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Rae’s POV
The bass hit so hard it pounded into my ribs. Laser lights flashed over the crowd, drowning everything in neon pinks and purples, like that made this place any less depressing. My mask itched against my face, the sequins digging into my skin. I smiled anyway. That’s what they paid for—the illusion. Nobody in this room cared if my rent was due or if my little sister needed money for her school expenses. They just wanted to see a pretty girl spin around and pretend she loved every second of it. Laura leaned in close, her perfume cutting through the smoke. “Table three. They asked for you.” “Of course they did,” I muttered, but she shoved a shot of tequila in my hand before I could complain. “Drink,” she said. “You’re too in your head.” I tipped it back. It burned, but it did the job. “You good?” she asked. “Peachy,” I said with a smile that wasn’t fooling anyone. She gave me that look—the one that said she wasn’t buying it—but the music shifted and that was my cue. I held the shot glass out to Laura. “Pour me another one,” I said, letting my eyes do most of the convincing. She hesitated, giving me that little look, but finally sighed and filled it anyway. I didn’t hesitate. I downed it in one gulp. “One more,” I said. Laura’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure? You haven’t eaten, and—” “I’ll be fine,” I cut her off, rolling my eyes. I wasn’t listening to warnings, not tonight. I just needed to drown out the noise of my life, even if only for a second. She hesitated, then poured the final shot. I took it without a word, letting it slide down before standing. I dropped the empty glass with a clink beside her. I tugged my mask tighter, plastered the smile back on, then moved toward my designated VIP lounge, ready for the night and the pole waiting for me. The VIP lounge was darker than the rest of the club. Darker, quieter and more expensive. Men sat in booths with their cigars and their secrets, watching us like they owned the place. And in the back, I saw her. Not like the others. She wasn’t drinking, wasn’t leaning back with her arm stretched across the booth. She was stiff, controlled, almost… out of place. A silk scarf wrapped around her head, sunglasses hiding half her face. Sunglasses in the dark. Weird. I didn’t have time to think about it. The spotlight found me, the beat dropped, and I started my routine. Arch, spin, slide. Smile. Pretend—but suddenly my hand slipped. My foot missed the grip, and I wobbled hard. For a second, I thought I might catch myself but gravity had other plans. I tumbled off the pole, hitting the floor harder than I expected. The music kept pounding in my ears, the crowd gasped, and I could feel my cheeks burning—not just from the fall, but from the tequila still buzzing through me, making every move sloppy. Time slowed, my mask slipping right off my face. I scrambled to grab the mask, clutching it to my chest. The manager’s voice cut through the music like a knife. “Rae! What the hell was that?” Tony Russo stormed toward me, face flushed with anger, his perpetual scowl making him look even meaner than usual. Tony was never a nice guy—always nagging, always looking for something to yell about, and tonight was no exception. “Do you have any idea how many important people are in the VIP lounge tonight? CEOs, investors, big shots—and you just… just fall off the pole? It’s embarrassing! Completely unprofessional. And this—this weird, off behavior you’ve been showing lately? It’s starting to affect the business. Pack your things. You’re finished here.” I froze. My stomach sank. Fired. Just like that. Laura darted forward, kneeling beside me. “Please, Tony, she didn’t mean—” “I said pack your things,” Tony snapped, eyes narrowing at her. “If you keep defending her, you’re out too.” Laura stiffened. Bills, responsibilities, rent—she couldn’t risk it. She stayed silent, biting her lip, eyes pleading with me, but obedient. And then… everything else faded. The music, the shouting, the clattering of glasses—it all drowned out like someone had turned the world down to nothing. I wasn’t hearing Tony. I wasn’t hearing Laura. I was staring at the woman in the corner. She was staring back. And she looked at me like I was a ghost. ⸻ Elena’s POV I hated this place. The cheap perfume, the fake laughter, the desperate smell of it all. But business was business. The deal wasn’t done