Hallucination is real now.

5 years Later

The bass in The Gilded Lily didn’t just play, no, it breathed. It was a living, pulsing beast of engineered acoustics designed to make people feel expensive and untethered. But as I sat in the center of the owner’s suite, the king of a kingdom built on neon and sin, all I felt was a hollow, echoing silence.

Five years. . . It's been five years since I stood in a hallway at Crestwood High, rooted to the floor like a coward while the only girl who ever looked at the real me, saw me for who I really am, away from the rich kid and cocky bastard I was, was drenched in humiliation in front of the whole school.

Damn! I am still a cocky bastard, only now I have my own money to boast about.

I could still see that day if I closed my eyes. The way her white shirt clung to her, the way her eyes didn't just leak tears, they leaked a soul-crushing disappointment that had aged me a decade in a single second.

“You are dead to me.”

Those four words had been my death sentence. I’d spent the last sixty months trying to resurrect myself with money, power, and the kind of success that makes people stop breathing when you walk into a room. I’d finished college in a blur of alcohol and high-distinction grades I didn't care about. Then, I’d poured my inheritance and my rage into this.

I didn't just build a club. I built an empire. New York, Miami, and London, three massive, high-end cathedrals of flesh and gold in one year, all constructed for the sole purpose of making sure I never had a quiet moment to think about Lou Bennett.

I wanted the noise. I wanted the smell of expensive perfume and the sight of women who meant absolutely nothing to me, hoping that if I surrounded myself with enough beauty, I’d forget the plain girl with the hand-me-down sweaters and a fucking brilliant mind.

It hadn’t worked. Every time in school, every time, I closed a deal, every time I saw my face on the cover of a business magazine, I heard that same forsaken whisper. “Dead to me.”

“Jax, you are brooding again,” Damon said, leaning back on the leather sofa, a leg crossed over his knee. He looked every bit the arrogant prick he’d been at seventeen, just in a five-thousand-dollar suit now.

“You’ve got the biggest opening in the city’s history happening downstairs, and you look like you’re attending a funeral.”

“Maybe I am,” I muttered, swirling the translucent tequila in my glass.

Hunter laughed as he tossed a handful of nuts into his mouth. “Always the dramatic poet. Seriously, man, look at the floor. We’re over capacity. The VIP waitlist is six months long. You won, Jaxon. You’re the king of New York.”

“It’s boring now that I finished the project,” I said, my voice like gravel. I stood up, walking to the edge of the glass railing that overlooked the main stage.

I hated the hiring process. I’d delegated it to a team of professionals because I couldn’t stand the way the dancers looked at me, like I was a meal ticket, and a mountain to climb to get to the top.

I wanted none of them. I hadn’t felt a genuine spark of attraction to a woman since that afternoon in the hallway. I was a functioning machine, fueled by spite and tequila, and I fucked any girl I wanted only because I wanted to get rid of Lou Bennet’s face from my mind.

“Management said they moved a new girl to the midnight slot,” Hunter said, joining me at the rail. “Called her Raven. Said she’s got a waitlist of her own after only two nights. Apparently, men are losing their minds over her.”

I didn't care. I looked down out of habit, my eyes scanning the sea of hungry faces below. The lights dimmed, and a heavy, melodic thump of a dark synth track began to crawl through the speakers.

A woman stepped onto the center stage, her head held high. She was wearing an armless transparent black bodysuit that left nothing and everything to the imagination.

Her skin was pale, glowing like marble under the stark white spotlight.

My heart didn't just skip a beat when I finally saw the face the body belonged to, it felt like it had been seized by a cold, invisible hand.

I leaned forward, my breath hitching in my throat. The way she carried her shoulders. The tilt of her chin. This was a hallucination brought on by too much work and not enough sleep. Lou Benett cannot possibly be in front of me in my strip club.

“Damn,” Damon whispered, coming up on my other side. “Oh, she is different. I like her!” He laughed heartily, as if he were enjoying himself. “Look at that face. She looks like she’d kill you for even thinking about touching her.”

