Surprise

CHAPTER TWO

The moment the door clicks shut behind me, the world shrinks, VIP rooms are designed to feel intimate, soft gold lighting with leather couches and a low glass table that comes with expensive silence.

And him.

He is sitting in the center couch like he owns the oxygen in the room and for a split second, my brain refuses to connect the dots.

It sees the sharp jaw, the familiar curve of his mouth, the blonde hair that always looked unfairly perfect even when he pretended not to care.

Then his eyes lift, blue not soft blue or sky blue. No, blue line ocean before a storm.

My stomach drops as I recognize him, the same guy at the club and also the bane of my fucking existence.

Kayden Devereaux.

That familiar feeling floods my veins so fast it feels like ice water poured straight into my chest.

Hatred.

Of course it would be him.

The high school king, the golden boy with a surname that made teachers bend and students tremble, the boy who turned my senior year into a public execution.

He leans back slowly, dragging his gaze over me in a way that makes my skin burn beneath the glitter.

“Well,” he says, voice low and smooth like someone seeing an old friend, like I didn't want to rip his head off.

“Took you long enough, Dolly.” the way he says my stage name feels like a mockery causing me to yank off my silver mask.

His expression shifts, just slightly like he recognizes me before it's all gone.

“Ashley,” he murmurs, his lips twitching as he pulls himself up.

My hands ball into fists. “What the hell are you doing here?” I growl out, my skin flushing red.

He tilts his head. “Is that how you greet a paying client?” he taunts, his voice going deeper.

“You don’t get to sit there and pretend this is normal.” My voice shakes, but not from fear, from pure rage. “You think this is funny?” I add, taking a step forward.

His jaw tightens almost invisibly. “I’m not laughing.” he says, stating the fucking obvious.

If I thought I hated my mom, seeing Kayden just made me see that there is someone I hate more.

And it's him.

“You bullied me for two years,” I spit. “You made my life hell, and now you’re here? What? You ran out of girls to torment?” I ask, venom dripping down every word.

His eyes flash, “I didn’t come here to torment you.” he grits out, pushing himself to sit straighter.

“Then why?” I demand, not budging.

Silence stretches between us, heavy, and loaded then he gestures casually to the table beside him where a black envelope sits there.

“Five thousand,” he says. “Like I promised.”

“I don’t want your money.” I grit out, my pride rearing it's ugly head both I knew better

A lie, I don't just want it, I needed it.

“You already agreed,” he replies evenly. “You walked in here so it belongs to you.” he adds, jutting his head towards the envelope again.

“I didn’t know it was you.”

“And if you had?”

I hesitate and that hesitation is all he needs because he finally rises to his feet.

The air shifts when he does, he has always been taller than me, broader and too fucking confident for his own good.

He stops a few feet away, not touching me, not quite just close enough that I can feel his breath but not enough that we touch.

“You look at me like I ruined you,” he says quietly. “Yet you don’t even know the full story.”

“Save it.” My throat tightens. “You spread those pictures. You let everyone believe I was—”

“I didn’t,” he cuts in sharply.

My laugh is bitter as I press the heel of my palm to my cheeks, “Right and I have ten cars.”

“I didn’t,” he repeats, firmer this time. “But you decided I did.”

“You were the only one who had them!” I yell, my eyes watering as I pull my fingers into a tight fist.

“And you never asked,” he fires back. “You just looked at me like I was dirt and walked away.”

My chest rises and falls too fast and for a split second, doubt flickers but I know better so I crush it.

“You don’t get to rewrite history in a strip club,” I say coldly, my eyes burning into his so he can see.

So he can see how much I hate him.

His gaze drops briefly to my outfit and all of a sudden heat coils in my stomach despite myself.

“I’m not rewriting anything,” he says. “I’m offering you something.” he murmurs, taking a gentle step further.

“Humiliation?”

“Control,” he answers smoothly like he knows something I don't.

My stomach twists as he steps closer, but still doesn’t touch me.

“One month,” he says quietly. “You dance only for me, private sessions. No one else.” his eyes darken as he said the last part.

My pulse pounds in my ears, lips trembling as I ask the question that I need answers to.

