One

ANGELA'S POV

I had always loved the way the city came alive at night, thousands of lights piercing the darkness like defiant stars.

But tonight was different. Way different.

Tonight, those same lights felt harsh and accusing, pressing down on me until my stomach twisted into knots and the remnants of my lunch threatened to rise up my throat.

My trembling fingers clutched the edges of my trench coat as if it could somehow shield me from what was coming. My sea-blue eyes were wide with terror, darting around the dimly lit street.

Across the road, a glaring neon sign buzzed above a basement entrance.

Red Club.

Its blood-red glow spilled onto the sidewalk, illuminating the bald bouncer standing guard. The tattoos crawling up his neck and his permanently squinted eyes already made him look menacing, but now, the crimson light only made him appear ten times more dangerous.

I stood frozen on the opposite curb, seriously considering bending over the nearest trash can to hide my shame.

I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want any part of this world. But the clock had already ticked past midnight, and I had run out of choices.

Forcing my stiff legs to move, I crossed the street on shaky high heels.

I tried to hold my head high, to look braver than I felt. Emphasis on tried.

My steps were clumsy, my face had gone a sickly greenish shade, and every cell in my body screamed at me to turn around and run.

“Hello, my name is…”

“Back door,” the bouncer grunted, barely sparing me a glance.

“But….”

“Staff uses the back door,” he repeated, irritation thickening his voice.

I swallowed hard. I hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but this cold dismissal still stung.

“Alright… thanks.”

The first heavy brick of reality dropped squarely on my head.

Oh, Dad… why did it have to come to this?

There was only one reason I was standing outside a strip club in the middle of the night, searching for a back entrance like some criminal.

My father’s gambling addiction.

I’d known it was bad, but I hadn’t understood just how deep the hole went until a few nights ago when I walked in on him kneeling on our living room floor, surrounded by three armed men who were ready to end his life.

He owed a dangerous man a fortune, and of course, being the hopeless gambler he was, he had nothing left. So here I was, trading my dignity to save him.

Five agonizing minutes later, another guard finally let me inside through the rear entrance.

The exterior of the building was unremarkable, but the moment the door opened, I was hit with a wave of sensory overload. Deep red dominated everything. Velvet drapes, crimson lighting, rich leather booths—oozing a kind of dark, seductive luxury.

Framed photographs of nearly naked women lined the walls, a constant reminder of exactly where I had stepped into.

The guard led me down a narrow hallway to the changing room. Before I even reached the door, I heard two women shouting over each other.

“Oh my God, I’m sweating like a pig!” one exclaimed, collapsing into a chair in front of a huge, brightly lit mirror.

“Duuh, ’cause you are one,” the other shot back.

“Shut the fuck up, Katie. I gained two pounds and they went straight to my ass, unlike yours.”

“What are you trying to say, you fat….”

The woman, Katie cut herself off the second she spotted me hovering awkwardly in the doorway. Her long fake lashes fluttered as her sharp green eyes scanned me from head to toe.

“And who might you be?”

“My name is Angela… I’m the new… um… dancer,” I said, my voice barely steady.

My discomfort couldn't be hidden by any amount of bravery.

"Dancer, huh?” The girl in the chair snorted.

Katie shot her a warning glare before turning back to me with a smile.

“Don’t mind that bitch. Around here, we don’t dance around the word stripper, darling. That’s what we do.” She gestured to herself, completely unashamed.

She wore only lace lingerie beneath a sheer robe and sky-high dagger heels. Her makeup was thick and heavy enough to fall off her round face, her dark red hair sparkling with glitter. Everything about her screamed exactly what she was.

“Come on in. Bliss is about to finish her set, and you do not want to be in her way,” Katie said, pulling me inside. “I’m Katie, by the way. That grumpy fat wench is Odette.”

“I dare you to call me that again,” Odette growled.

“Ignore her. She’s on her period,” Katie said breezily. “Angela, huh? That’s cute. I’ve got the perfect stage name for you.”

“Stage name?” I raised an eyebrow, still trying to process everything.

Why would anyone request my name in the first place?

“Duuh. We don’t use real names here,” Odette chimed in. “You know what kind of stalkers show up? It’s bad enough without them moaning your actual name while you’re grinding on them.”