I couldn't speak. I gripped the railing so hard the metal must have groaned. As she turned, the light hit her full on.

It confirmed what I already know. It was her. Fuck!

What the fuck was she doing here? The girl who used to hide in the library to read because her life depended on that scholarship.

But she wasn't that girl anymore. The softness was gone, her eyes. . . those big, intelligent eyes that used to look at me with such warmth. . .

“Wait,” Hunter said, his voice dropping as he squinted, leaning over the rail. “Is that… no. No way.”

Damon froze beside me. I could feel the sudden shift in the air, the way the atmosphere in the suite turned from casual amusement to suffocating shock. They were seeing what I was seeing. They were recognizing the girl they’d helped me destroy, and suddenly, it was not the hallucinations anymore. She was real.

“Is that Lou Bennett?” Damon breathed, his voice trembling with awe.

Hunter’s jaw dropped. “Holy shit. It is. It’s her. But she’s… look at her, Jax. She’s incredible.”

I felt a roar of protectiveness and fury surge through me so violently that I nearly shattered the glass in my hand. Hearing her name come out of their mouths made me want to tear the suite apart.

“Don’t say her name,” I hissed, my voice a lethal warning.

“Jax, man, we didn’t know,” Hunter stammered, stepping back. “What is she doing here? In your club?”

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I was mesmerized and horrified. Every time she moved, every time she arched her back or wrapped a long, toned leg around the pole, a piece of my soul crumbled. She was doing this because she had to. I knew Lou.

She wouldn't be here if she weren't desperate. And the thought of her being desperate while I sat on millions of dollars made me feel like the monster I knew I was.

“I get it now,” Damon whispered, unable to take his eyes off her. “I get it now. I get why you’ve been a ghost for five years, Jax. If that’s what you threw away… God, we were such idiots.”

“Shut up,” I commanded.

I watched a man at the edge of the stage reach out, his fingers brushing a portion of her body. Lou didn't flinch. She leaned down, her face inches from his, and whispered something that made the man turn pale and pull his hand back as if he’d been burned.

My good girl.

The craving hit me, followed by a physical, agonizing ache in my chest and lower in my gut. I had wanted her for five years. I had wanted to apologize and to explain that the bet was the biggest mistake of my life. I had wanted to tell her that I fell in love with her the second week, that I froze in that hallway because I was terrified of her hating me, and not because I didn't care.

“She’s coming up,” Hunter said, checking his phone, breaking into my thoughts. “The floor manager just sent a text. Raven is scheduled for the VIP rotation tonight. She’s coming to this level, Jax.”

My blood turned to liquid fire. The thought of her walking into this room made me feel physically ill. But beneath the guilt, there was a dark, possessive hunger. She was in my world now. She had signed a contract with my company. She belonged, in a professional sense, to me.

“Damon. Hunter. Out,” I said, not looking at them.

“What? Jax, we want to. . . “

“OUT!” I roared, turning on them. My eyes were probably wild, my pulse visible in my neck. “Get out of this suite. Go to the bar. Go home. I don't care. If I see either of you near her, I will forget we have known each other since we were kids. Do you understand me?”

They didn't argue, of course, they knew that tone. They saw the raw, unhinged desperation in my eyes. They scrambled out of the suite, leaving me alone in the dim, gold-hued light.

I turned back to the glass. She was finishing her set. She stood in the center of the stage, the light fading to a deep, bruised purple. She didn't bow. She didn't smile. She simply walked off, her silhouette disappearing into the shadows of the wings.

I paced the length of the suite, my heart hammering against my ribs. I looked at the bottle of tequila on the table. I wanted to smash it, but at the same time, I wanted to drink the whole thing.

A few minutes later, there was a sharp, rhythmic knock on the heavy oak door of the suite.

My throat went dry. I straightened my jacket, trying to summon the cocky, untouchable mask I’d worn for half a decade. I was Jaxon Cole Ryder. I owned this city, and I didn't bow to anyone.