yet, but soon this club would be mine. A neat little front. Money in, money out, no questions. Except the second I walked in, some idiot staffer had sneered, “Aren’t you supposed to be getting ready for your routine at the VIP lounge?” My jaw had tightened. “Do you know who I am?” They’d mumbled something and scurried off, but the sting lingered. Did I really look like one of them? I tugged the silk scarf tighter around my hair and slid on my sunglasses. Ridiculous, yes, but I didn’t care. I wanted space. Privacy. And then she stumbled onto the stage. Her mask slipped, and for a second, I thought I was staring into a mirror. ⸻ Rae’s POV The manager’s voice was still going, but my head was buzzing too loud to hear the words. “You’re done. Don’t bother coming back,” he snapped. I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. My throat had closed up. My eyes burned. Laura hooked her arm through mine and hauled me up. “Come on. There’s no need to argue” She was right, but it didn’t stop the shame from crawling under my skin. As we walked off, I glanced back. The woman with the scarf hadn’t looked away once. I pulled the mask tighter to my chest and hurried to the locker room. The night ended with whispers. Girls leaning in, gossiping about my fall, murmuring about how Rae finally cracked. Let them. I couldn’t have cared less. The club drama didn’t matter. Laura Coles was the only one I could call a friend here—my only friend, really. We’d known each other since childhood, and she was the only one who’d ever been genuinely nice to me. Everyone else… they were too wrapped up in their own problems to care about anyone else. No one here was truly united or empathetic. The workplace was hostile, always. The only thing that ever brought the other girls together was gossip—ways to belittle someone else. And the irony? Even the ones who gossiped in tandem ended up being gossiped about by the same people later. Everyone was fake. But Laura? She was real. She was the one person I could count on in that mess. I changed quickly, then I stepped outside into the cool night air, my bag slung over my shoulder. Laura was there, eyes wide and worried. “Rae… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean… pouring those shots—it got out of hand.” I shrugged, voice flat. “It’s fine. I’ll survive.” She dug into her pocket, offering me some cash. “Here… maybe it helps a little.” I shook my head. “No, I’ve got this.” Her face fell, guilt written all over it. “I just… hate seeing you like this. Losing your job—because of me—hurts.” I glanced at her, touched despite myself, but stayed silent. “We’ll figure it out.” I nodded with my hand over her shoulder, even though my chest felt heavy. But as I walked away visibly emotionless, I couldn’t shake the image of the woman in the scarf, sitting in the shadows, watching me like she already knew me. And I had no idea that she was about to change everything.Elena’s POV “Now survive. Play the role. Or drown.”The words purred off my tongue like a spell before I cut the call. I stared at the phone a moment longer, watching the call icon vanish as the line went dead. My reflection smirked back at me from the dark glass, lips curling like a satisfied predator.Did I regret it? The question almost made me laugh. Regret? No. There was nothing to regret. Not when it was either me or her. Not when survival was on the line. Regret was for people with luxuries like family, people who had someone to run to and cry when the world kicked them in the teeth. Me? I’d been running alone my entire life.And Rae Rossi? Poor, sweet Rae was nothing but a sacrificial lamb offered up to Marcelo’s altar of wrath, the big bad wolf.I leaned back on the velvet sofa, crossing my legs. The wine glass in my hand caught the soft amber light, red liquid swirling lazily. I took a slow sip, savoring the taste, savoring the moment. Freedom. Sweet bloody freedom.For the
The glow of my phone was the only light in the room. It made my eyes sting, but I couldn’t look away—not when Elena’s name had just flashed across the screen.God, I didn’t even want to see her name anymore. My stomach twisted just reading it. But my finger swiped before I could stop myself, and her words lit up the screen.“Rae, Marcelo isn’t who you think he is.”I barely registered it. I didn’t care who Marcelo was or wasn’t. I didn’t care if he’d been shaped by tragedy, or if Elena wanted to spin some sob story to excuse him. None of that mattered. My chest was a cage, my ribs felt like iron bars, and all I wanted—all I needed—was a way out.My thumbs flew, urgent and desperate.“Elena. Please. You promised me one night. Just one. Get a driver. Take me home. I’ve done enough.”The typing dots blinked. Vanished. Blinked again. I held my breath, praying she’d say yes, that she’d have some shred of decency left in her.Her reply hit like a slap.“Stay calm. Play your part until tomor
