C1

"Keep moving, Cecelia," Cynthia whispers from the corner of the small stage, her voice barely carrying over the dark, heavy bass.

I force my hips to sway to the slow beat, my spine stiff and my knees shaking.

The private room smells of stale liquor and expensive cologne.

Sitting in the low leather armchair across from the stage is a middle-aged businessman in a gray tailored suit. His thick fingers tap against the rim of his crystal glass. He doesn't smile. He just stares at me like I am an object he bought for the hour. I know who he works for. He is one of Christopher Lambert’s top financial managers.

"Smile more," Cynthia mutters under her breath as she adjusts the lights from the side wall. "He’s paying double for the private room."

I force my lips into a wide, fake smile that makes my cheeks ache.

My heart hits my ribs like a trapped bird. I hated this place three months ago, and I hate it even more tonight. But the debt payments are due tomorrow, and I don't have a single choice left.

The music slows down to its final drag. I finish the dance with a slow turn, letting my hands slide down my sides before dropping them to my thighs. My skin burns under the man's cold gaze. My hands tremble so hard I have to hide them behind my back.

"Good girl," the man grunts, throwing a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills and loose silver coins onto the edge of the stage.

Before I can step forward, Cynthia moves fast. Her arm swings out as if she lost her balance on her high heels, her elbow slamming hard into the stack.

The money explodes across the stage and spills off the edge. Bills flutter into the dark, and silver coins clatter noisily onto the dirty wooden floor beneath the platform.

"Oh, I am so sorry!" Cynthia cries out, pulling her hands to her chest with a look of pure shock. "Cecelia, I’m so clumsy tonight! Let me help you!"

"It's fine," I say quickly, swallowing the lump of rust in my throat.

"Pick it up," the man in the chair commands, his voice cold and flat. "Every single cent."

I drop to my knees on the cold floor. The rough wood bites into my skin, but I don't stop. I reach under the base of the stage, my fingers scraping against the dust and spilled alcohol as I gather the scattered bills and silver coins.

"Fast," the man orders.

"I'm hurrying," I whisper.

I crawl forward on my hands and knees, dragging the paper money toward me, my fingers shaking so violently that I drop the coins twice.

From the corner of my eye, I see Cynthia stepping back into the shadows near the velvet curtains. She isn't looking at the money. She is holding her smartphone at waist level, the lens pointed straight down at me. A small red dot blinks on the top corner of her screen.

She is recording me. She is sending a video in real time.

"Cynthia, what are you doing?" I ask, my voice cracking in the dim room.

She doesn't answer. She just smiles, a sharp, ugly look that wipes away three years of supposed friendship in a single second.

The heavy oak door of the private room slams open.

The air in the room instantly goes freezing cold.

A tall man steps through the doorway. He wears a charcoal black suit that costs more than this entire building. His broad shoulders fill the entry, and his face is carved out of hard, merciless ice. He doesn't move fast. He moves with the silent, deadly weight of a predator entering a pen.

It's Christopher Lambert.

The middle-aged businessman immediately stands up, his spine snapping straight, his glass clinking against the wooden table as he sets it down with trembling hands. "Mr. Lambert. I didn't know you were coming down here personally."

Christopher doesn't look at the businessman. He doesn't look at Cynthia.

His dark eyes lock onto me.

I am still on my knees on the floor, surrounded by crumpled money, clutching silver coins against my chest like a beggar. My hair falls over my sweaty face. My breath stops entirely in my lungs.

Christopher stands at the edge of the room, looking down at me for a long, agonizing silence.

Pure, unadulterated disgust burns in his eyes. It isn't just anger. It is a deep, bitter revulsion, like he is looking at something rotten scraped off the bottom of his shoe.

I try to speak, but no sound comes out of my mouth. I stand frozen beneath his gaze, unable to move, unable to breathe, my chest tight with a sudden, overwhelming terror. He looks at me like he knows every single secret I have ever tried to hide. He looks at me like he has already judged me and found me worthless.

He doesn't say a single word to me. He doesn't lower himself to speak.

Christopher raises his hand and gives a single, sharp nod toward the hallway.

Two massive security men dressed in black suits step into the room behind him. They don't ask questions. They don't give a warning.

"Hey! What are you doing?" I scream as the first man grabs my left arm in an iron grip.

The second man grabs my right shoulder, lifting me completely off my knees. My fingers slip, and the silver coins drop from my hands, crashing back onto the floor and rolling away under the chairs.

"Let me go!" I shriek, twisting my body against their heavy weight. "Cynthia! Help me!"

Cynthia turns her back on me, staring down at her phone screen with a cold, blank face.

"Get her out," Christopher says softly. His voice is deep, quiet, and dead.

The security men drag me backward out of the private room. My heels drag along the floor as I fight them, kicking against the walls and grabbing at the doorframe. My knuckles slam against the solid wood, leaving red marks on my skin, but they don't slow down. They lift me up, carrying me down the dark side hallway toward the emergency exit.

"Release me!" I yell, my throat raw. "I didn't do anything to you!"

They push through the heavy metal crash bar of the back door.

The door flies open, and the freezing night air hits my bare skin like a hundred needle stabs.

Rain is pouring down from the sky in thick, blinding sheets. The storm roars over the narrow alleyway behind the club.

The security men hurl me forward into the dark.

I fly through the air and hit the wet, slick pavement with a loud crash. Pain explodes through my knees and my elbows. The remaining coins I held tight in my hand spill out, bouncing across the wet asphalt into the murky water filling the gutter.

I lie there in the dark, gasping for air, the freezing rain pounding against my back.

My hands shake violently as I scrape my palms against the wet ground, trying to push myself up. The black mascara and cheap makeup run down my cheeks in dark, dirty streaks, stinging my eyes. Water drenches my hair instantly, pasting it to my neck and face.

I choke on a sob, my chest heaving as I look down at my bleeding hands.

Heavy leather shoes step slowly onto the wet pavement behind me.

The rain clicks against a dark umbrella held high above his head. Christopher Lambert walks out into the alleyway. He stands two feet away from where I am collapsed on the asphalt, his black leather shoes polished and clean, untouched by the dirty rainwater rushing around his feet.

He looks down at the broken girl shivering in the mud and rain. His sharp jaw clenches.

"You're even dirtier than I expected," Christopher says.

His voice is low and cutting, slicing straight through the sound of the pouring rain.

I lift my chin, wiping the water and black makeup from my eyes with the back of my bruised hand. I stare up at his dark, handsome face with pure hatred burning through the ice in my veins.

"I don't even know who you are," I whisper, my teeth chattering wildly from the cold.

Christopher turns his body away from me, starting to walk back toward the idling black sedan parked at the mouth of the alleyway.

He stops right at the open door of the vehicle. He doesn't turn his head back to look at me, but his posture remains hard as stone.

"Get in the car," he commands, his tone flat and dead. "Or freeze. Your choice."

The rear door of the black luxury car opens wide, casting a long beam of warm light onto the rain-soaked asphalt beside me.

My heart hammers against my ribs with pure fear and intense hatred. I have never seen this man before in my life. I don't know his name, I don't know his business, and I don't know why he just destroyed my life in a single night.

I only know one thing as I stare at his straight, powerful back in the dark rain.

This stranger hates me enough to burn my world to the ground.