But as the door opened, and Lou Bennett stepped inside, holding a tray with a fresh bottle of Cristal, her eyes fixed on the floor in a practiced, submissive gesture of a server.

She didn't look up at first. She walked to the low marble table, her movements graceful and detached.

“Your service, sir,” she said in a low and melodic voice. It was the same voice. The same honey-smooth tone that used to read me poetry in the park.

“Lou,” I choked out.

The tray rattled a little bit, but I saw the way her entire body stiffened at the sound of my voice. Every muscle in her back went stiff.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, she lifted her head.

When her eyes met mine, the air left the room. I saw the shock and the flicker of the girl who had loved me. But then, a shutter slammed down, and her expression went completely blank. Her eyes became ice.

“Mr. Ryder,” she said, her voice devoid of any emotion. “I didn't realize this was your suite.”

“Lou, I. . . I have been looking for you for five years,” I stepped toward her, my hand reaching out instinctively.

She recoiled as if I were a leper. “Don’t,” she snapped, the first spark of fire returning to her gaze. “I am here to do a job. You are a client. Nothing more.”

“A client?” I let out a harsh, broken laugh. “Lou, I own this place. I own the ground you’re standing on. Why are you here? What happened to you?”

She looked me up and down, her gaze lingering on my expensive suit, my diamond watch, and the sheer opulence of the room. A sneer curled her beautiful lips.

“Life happened, Jaxon. Some of us didn't have a safety net when our worlds were burned down.” She set the bottle on the table with a definitive clack. “The floor manager said you requested a private session. Since you have already paid the premium, shall we get started? Or would you prefer to spend the hour reminding me of how much you enjoy destroying things?”

The dark hate I had been cultivating for years, the hate for myself, for my friends, for the world, suddenly shifted. Seeing her like this, so broken yet so strong, so close yet so unreachable, ignited a craving so intense it was agonizing. I wanted to wrap my arms around her and never let go. I wanted to slide to my knees and beg for forgiveness I knew I didn't deserve.

But most of all, I wanted her to look at me the way she used to.

“I didn't request you, Lou,” I whispered instead, stepping closer until I could smell her, she still smells the same. . . vanilla. “I didn't know you were here. If I had known…”

“If you had known, what?” she challenged, stepping into my space, her eyes flashing. “You would have bought me? Added me to your collection? You’ve built quite the monument to your ego, Jaxon. Three cities? Thousands of women dancing for your amusement? It’s exactly what I expected from you.”

She leaned in, her breath warm against my ear, sending a jolt of pure electricity through my spine.

“But don’t forget the rule of the house, Boss,” she whispered, her voice a cruel caress. “You can look. You can pay. But you. Don’t. Touch. Except I allow it”

She pulled back, a triumphant, cold smile on her face. I looked at the woman who had haunted me for years. I was the king of the city, but standing in front of her, I felt like that seventeen-year-old boy again, standing in a hallway, watching the best thing in my life walk away.

“I’m not that boy anymore, Lou,” I said, my voice dropping to a dark, possessive growl.

“Of course,” she agreed, her eyes raking over me with a chilling indifference. “That boy had a soul.”

She turned to leave, but I reached out, my fingers hovering just inches from her arm, remembering her warning.

“You think you can just walk out?” I asked. “You signed a contract, Lou. You’re the star of my midnight show.”

She stopped, her back to me. “I’m a professional, Jaxon. I will do my job. I will dance for your guests. I will make you your millions. But nothing more”

She walked out, the door clicking shut behind her.

I stood in the center of the gold suite, the silence rushing back in, heavier than before. My heart was racing, my skin was humming, and for the first time in five years, I felt alive.

The craving was no longer just a dull ache.

I sat back down on the leather sofa, picking up the glass she had touched. I placed my lips where hers might have been. Or maybe not, but I’d love to imagine it.

“We will see, Lou,” I whispered to the empty room. “I’ve got all the time. . . and all the money. . . in the world.”