Chapter 2: The Price of One Night

Isla’s POV

A week ago…

I recall how it all started. 

Three months since I got fired.

Two weeks since my roommate vanished and left rent unpaid.

One hour since my landlord locked me out.

Fifty-six dollars in my account.

Cracked phone.

It was close to midnight when the weight of it dropped on me. My duffel felt heavier than ever. I’d been curled up outside a 24-hour laundromat on 53rd, holding onto a bitter vending machine coffee I shouldn't have wasted money on, trying to convince myself things would shift.

They wouldn’t.

I didn’t want to cry. But it was building.

My eyes stung. My fingers went numb from gripping the paper cup too hard. My chest felt like it was collapsing. The world kept spinning, indifferent.

So I walked.

Not toward anything. Just away from everything.

My boots dug into my feet with every step, but I kept moving. Not because I knew where I was going, but because stopping felt like surrender.

Midtown was lit like a dream I couldn’t afford. The kind of dream where the sidewalks shine and no one’s counting change.

I passed a tall building. Glass and steel. The kind that screams you don’t belong.

I stopped.

There was music inside. Laughter. Warmth.

Everything I hadn’t felt in forever.

The doorman glanced at me like I was a stray. He opened his mouth.

But then a group of glitter-covered young girls swayed up behind me, laughing, one tossing her scarf onto my shoulder like we knew each other.

“Let’s go, babe!” she slurred to her friend, stumbling toward the entrance.

The doorman didn’t stop me. He assumed I was with them.

I followed them in, heart in my throat, pretending I had a right to be there.

Velvet seats. Jazz. Low lights. People with real problems, not survival problems.

I shouldn’t have stayed.

But I did.

Maybe I wanted a drink.

Maybe I wanted to feel like a person again.

Then I saw him.

Far booth. Alone. No tie. Black suit. Shirt open at the collar like he didn’t care about rules.

He looked at me.

Didn’t blink.

Didn’t look away.

I froze.

Men like him didn’t notice women like me.

He raised his glass, an invitation without words.

And I walked to him like I wasn’t falling apart.

"I don’t bite," he said, voice like dark velvet and bourbon. “Unless you ask.”

I slid into the seat across from him. "You look like someone who bites first and doesn’t ask questions."

He let out a quiet laugh, low and steady, sending a tremor through my spine.

A waiter brought a drink I didn’t order, placing it in front of me without a word. I took a sip. I had no idea what it was, only that it tasted expensive and burned just enough to feel real.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

He lifted his glass slightly. “What would you like it to be?”

I squinted. “You’re not big on small talk, are you?”

“No. And neither are you.” He leaned in, studying me like a riddle. “That dress isn’t yours. Your shoes don’t fit. And you haven’t eaten today.”

My spine straightened.

He was right.

"Are you watching me, or just guessing?” I asked, voice tight.

"I don’t need to watch. I’ve seen desperation before.”

No judgment. Just a fact.

My throat burned. My hands trembled.

"I’m not an escort," I snapped.

He barely moved. "I didn’t say you were."

"But you assumed.”

"No. I assumed you were broken." –A pause– “And sometimes, the broken are the most sincere.”

That hit hard. Too hard.

I laughed, too sharp, and my hand covered my mouth before the sob could slip.

“I didn’t come here to get analyzed,” I whispered.

He leaned back, swirling his drink. "Then why are you here?"

“Because I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” I said softly.

He didn’t blink.

"Come with me,” he said.

I froze. "What?"

"One night. No names. No expectations. No lies."

"You’re serious?"

"Yes."

I should’ve laughed in his face and walked away.

But I was tired. So, so tired.

And maybe just for a night I wanted to believe I could feel whole again.

So I stood.

And so did he.

He reached out to me.

And I took his hand.

---

His place was unreal. Steel and glass. A skyline view that made me dizzy.

Glass everywhere. Polished metal. A view of the city so high up it made my head spin.

He didn’t say much. Just led me in, took off his jacket, poured two drinks like it was routine.

I stood by the window, heart pounding. Every part of me screamed that this was reckless.

He approached, handed me a glass, and studied me again.

“This is your last chance,” he said. “Say the word, and I’ll get you a cab.”

I met his eyes. Sharp features. Cold expression.

A man who could ruin me.

But in that moment, I didn’t care.

I took a sip and set the glass down.

“No lies?” I asked.

He nodded.

“I’m scared,” I admitted.

He didn’t flinch.

“So am I,” he said.

And then he kissed me.

Not soft. Not sweet.

Like I was oxygen and he was suffocating.

He undressed me like I was a mystery he had to solve. His hands were rough, careful.

He touched me like I was something rare. Broke me open with his hands. No promises. No pretending.

Just need.

And I gave in.