The Contract

I didn’t sleep that night. I couldn’t. Even after he said I should go back to my duties like nothing had happened. Even after I put my uniform back on with trembling fingers and slipped out of the suite like a ghost. My skin still felt the tension from where he had touched me. It was funny how my body responded to him. Shame curled up in my stomach like smoke. I should have felt humiliated. I should have been scared. But all I felt was the way his voice still echoed in my head. Come here. The way he said it made everything inside me come undone. I took a cold shower in the back dressing room, scrubbing until my skin turned red. The club had closed by then. Staff had gone. Lights dimmed. Silence stretched through the halls like a warning. I didn’t know what I was now. A waitress? A plaything? A mistake? It was almost dawn when I stepped out the back door, hoodie pulled over my damp hair, shoes squeaking with every step. The streets were nearly empty. I walked home with my arms wrapped around myself, heart still pulsing from something I didn’t understand.

By the time I reached the apartment I shared with my brother, the world was waking up. But I couldn’t breathe. Not until I saw him. He was sitting on the stairs, head in his hands, eyes bloodshot. There were empty beer cans around him, his phone lying on the floor like it had been thrown. I didn’t say anything. I just stepped over the mess and opened the door. “Ivy,” he mumbled, following me in. “I’m sorry.” I didn’t answer. I dropped my bag, headed straight for the sink, and filled a glass of water. My hands were still shaking. “I didn’t mean for it to get that bad,” he said. “I thought I could flip it back. I swear, Ivy. I didn’t know I’d lose the house.” My voice was hoarse when I finally spoke. “You didn’t lose it. You gave it away.” He flinched like I hit him. “It wasn’t like that.” “It was exactly like that. You knew the house was the only thing our parents left before they died, and yet you used it to gamble. I'm just so tired of this at the moment. Now the rent of this apartment is almost due and I don't have much.” We stood in silence for a beat too long. I wanted to scream. Break something. Tell him how tired I was of being the one holding everything together while he fell apart. But I didn’t. Because what was the point? He wouldn’t remember any of it by morning.

So I walked into the bedroom, closed the door behind me, and collapsed onto the mattress. My bones ached. My chest felt heavy. But my mind was still back in that suite. With him. With the touch. The way he looked at me like I was something he already owned. I should have been terrified. But I wasn’t. I was... curious.

The next night, I went back to work early. I clocked in before my shift, hoping to stay invisible. Just another girl serving drinks, counting tips, pretending my life wasn’t crumbling around me. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, the manager’s voice stopped me cold. “Office. Now.” My heart stuttered. I walked into the back office slowly, trying to keep my expression neutral. But my breath caught when I saw him there. Damien Voss. Leaning against the desk like he owned the room. Like he owned me. He was dressed in all black. Expensive. Immaculate. And he looked at me the same way he had the night before. Calm, unreadable, focused like a blade. “You can go,” he said to the manager without even glancing at him. The man left without a word, closing the door behind him. And then it was just the two of us. Again. I didn’t move. My fingers curled at my sides.

“I have a proposition,” Damien said. My pulse spiked. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cream folder, setting it on the desk between us. “A contract.” I swallowed. “What kind of contract?” He looked at me, eyes cold, voice smooth. “Thirty days. You stay with me. Obey me. Please me. No questions. No attachments. When it ends, you walk away. And in return, I’ll give you enough money to never set foot in this club again.” My mouth went dry. “I don’t... I’m not that kind of girl.” “I never said you were.” He opened the folder and pushed it toward me. I stared down at the pages, words swimming. It was real. Legal. Cold. “There’s a confidentiality clause. No one ever finds out. You keep your name. Your dignity. Your freedom.” “And if I say no?” He straightened up and walked around the desk, stopping just inches from me. “Then I walk away, and nothing changes. You keep working here. Keep struggling. Keep letting the world chew you up and spit you out. But if you say yes,” his fingers brushed a strand of hair from my face, “you get to breathe. You get thirty days of power, of safety, of pleasure you’ve never even tasted.” I wanted to move. Wanted to run. But I didn’t. Because deep down, I knew he was right. I was tired. Of working until my knees gave out. Of pretending I wasn’t drowning. Of sacrificing everything for people who only took more. “I need time to think,” I whispered. “You have until tomorrow night, a car would be waiting at the club by morning." He leaned closer, his breath warm against my cheek. “But know this, Ivy. If you sign that paper... you’re mine.” Then he turned and walked out, leaving the contract on the desk and my sanity in pieces.