Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Leilani's POV

The buzzing of the locker room lights was doing my head in. It was a sharp, annoying flicker that felt like it was poking at my brain. I’d had a headache for seven days straight—ever since the night I walked out of VIP One.

​I buttoned my white silk shirt, my fingers shaking so bad I almost popped a button. Seven days. For a whole week, I’d been jumping every time a customer moved too fast. Every time the heavy velvet curtains at the entrance moved, my heart ended up in my throat.

​Raffy, the manager, wasn't helping. He’d been watching me from the corner of his eye all week, like he was just waiting for me to screw up again so he could fire me.

​The door creaked open, and that expensive, flowery perfume hit me before she even spoke. It was a smell that reminded me of people who never had to check their bank accounts.

​"Lei? You in here?"

​I froze, leaning my forehead against the cold, dented metal of my locker. I didn’t need to look. It was Cynthia.

​"I’m here," I said, my voice sounding flat and tired.

​I turned around. Cynthia looked perfect, as usual, wearing some designer linen outfit that probably cost more than my mom’s meds for the whole year. She looked like she felt bad, but it was that "rich person" bad—sad, but not enough to actually change anything.

​"I’ve been calling you," she whispered, clutching her bag. "For a week, Lei. I even came by the other night, but Raffy told me you were busy."

​"I wasn't in the mood to talk, Cynthia," I told her, trying to keep my voice steady. "I’ve spent the last week wondering if I was going to lose my job because your cousin decided to get me back for that slap."

​"Oh, Lei, I’m so sorry!" Cynthia stepped closer. "I swear, I didn't send them you. I’d booked a girl from an agency as a surprise for Timothy. They canceled at the last minute, and those guys... they’re just idiots. They saw a pretty girl in a white shirt and just assumed. I never wanted you to be treated like that."

​"It wasn't just a mistake, Cynthia. It was the way they looked at me," I said, feeling that heat rise in my chest again. "They didn't see a person. They saw a toy. And your cousin was the worst. He sat there and called me 'delusional' just because I wanted some damn respect."

​Cynthia winced. "Timothy is... well, he’s never been told 'no' in his life. Especially not like that. Honestly, Lei, everyone in our circle is talking about it. You’re like a celebrity for being the girl who actually stood up to him."

​"I don't want to be a celebrity," I snapped, slamming my locker door shut. The loud bang made her jump. "I want to pay my bills and go home to my mom without feeling like I’m trash. If Timothy made one call to the owners, I’d be done. And my mom wouldn't have her heart meds. Do you get that? He literally holds my life in his hands."

​Cynthia’s face softened. "He didn't make the call, Lei. He did the opposite."

​I frowned. "What?"

​"He wants to see you. For real," she said, the words coming out fast. "He’s been quiet all week. He told me he wants to apologize for the 'misunderstanding.' He’s coming to the club tonight, Lei. Not the VIP room—just a regular table. He said he owes you an apology."

​I let out a dry, pathetic laugh. "An apology? Men like Timothy don't apologize to girls like me. He’s probably coming to see if he can buy me off so I don't tell anyone what an asshole he is."

​"He was really serious about it," Cynthia pushed. "He’s coming tonight. Just talk to him, please? If you don't, he’ll just keep coming back. You know how his family is—they don't stop until they get what they want."

​"That’s exactly why I can’t stand them," I whispered. But I knew I didn't have a choice.

​The night was a blur of loud music and spilled drinks, but I felt like my skin was on fire. Every time the front door opened, I felt a phantom sting in my palm—remembering how it felt to hit him.

​Raffy caught me at the bar, his face stressed. "Table four. He asked for you." He leaned in, his voice low and threatening. "And Lei? Keep your hands to yourself tonight. I can't save your ass twice."

​I swallowed hard and straightened my apron. My legs felt like lead as I walked toward the back of the lounge.

​Timothy was there.

​He wasn't with his loud, annoying friends tonight. He was sitting by himself in the dim light, wearing a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up. He was staring at a glass of water like he was thinking about something heavy.

​When I got to the table, he looked up. The look in his eyes made my breath hitch. He didn't look mad. He looked... like he was really seeing me for the first time.

​"You’re late," he said. His voice was lower than I remembered, not as sharp as it was before.

​"I’m working, Mr. Beckett," I said, trying to sound like a normal waitress. "What can I get you?"

​"Just call me Timothy. And sit down," he said, pointing to the chair across from him.

​"I’m not allowed to sit with customers."

​"I already told Raffy it’s fine," he said. Typical. He didn't ask; he just made it happen.

​I sat down, but only on the very edge of the chair, ready to run if I had to. "If you’re here because you want me to say sorry for hitting you, you’re wasting your time. You deserved it."

​A tiny, weird smile touched his lips. "I know I did. That’s why I’m here."

​He leaned forward, and I instinctively moved back. He didn't touch me, but he felt too close. "I was a prick that night. My friends are morons, and I shouldn't have talked to you like that. I’m not used to being called out, Leilani. But you were right."

​I stared at him, trying to find the lie. "Cynthia said you wanted to apologize. You did it. Now, can I go?"

​"Not yet," he said, his eyes locking onto mine.

​"You think you’re being nice," I said, my voice shaking. "But you’re just showing me you’re the same guy. You think everything has a price."

​I stood up so fast the chair scraped the floor.

​"I don't want your money, Timothy. And I don't want your pity," I hissed, leaning over the table so he could see how much I meant it. "I’d rather work every single night in this loud, smoky club and owe a scumbag like the procurer than owe a man who thinks I’m just a problem he can pay off."

​I turned and walked away, my heart pounding against my ribs. I didn't look back, but I knew he was watching me. It wasn't like before, though. He wasn't looking at me like I was a waitress. He was looking at me like I was something he couldn't have—and I knew, for a guy like him, that only made him want me more.