“And why would I do that?” I ask through clenched teeth, restraining myself from clocking his fucking nose.

“Thirty thousand.”

The number hits like a punch, my throat goes dry as the number repeats itself.

Thirty thousand.

That would wipe the debt clean and still leave me with enough money to disappear, enough to never see my mother’s hand raised again.

“I don’t need you,” I whisper, stupid pride comes in again.

“You need the money or else you won't be working in this dump.” he shrugs like he knows he is right.

The worst part is that he isn’t wrong but how did he know I work here?

He studies my face like he’s memorizing every emotion behind it.

“I won’t touch you without permission,” he says “This isn’t what you think.”

“Then what is it? How did you know I work here?” I fire at him, wanting to know his angle because there always is with him.

His lips press into a thin line, “An arrangement and I didn't know you work here, I just stumbled on you.” he explains yet I should walk out, I should throw the money in his face.

But then I see my mother’s red hair, I hear Victor Devereaux’s name choking the walls of our apartment and I feel the ache in my ribs.

Freedom always has a price, and apparently it wears blue eyes.

“I want it in writing,” I say finally, giving in not because I want to but because I have to.

This isn't a choice, it's survival.

His gaze sharpens. “Of course.” he says, his lips moving into his signature smirk.

The one I hate so much.

“And if you cross a line, we’re done.” I clarify, causing a small, almost amused breath to leave him. “You always did like rules.”

“I hate you,” I whisper.

His eyes soften for just a second before he whispers “I know.”

I hate that my heart reacts, grab the envelope from the table.

“Send the contract,” I say, putting my mask back on. “I’ll sign if it’s clean.”

He steps back, giving me space, “Two days,” he replies but I leave without looking back feeling his eyes on me the entire time.

What have I just agreed to?

~

Two Days Later

The café bell chimes and as usual I don’t look up just recite off the words I know by heart.

At least tried to.

.

“Welcome to—” The words die in my throat as I my gaze flickers and meets his.

Kayden stands at the counter like he belongs there in jeans, black leather jacket, sunglasses pushed into his hair.

Dimitri nearly drops a tray behind me before she scurries off coughing while I swallow.

“What do you want?” I ask quietly.

“A coffee,” he says smoothly. “And five minutes.” causing my heart to hammer against my ribs.

“I’m working.” I reply without looking up.

“So work,” he replies calmly. “I’ll wait.” he says before turning to leave and I don't stop him.

The shift crawls by every second feels like an hour and when my break finally comes, I step outside to the alley behind the café.

He’s already there and he hands me a thin folder.

“I kept my word.”

I flip it open and indeed he did, no hidden clause, just plain contract.

“You’re serious,” I murmur, flickering my gaze to him then back to the folder.

“I always am.” I look up at him, tugging at my bottom lips as the wind carries a stray strand of my hair over my eyes.

For a moment, he doesn’t look like the boy who laughed when the hallway whispered my name.

He looks… focused on me and I hate the way it makes me feel.

“Why?” I ask again, causing his jaw to tighten but he doesn't respond, he simply shrugs.

I take the pen from the folder, this is temporary, I tell myself, this is survival, it's just a month.

Then I sign.

His eyes follow every stroke of my name, Ashley Denver, and the ink feels heavier than it should. Once I am done I hand it back to him.

He closes the folder carefully, “I’ll see you tonight,” he says softly but I don’t answer.

~

That night, I walk into my street exhausted and hollow, only to see the door unlocked, with voices echoing from the living room.

Male, deep and familiar causing my stomach to knot. It can't be.

I step inside and my entire body freezes.

Sophia is standing beside a tall man in an expensive suit, a man I can recognize anywhere.

Victor Devereaux, and next to him— Kayden.

He’s not wearing leather tonight, he’s dressed sharp, clean and looks untouchable.

Like the prince of a kingdom I never wanted to enter while my mother smiles too brightly.

“Ashley,” she says, almost sweet. “Come meet your new family.”

The air leaves my lungs as Victor's lips curve into something calculated.

“I suppose congratulations are in order,” he says smoothly. “Your mother and I were married this afternoon.”

“WHAT!" I boom.