Not Part Of His Plan

Ariana

I used to think survival was about strength... about smiling through pain and standing tall no matter how hard life pushed you.

But life doesn't work like that. Now I know survival is just getting through the day without falling apart.

The city lights blurred past the taxi window as I stared ahead in silence. I don't know why I was feeling nervous. As if something was going to happen. 

The taxi pulled up in front of the familiar building. The Velvet Noir. I paid the driver and made my way out. A exasperated breath left my lips as I stared at the club signboard. 

Working two jobs every single day was slowly draining the life out of me.

During the day, I worked as an editor at S & M Publishing House, spending hours buried under manuscripts, deadlines, corrections, and a boss who acted like salary deductions were part of his daily vocabulary. Then at night, I came here.

The exhaustion from staring at a computer screen all day still burned my eyes. But beneath all the stress and exhaustion, I loved stories.

Loved how words came alive. Loved how a single sentence could ruin someone or heal them completely.

And maybe one day... I wanted to write something that carried my own name too.

I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and pushed the entrance open. Music immediately swallowed me whole.

People crowded the dance floor while colored lights flashed across half-dressed bodies moving recklessly to the beat. The smell of alcohol, expensive perfume, smoke, and sweat mixed together.

I headed straight toward the changing room and slipped into my work outfit before tying my hair back.

"Long day again?"

My colleague Mira's voice came from behind me just as I picked up a concealer. I glanced at her through the mirror. She was leaning lazily against the lockers.

"It's always a long day," I replied, dabbing the concealer under my eyes.

She walked further inside. "How's the baby girl doing?"

My hand paused for a second as a smile slipped in. I could already imagine Lily sulking about something, throwing one of her little tantrums that never really lasted long. She always acted like the world was ending over the tiniest things... and somehow, that made everything lighter.

"She's fine," I said, my voice softer now without me meaning to be.

"She's lucky, you know," she said after a moment. "Not everyone gets someone like you."

I almost laughed at that. Lucky. If only she knew how lucky I was to have my daughter.

I capped the concealer and reached for my lipstick.

Mira tilted her head. "You know... you could make a lot more tonight if you just loosened up a little. Smile more. Talk more. Let them see what they want to see."

I looked at her through the mirror. "You know I'm not doing that."

She let out a small laugh, having heard it too many times to be surprised.

"You're leaving money on the table, Ariana."

I adjusted my lipstick, meeting her eyes in the reflection. "Then let it stay there."

For a second, she just studied me. Then she sighed, pushing off the lockers.

"Suit yourself," she said lightly, though her tone softened at the edges. "Just don't complain when you're still tired and broke."

Before walking away, she tapped my shoulder.

Silence settled back into the room again. I turned back to the mirror and continued fixing my face. What Mira didn't understand—what most people never bothered to understand was that I wasn't built for that kind of life.

I never had been.

Always be yourself, Keisha. No matter where life takes you.

My father had always said. If only he could see me now. I wasn't  where I want to be yet... but no longer where I used to be either.

When I stepped out of the changing room, Mira was already waiting. She pushed the tray of drinks into my hands.

"Table six," she said quickly. "Regulars. Don't keep them waiting, they're already getting loud."

I took the tray with an eye roll. "Of course they are,"

I moved carefully between tables, balancing the drinks, ignoring the stares that followed me as I passed. I have a fully curvy body, which is why most of the time I wear oversized clothes. I don't like when people stare at me—my body in a lustful manner.

I puffed out a short breath. I don't know why my heart kept on beating throughout today. Even the air in the club was weird. I gripped the tray tightly.

Table six was in the corner. I already knew what to expect before I even got there.

The moment I approached, I saw him—one of the regulars. Already drunk. I forced a polite expression anyway.

"Your drinks," I said, placing the tray down.

He didn't even wait for me to finish setting them before his hand brushed my waist.

"Slow night tonight, Ariana," he slurred, leaning in.

I stepped back immediately. Yet his hand went down. This time it brushed behind me, and something inside me snapped.

"Don't touch me, sir," I said sharply, stepping away.

He laughed like I had just told a joke.

"Relax. You act like you're not working in a place like this." He whispered irritatingly squeezing  my ass. 

Something in me cracked. "Don't touch me! You wasted man," I hissed out, shoving his hand away. 

His chair scraped loudly against the floor.

"What did you just say?"

"This is harassment," I said, holding my ground. "Touching me without my permission is sexual harassment."

The sound of glass hitting the table followed. Before anyone could react, he shoved it off. It shattered across the floor. I jolted back.

"You think you can talk to me like that? You bitch!" he barked.

Heads turned now. The noise around us shifted, attention slowly pulling toward the table. His face twisted in anger, and in a split second, he grabbed my wrist.

"Apologize," 

I tried to pull away. "Let go of me."

He pulled me toward him so hard I nearly lost my balance, his grip painfully tight around my wrist.

"Let's see who will save you from me," he sneered.

The smell of alcohol on his breath almost made me gag.

Then his hand moved lower straight to my chest. Before I could even react, something slammed into him.

Hard.

The man staggered backward with a loud grunt as a fist crashed across his face. The entire table flipped with him. Glasses shattered. People screamed and scrambled away.

For a second, everything around me became a blur of noise and movement.

The man barely had time to recover before another punch landed across his jaw with enough force to send him crashing to the floor.

The music suddenly felt distant. I stood frozen. My pulse hammered violently in my chest. The man groaned on the floor, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth.

Then a polished shoe stepped into my line of sight.

"Touch her again..." A way too familiar voice came low and hoarse, carrying a calmness far more frightening than shouting ever could.

"...and next time I'll bury you myself."

Slowly, I lifted my eyes. And my entire body went still as a pair of cold, dark eyes locked with mine.

Damien Valmont. The man I never imagined I will see again.