ONE

CAMILLA

Tonight was opening night.

And tonight was also the night I planned to run away from Rico for good.

The thought sat heavy in my chest as I stood in front of the cracked mirror in the dressing room, staring at my reflection like I might not see it again after tonight. My heart thumped hard, fast, a messy mix of excitement and fear that made my hands tremble just a little.

I adjusted the thin straps of my outfit, tugging them into place. The costume barely covered anything—sequins stitched into sheer fabric, clinging to my body like a second skin. It sparkled under the harsh white lights, made to catch attention, to draw eyes, to keep men watching longer than they meant to. 

Everything about it was designed for desire, not comfort.

I hated that I looked good in it.

I reached for my lipstick, the red one. Always red. It was the only thing that ever made me feel like I had some control over how I looked. I reapplied it carefully, my hand steady despite the rush in my veins. The color smudged slightly at the corner of my mouth, and I frowned, fixing it quickly with my finger.

No room for mistakes tonight. Not tonight of all nights.

The dressing room buzzed softly around me. The air smelled like hairspray, perfume, and nerves. Girls sat at their stations, touching up makeup, adjusting heels, pretending not to be afraid. Laughter came in short bursts, too loud, too forced. Everyone felt it—the pressure, the expectation.

Then the door swung open.

The sound alone made the room go quiet.

Rico walked in like he owned the air we breathed, cigar between his fingers, expensive suit perfectly pressed. Mila hung off his arm, smiling like she belonged there just as much as he did. Her dress was tighter than mine, her makeup flawless, her confidence loud.

Jessy, one of the new girls, froze mid-step as she was about to head toward the stage. Her eyes widened, her body stiff, like a deer caught in headlights.

Rico scanned the room slowly, his gaze dragging over every one of us like he was counting inventory. His lips curled into a smirk that made my stomach twist.

“I can see you’re all ready for the night,” he said, his voice low, smooth, commanding.

No one answered right away.

A few girls shifted uncomfortably. Someone cleared her throat. Fear sat thick in the silence.

Rico chuckled, but there was nothing friendly about it. It sounded like a warning.

“I believe I asked a question,” he added, his eyes narrowing just a bit.

“Yes, sir,” the girls replied together, voices shaky but obedient.

My jaw tightened.

Rico’s gaze finally landed on me, and he pushed off the wall, walking closer. His shoes clicked against the floor, each step measured, deliberate.

I didn’t drop my eyes like the others. I met his stare head-on.

“I believe you’re also part of the girls, Camilla,” he said, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“We are ready, sir,” I replied evenly, even though all I wanted to do was to hit the bastard’s face.

He scoffed, then reached out and cupped my cheek. His hand was cold. Possessive. I fought the instinct to flinch.

“Redo this shitty-ass makeup,” he said. “You know better. Make it more daring.”

I nodded once, biting back the urge to slap his hand away. “Okay, boss.”

His smirk widened, like he enjoyed pushing me. Like he enjoyed knowing I hated him.

“I’m expecting guests tonight,” he continued, puffing on his cigar. Smoke curled through the air, making my eyes sting. “Important guests. One of them is Daniel Beaumont. He would be coming in with August Childe.”

A ripple of excitement moved through the room.

“The billionaire,” Rico added. “It’s Daniel’s birthday. I want him and his friend spending big tonight. At least one or two of you will be keeping him company.”

The girls reacted instantly. Giggles. Whispers. Straightening outfits. Checking reflections. Dreams lighting up in their eyes.

Mila leaned closer to Rico, her voice sweet but sharp. “Let me go on stage tonight, baby. You know I do these dances better than them.”

Rico’s grip tightened on her arm. His smile disappeared.

“You just want a deeper pocket,” he said coldly. “You’re not going anywhere.”

She nodded slowly, hiding her anger behind a tight smile.

Rico looked us over one last time. “Don’t disappoint me.”

Then he turned and left. The door slammed behind him.

The moment he was gone, the room exploded into chatter.

“Oh my God, Daniel Beaumont?” one girl whispered. “He’s insanely rich.”

“We all know August is richer,” another said, laughing as she practiced a spin. “I’m making sure he notices me.”

I watched them quietly, my chest heavy as the younger girls laughed and whispered, their excitement buzzing through the room. They adjusted their outfits, fixed their hair, practiced smiles in the mirrors like this place was some kind of dream instead of a cage.

“Look at them,” Gianna murmured beside me, her voice low. “Little younglings.”

“I pity them,” she added softly, her eyes sad rather than judgmental.

“They’ll get used to Rico,” I said, though the words tasted bitter. “Eventually.”

Gianna turned fully toward me then, studying my face like she already knew the answer. Her voice dropped. “Are you still doing it tonight?”

I glanced around the room, making sure no one was listening too closely. The music from the stage hummed faintly through the walls. “You can still come with us, Gina,” I whispered. “Please. We can leave together.”

She shook her head slowly. “I don’t earn like you do, Camilla. And this life…” She sighed. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

My throat tightened. “I won’t forget you.”

She pulled me into a hug, warm and familiar. “I wish you well with Monty,” she said quietly. “I really do.”

Her words stirred memories I tried not to touch. My parents, gone when I was seven. My uncle Danny—always drunk, always gambling, always promising things would get better. They never did. He sold me to pay off his debt, and Rico Montoya took me the day I turned eighteen.

I started as a waitress. Then a dancer. Then one of his most requested girls.

I was his investment.

But tonight, Monty and I were leaving.

Tonight, I was choosing freedom.

“Ready, girls?” Madam Carol called. “Riri, you’re up.”

I took one last look at myself in the mirror, breathed in, and straightened my shoulders.

Showtime.