Chapter 4

Sixty thousand pesos. Due today. Pay the amount by midnight, or we release him. 

Ysa read that line again and again. The three days the doctor had given her were gone, slipping through her fingers like everything else.

She bent down, grabbed the phone, and dialed Elena’s number before she could talk herself out of it. Before she could remember every promise she’d made to herself, every time she’d sworn she’d never go back to that fucking life, never let another man touch her like she was nothing but a warm hole to fill.

 

Elena picked up on the third ring, voice sharp and bored. “Ysa?”

 

“I need work.” Ysa’s voice broke. “Tonight. Right now. I don’t care what it is. Just… get me something good. Something that pays.”

 

A pause. Then Elena sighed loudly. "Are you sure? Ysa waits. Have you think it through?" She paused and continue. "But, I got you. I’ll find you the best client in the building tonight. Rich. Clean. Generous. Don’t make me regret this. Be here in forty minutes. And Ysa? Dress like you remember why men pay five times the normal rate for you. Don’t show up looking like a sad little housewife.”

 

The line went dead.

 

Ysa stood there for a long minute, staring at the wall, at the peeling paint, at Dior’s small form shivering under a thin blanket. This is for him, she told herself, grabbing the dress from the bottom of her duffel. This isn’t for me. This is survival. Stop acting like you’re too good for it. You did it before. You can do it again.

 

The dress was black, satin, so tight it clung to every curve like a second skin, the neckline plunging low enough to show the full swell of her breasts, the hem stopping high on her thighs, so high she’d have to cross her legs just to bend over. 

It was the same dress she’d worn three years ago, the night she met him. She pulled it over her head, zipped it up, and looked in the mirror. 

Her long black hair fell in wild waves down her back, dark and glossy, catching the dim light. Her skin was warm, golden, her lips full and painted deep red, her eyes dark and sharp. She looked like sin. She looked like exactly what men paid for. And she hated every second of it.

 

She pulled on those sky-high black heels, the ones that made her legs look endless, and grabbed her bag. Walked away... back to the place she promised herself she’d never return. But tonight… she’s not the girl who left. She’s the woman who knows exactly what she’s worth. The one whose return makes men ache, makes fortunes shift, makes every dirty, desperate thing they want feel like it was always hers to take.. 

 

The club hit her like a physical wall the second she stepped through the doors throbbing bass that vibrated up through the floorboards, lights strobing red and blue and gold, the air thick with the smell of expensive cologne, cheap perfume, sweat, and whiskey. 

Bodies pressed together everywhere, grinding against each other, hands wandering, mouths locked. It was a jungle of flesh and money, and she was walking right back into the heart of it.

 

Heads turned the moment she walked in. Every fucking head. Men stopped mid-sentence. Women glared, eyes narrowing, checking her out like they were measuring a threat. She felt every gaze like a touch, like hands already on her, stripping her bare, and her stomach twisted so tight she thought she’d throw up. 

She kept walking slow, hips swaying like she owned the place, like she belonged here... like she hadn’t spent the last three years running as far away from this as she could get.

 

Elena was leaning against the bar, red lipstick, black dress, looking like she belonged on a throne. She saw Ysa, smirked, and nodded. “There she is. The one that got away. Thought you’d forgotten how to dress like a woman.”

 

“Just tell me where to go.” Ysa’s voice was flat, dead. She didn’t want small talk. She didn’t want to be here. She wanted to be at the hospital with her son.

 

“Easy, tiger.” Elena gestured around the room. “I told you, best client tonight. But hey… word got around fast. Half the guys in here are asking for your price already. You’re still the hottest thing that ever walked through these doors, you know that? Fucking unreal.”

 

An older man maybe sixty, silver hair, fat gold watch on his wrist, pushed through the crowd, came right up to Ysa, and looked her up and down like she was a piece of meat. “How much?” he said, no hello, no smile, just a greedy, hungry look in his eyes. “Fifty thousand. For the whole night. Whatever I want.”

 

Ysa’s jaw tightened. Her hands curled into fists at her sides. “No.”

 

He blinked, like he couldn’t believe she’d spoken. “Seventy-five. Take it or leave it.”

 

“I said no.” She stepped back. "Find someone else.”

 

He scoffed, shaking his head as he walked away. “Fucking whores. Think they’re worth gold.”

 

Another man younger, sleazy, eyes roaming all over her stepped up next. “I heard old man Reyes offered seventy-five. I’ll beat it. One hundred. You come with me right now, you don’t say a fucking word unless I tell you to.”

 

Elena opened her mouth, probably to take the deal, but Ysa shook her head. “No. I’m not doing it.”

 

“Are you insane?” Elena hissed, grabbing her arm. “That’s double what you used to charge! You think you’re in a position to be picky? You came here for money, remember?”

 

“I know what I came here for.” Ysa pulled her arm free, heart hammering. “But not them. Not like that. Not… not yet.”

 

She didn’t know why. She had no right to be choosy. She had no right to turn down anything. But something in her rebelled, every time one of them looked at her like she was nothing but a body for rent. She couldn’t do it. Not like that. Not with them.

 

Elena sighed, throwing her hands up. “Fine. Fucking fine. Be difficult. I got one more guy who asked for you specifically anyway. Some rich motherfucker who’s been camped out in VIP all night. Sent three different people down to ask if you’d showed up yet. Didn’t even negotiate. Just said send her up when she gets here. You wanna be picky? Go see him. If you turn him down, I’m done. I’m not wasting my whole night babysitting you.”

 

“Take me up.” Ysa said it before she could change her mind. Before she could think about what she was agreeing to.

 

Elena led her toward the back, past the main dance floor, past the bar, to a hallway lined with red velvet wallpaper and gold trim. The noise faded behind them, replaced by soft, expensive music and the quiet hum of air conditioning. 

“Third door on the left,” Elena said, stopping at the end. “He’s already inside. And Ysa? Don’t fuck this up. This one is different.