I cringed inwardly.

The door burst open again before I could respond.

“God, I’m gonna kill that old ballsack! So fucking gross,” a woman with dark tan skin stormed in, sweat glistening on her body, cheeks flushed with rage. “Some old dude groped my ass again….” She stopped short when she saw me. “Who’s this?”

“Hey, Bliss. This is our little Angel,” Katie introduced cheerfully.

“It’s actually Angela,” I corrected softly.

“An Angel?” Bliss looked me up and down, arms crossing beneath her gigantic triple D sized cups. “This one looks like she fell off a delivery truck instead of heaven. Is she performing tonight?”

Odette chuckled.

“If we send her out looking like that, the boss will kill all of us.”

Ouch. A little rude, but probably true.

“I’m on it already,” Katie announced, grabbing my shoulders. “We’re giving you a makeover. That blonde hair is going to drive men wild, but the rest…hmmm… we’ll fix it.”

Before I could protest, she pushed me into a chair. Her hands moved quickly–brushing, blending, lining.

When she finally spun me toward the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back. The heavy black eyeliner and long lashes had transformed my face. I looked older. Sexier. Like someone who belonged here.

I didn’t have time to dwell on it as Katie shoved me behind a red curtain with lingerie and a pair of jelly-like pads.

“Thank God I still had some old bras. Here, put these in.”

“Um… what are those?” I asked, holding up one of the jelly like stuff.

“Jeez, this girl hasn’t seen anything,” Odette muttered.

“They’re for your boobs, darling. Stuff them into your bra,” Katie instructed with a laugh.

“Do I really have to?”

“Angel, no man is paying to watch a wobbling twig. Just do it. And try not to lose them, the last girl did and It was a whole scandal.”

I sighed and followed instructions.

The pads felt strange and unnatural. The thong was even worse–thin straps that hid absolutely nothing. I felt exposed before I’d even stepped on stage.

“Isn’t there a different underwear I could wear?”

“No! First night means show or go!” Katie ripped the curtain open, then nodded approvingly, her red lips curling up. “You’re set. Shoes on. Let’s go. I already told the DJ an Angel is coming up next.”

The white lingerie clung to me like a second skin, perfectly matching the club’s sinful aesthetic.

My stomach churned violently with dread.

“You can dance, right?” Odette asked while touching up her own makeup.

“They wouldn’t have hired her if she couldn’t,” Katie snapped.

“I’m a dancer,” I admitted quietly, eyes on the floor. “But not… a stripper.”

Modern dance was about precision, emotion, and passion. Not baring everything to a room full of strangers. I couldn’t even imagine what Aria or my friends would think if they ever found out.

“Well, now you are stripper. Suck it up,” Odette said bluntly.

"As I said, Ignore her. Let's go," Katie urged, having caught the glimpse of sadness in my

blue eyes.

“You know what I love about stripping?” Katie whispered once we were out of earshot. “Once you’re up there, you’re not you anymore.”

“How does that work?” I asked with a bitter chuckle, swallowing the lump in my throat.

The walk to the stage felt far too short than I had hoped for.

Loud music was blasting from the speakers and boisterous roars of crowd could be heard all the way down the hall.

Katie stopped in front of a heavy door and leaned in close.

“Simple. Up there, you’re not Angela. You’re the Angel.”

The velvety red curtain were pulled open,

revealing a large hall bustling with life.

Topless waitresses delivered drinks, giggling at clients that shamelessly touched them and couple more girls were leading them off to the darkest parts of the club.

The thick scent of sex, nicotine, and expensive liquor hung heavy in the air.

"Good luck," Katie murmured, pushing me onto an ample stage with a pole.

I hardly had time to react to the overwhelming scene before i was in center of a crowd's attention.

A new beat came on and wild hollers echoed through the room, whistles and nasty words thrown at me from every direction.

Men, high on whatever concoction they had

consumed yelled for me to strip and come closer.

I stood at the center of the stage, heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. Every instinct screamed at me to run. But running meant my father’s death and probably mine too.

On that faithful day in our living room, I had signed my fate.

Now I just had to deal with it.