Chapter Two

Nyla stopped just short of the curtain with a tray balanced in her hands and her heart hammering so hard she was sure someone would hear it.

“Wait,” she whispered, turning back to Selene. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Selene arched a perfectly drawn brow. “Can’t do what?”

“This… private event.” Nyla lowered her voice. “You said high-roller. You said masked clients. What if something happens to me there?”

The older woman studied her for a moment, with an unreadable expression. Then she gave a small, almost bored shrug.

“Nothing happens here that isn’t agreed to,” Selene said. “Security is everywhere. Cameras, guards, contracts. You’re safe—as long as you follow the rules.”

Nyla swallowed. “And if I don’t?”

“Then you leave. Simple.”

Simple. The word sounded too light for the knot twisting in her stomach.

Selene stepped closer and tapped the silver tray. “Listen to me. Tonight’s client pays more than most people make in a month. For one evening of work.”

“How much is ‘more’?” Nyla asked cautiously.

A figure was scribbled on a small notepad and turned toward her.

Nyla stared at it.

Her breath caught.

“That’s… that can’t be real.”

“It is,” Selene replied. “He tips generously. Especially when he’s pleased.”

The number blurred in Nyla’s vision. Tuition. Rent. Her father’s overdue medical bills. Groceries. Electricity. All of it, handled in one sweep.

The fear was still there, but desperation was louder.

Nyla drew in a shaky breath. “What exactly would I have to do?”

“Serve drinks. Be polite. Smile. And later… Entertain.” Selene hesitated. 

“Entertain how?”

The woman gave her a pointed look. “Nothing you don’t agree to.”

That answer wasn’t comforting. But neither was the empty balance in her bank account.

Nyla closed her eyes for a brief second.

“Okay,I'll do it.” She said at last. 

Selene smiled like she’d known all along. “Good choice.”

…………

Ten minutes later, Nyla barely recognized herself.

They’d given her a dress—black, fitted, far more daring than anything she’d ever worn. Soft fabric, shimmering under the lights. A delicate mask completed the outfit, covering just enough of her face to make her feel like a stranger in her own skin.

She kept tugging at the hem.

“Stop fidgeting, confidence sells.” Selene said, adjusting the strap on Nyla’s shoulder. 

“I’m not exactly confident,” Nyla muttered.

“You’ll fake it.”

The music beyond the curtain was low and smooth and voices drifted beneath like smoke. Somewhere in that room sat a man powerful enough to rent out an entire private club just for the night.

A man they called Maestro.

“Ready?” Selene asked.

No. Absolutely not.

“Yes,” Nyla lied.

Entering, the diamond Room glowed in gold and shadow. Crystal lights hung from the ceiling were casting warm halos over velvet couches and polished tables. At a corner, a handful of men sat scattered around the room, well-dressed, relaxed, laughing quietly over expensive drinks.

And at the center of it all—half turned away—was him.

The silver mask caught the light first.

It hid most of his face, sharp and elegant, leaving only his mouth and dark eyes visible. He sat apart from the others, one arm draped over the back of the couch, watching everything without saying a word.

Maestro.

Nyla felt his gaze land on him the moment she stepped in.

Her knees nearly gave out.

“Drinks, miss?” one of the guests called, snapping her back to reality.

She forced herself to breathe, to move. Tray up. Shoulders straight.

This was just a job.

For the next hour, she did exactly what Selene had told her—kept glasses filled, smiled politely, answered only when spoken to. The men barely noticed her beyond their orders.

Except him.

No matter where she went, she felt those dark eyes following.

At last Selene appeared beside her again. “He wants a private performance.”

Nyla froze. “A what?”

“Just dancing, nothing more," Selene said calmly. 

“Dancing,” Nyla repeated.

“Yes.”

Her pulse pounded. “And if I say no?”

“Then you walk away from a lot of money.”

There it was again—money. Always money.

Nyla glanced across the room. Maestro was watching her over the rim of his glass.

Waiting.

“All right,” she whispered.

Maestro excuses himself from the hall and Nyla follows behind to a small room. 

………..

As the door closed softly behind her. Maestro sat in a high-backed chair with one leg crossed over the other. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just watched.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he said at last.

His voice was smooth, calm—dangerously so.

Music filtered in from hidden speakers. Nyla took a breath and began to move the way she’d been told, focusing on the rhythm instead of the man in the mask.

She imagined she was somewhere else. Anyone else.

The minutes stretched thin and fragile.

When the song ended, silence rushed back in.

“Thank you,” Maestro said quietly.

Relief fluttered in her chest. It was over.

She reached for the door.

“Stay.”

The single word stopped her.

“I’d like you to spend the rest of the evening with me,” he continued. “Privately.”

Nyla turned slowly. “I’m only hired to serve and… entertain. That’s all.”

“I’ll double what you were promised.”

Her heart slammed hard.

Double.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Triple, then.”

“I said no.”

His gaze sharpened, curious rather than angry. “Most people don’t refuse me.”

“I’m not most people,” Nyla replied, surprising herself.

The room felt very small.

For a long moment he said nothing. Then he gave a slight nod.

“As you wish.”

Relief washed over her so fast she nearly swayed.

“Thank you,” she murmured, and left before he could change his mind.

……..

Outside the club, cool night air filled her lungs.

Nyla walked fast, almost running, until the glowing red lights of The Velvet Embrace faded behind her.

Her hands were still shaking.

She replayed the evening again and again—the mask, the money, the offer she’d refused. Part of her feared she’d just ruined the only opportunity she had.

By the time she reached her apartment, exhaustion had settled deep in her bones.

She kicked off her shoes and collapsed onto the couch.

“Well,” she muttered to the empty room, “there goes that job.”

Sleep took her before doubt could.

The next morning, her phone rang.

Nyla squinted at the screen, half expecting another bill collector.

Instead, Selene’s name flashed back at her.

Her stomach dropped. “Hello?”

“Good morning,” Selene said brightly. “I hope you slept well.”

“I guess,” Nyla answered warily.

“Excellent. I’m calling to let you know you’re hired.”

The words didn’t make sense. “What?”

“Permanent position. Same pay as discussed last night.”

“But… I thought—after what happened—”

“The client was impressed,” Selene interrupted. “He values boundaries. Says it shows character.”

Nyla sat up slowly. “So I really have the job?”

“You do. Report tonight at eight.”

The line clicked off.

For a long minute, she just stared at the phone.

Hired.

Against all odds.

……..

That evening she returned wearing the same borrowed confidence as before.

The club was busier, louder. More guests. More lights. More expectations.

This time she wasn’t alone on the floor. Other servers moved around her, and for a while, everything felt almost normal.

Then the music shifted.

Selene leaned close. “You’re performing tonight.”

“Performing?”

“On the main floor. Short routine. The crowd will love you.”

Before she could argue, she was ushered onto a small stage. Applause rose around her and voices cheering her on.

Nyla moved through it in a blur, letting the rhythm carry her, pretending she belonged there.

When the song ended, the room erupted.

But as she lifted her head, her smile faltered.

At the very back, half hidden in shadow, sat a familiar silver mask.

Maestro.

He wasn’t clapping nor cheering. Just watching her with unreadable eyes.

Nyla’s heart skipped and for the first time, she wondered what she had truly stepped into.