, that just makes things easier.

So, I jumped right back in.

"Kinky, right?" I bit my lower lip, "imagine you taking turn to fuck me while you fuck each other too? Oh!" I suddenly gasped, clasping a hand over my mouth as my eyes widened comically. "Would you be okay with that? Because I like it a little too gay. It turns me the fuck on!"

If look could kill, I know I'd be ten feet underground with the glare sent my way by my dance partner.

He scoffed, the hand planted on my ass gone to rake through his hair.

"Fuck are you saying?" He hissed. "Are you playing a game with me right now?"

Oh. I am. A game where I could either lose or win.

But I pouted anyway, tilting my head to gaze across the lonely stranger. "Husband, tell him I am dead se..."

"Freak. You both!" My dance partner cut me off with a sneer. "You should go fuck yourself, you gay freak!"

"That's not so nice!" I glared at him. "Homophobic in this day and age."

"Fuck you!"

My dance partner yelled, raising his hand in a fit of fury.

I flinched, my eyes snapping shut, waiting for the deadly blow to deliver itself.

But it never came, instead...

"I'd be careful if I were you." That was my lonely stranger. His voice was calm...almost unnervingly so. But there was something beneath it. Something cold and lethal that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand. "I don't think you want to hit a woman while her husband is present, do you?

Husband? Did he just say husband?

I mean, while I am grateful that my lonely stranger was coming to my defense, I did not expect him to play along with my sick game.

I slowly opened my eyes which fell on my dance partner, silently seething and glaring at my fake husband. His hand had lowered but it was now balled into a fist beside him.

"Do you know what your slut of a wife did?" He hissed. "Or did you both....fuck. Forget about it. I am going to find the next available slut to fuck. Fuck you and your sick husband!"

With a last glare to me, he turned on his heel, leaving me with the money trapped inside my bra top and well...my fake husband.

Silence.

I stared at the empty space where my dance partner had been, then slowly turned back to the man beside me.

He was still holding his glass. Calmly. As if he'd not just pronounced himself my husband, or scared away a man with nothing more than a sentence.

My gaze travelled from his glass to his face, and those piercing blue eyes were already on me. Intense, watching, studying.

Suddenly, I became painfully aware that I was in nothing but a bra top and faded blue jeans. The air conditioner seemed to pick up on my nerves and increase its tempo.

And somewhere in the back of my mind, a jeering voice which I subtly recognized as twelve-years-old Mirabel mumbled

'I told you so'.

But I never cower. No. That's not so Mirabel. Mirabel is supposed to play it cool.

So, clearing my throat, I gulped down the nerves rising in me, pulled out a stool beside him and took a seat.

What could probably go wrong?

Right?