The room smelled faintly of wine and dust, the kind of damp heaviness that seeps into your lungs until it feels like you’ve been breathing regret itself. The shards of broken glass still lay scattered across the floor where Marcelo had cornered me hours ago, jagged little reminders of how reckless I’d been, how far I’d fallen. I stayed curled up in the far corner of the room, knees to my chest, as if shrinking small enough could make me invisible.The bed loomed in front of me, neatly made, sheets too pristine, like some cruel joke. I refused to sit there. Beds were for guests. Beds were for people who belonged. I wasn’t here to stay. I wasn’t here to sleep. I was here because I was trapped.I stared down at my phone, hands trembling, eyes swollen from crying. My call log was a graveyard of unanswered attempts—Elena, Elena, Elena—each one mocking me with its silence. Dozens of texts sent into the void, delivered but never replied to. My chest ached with a betrayal I still couldn’t wra
I tried to breathe, but it was like inhaling through stone. Marcelo’s body caged me against the wall, his shadow swallowing mine whole.“Elena,” he said, my stolen name slicing the air like a blade. His voice dropped lower, so low I felt it in my bones. “Do not waste my time.”“I—I don’t know what you mean,” I whispered, and the moment the words left my lips, I hated myself for saying them.His eyes narrowed. Cold, assessing. “Don’t.”That was all he said. Just that one word, and it dismantled me.Elena hadn’t told me any of this. She’d given me her makeup, her clothes, her mannerisms. She’d drilled me in the rule until my ears rang with it: say little, obey, dance to his music. But she hadn’t said this. She hadn’t told me that she’d stolen from him.Stolen money.I blinked, and all I could think was—of course. Of course Elena hadn’t told me. Of course she had pushed me into this mansion like a sacrificial lamb, smiling that poisonous smile of hers, knowing exactly what she was doing.
“Marcelo Bernardo…” I whispered his name into the dark interior of the car as if saying it softly enough would strip it of its weight. The syllables clung to my tongue, heavy, magnetic, impossible to shake off. I said it again, barely louder than breath. “Marcelo Bernardo.” The driver didn’t even twitch. My voice was swallowed by the hum of engine on full speed which made me anxious, but the name filled my chest like a stone. Ever since Elena had first said it—so casually, with that little curve of disdain on her lips—it had haunted me. That’s who you’ll belong to for one night. Just do as I say, and you’ll leave with enough money to take care of your mother and sister for months. It had sounded easy in theory. Elena simply made everything sound easy. But the way she leaned forward, gripping my chin so tight her manicured nails pressed crescents into my skin, burned the words into me like a brand: “Say little. Obey. Dance to his music.” That was her golden rule. Her number one c
Morning hit like a punishment.The sunlight slicing through my cracked blinds stabbed at my eyes, and the pounding in my skull wasn’t from booze—it was from reality. Rent. Past due notices. Mom’s prescriptions. My sister’s constant texts about school expenses. All of it pressing down like a weight I couldn’t shake.I rolled out of bed, stared up at the ceiling fan rattling like it was about to give up on life. My throat was dry. My chest tight. One thread left holding me together.The kitchen didn’t help. My cabinet mocked me with emptiness, the only survivor a stale pack of crackers. I tore it open anyway. Breakfast of champions.Halfway through chewing one, my phone buzzed. Laura.I hesitated before answering. My stomach still burned with the loss of my job last night with me wobbling off my routine in front of everyone. Fired. Humiliated. My money gone before I’d even earned it. I swiped to answer. “Yeah?”Her voice rushed through the line, low and urgent. “Rae, you’re not gonna b







