STRIP!!

He looked down at my arm gripping Theodore’s. Red and bruised with a little cut. He lifted a brow before facing Theodore.

“Are the both of you together?” Ethan asked.

Wasn’t it fucking obvious, did he really have to make things awkward.

Theodore’s arms wrapped tight around my waist.

“Yes of course”

‘Great! Now let’s say our goodbyes—’

“She is…” 

‘Oh Fuck! What the hell is he going to call me? His slut? His plaything? His ‘Little Red’?’ 

I dropped my head as the memories of how we came to this rushed to me.

2 WEEKS AGO

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞THEODORE∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

"Theodore… harder. Fuck, don’t stop!"

Veronica’s voice cracked the air, her legs locked around my waist, her nails dragged down my back like claws.

"God, yes! Just like that!"

She praised and begged me, but I wasn’t listening.

I thrust harder and faster chasing a spark that refused to ignite.

"Theodore, don’t stop! I’m right there, baby—"

But it wasn’t working. Was I getting bored?

I didn’t feel the rush. No thrill. No high. Her moans were background noises, loud and useless.

I jerked back and pulled out.

Veronica gasped. "Wait—what?!"

She scrambled upright, panting. Her hands reached for me, sliding down my stomach.

I caught her wrist mid-air. She flinched.

"I’m done."

She blinked. "No, you’re not. Come on, just—" She leaned in, lips brushed my jaw.

 "Please. I’m so close."

I stepped away. 

"Theodore—"

"Don’t."

She flinched. Her gaze flickered across my face, searching, desperate. "Don’t do this. I need you. I—"

I stilled.

"I love you."

Silence.

The weight of those three words crushed the room.

She wasn't allowed to say things like that. That wasn’t part of the deal.

My eyes narrowed. "You breached the contract."

"What?"

"You heard me."

Her chest heaved. "I didn’t mean—"

"Out."

She recoiled. "No. No, you don’t mean that."

I turned, grabbed my shirt from the floor, yanked it on like she wasn’t standing there.

"You’re serious?" Her voice cracked. "Over three words?"

"Theodore!" she screamed.

I didn’t need to reply her.

She lunged, snatched the wine glass from the nightstand, and hurled it. It smashed into the wall right by my head. The wine streaking down like blood.

I didn’t flinch.

She stood there, trembling. Then she spun around and stormed out, the door slamming so hard it rattled the walls.

I lunged off the bed, snatching my phone from the nightstand. My jaw tensed as I stabbed the screen with my thumb, dialing.

The shattered glass on the floor? Ignored.

The sticky crimson smear on the rug? Forgotten.

Only one thing mattered now was my clarity. And she was supposed to deliver it.

I paced as the line rang. Once.

"Hello?" Her voice wavered.

"You're late."

A beat of silence. "Late?"

"Don’t play dumb. I am not going to wait." I continued.

"You're still available, aren't you?"

Another pause. I heard her swallow. This wasn’t how she acted last time. Too soft. Too... hesitant.

"At this hour?"

"Come. Now." 

I growled, grinding my palm against my temple. "Is one thousand dollars enough for you?"

She gasped. "S-Sir?"

God! She is slow.

I snapped. "Did I stutter?"

Silence. Then the sound of her breath—shaky, unsure. But shifting.

Money was leverage. And I knew exactly how to pull the ropes.

"...Send the address. I'll be there."

I smirked. "Good girl."

∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ALICIA∞ ∞ ∞ ∞ ∞

I stared at my phone, my hands were trembling.

$1,000.

It stayed on the screen like a dare.

I turned to the hospital bed. Mother barely moved, the rise and fall of her chest ghost-like. Machines beeped. Each one louder than the last.

Fifteen thousand for meds. Fifty for the next surgery.

My stomach clenched. 

Who would want to hire a cleaner at this time of the night? And $1,000?

It could be a creep trying to scam me.

Still I wasn’t in a position to be choosy. 

My thumbs stilled. 

But then I typed:

[I’ll be there.]

←←30 minutes later→→

I stepped into the penthouse. The door shut behind me with a thud.

Heat pressed into my skin. So did the smell of cologne, whiskey, sweat, and something metallic.

My eyes darted to the bar. Broken glass. Red stain smeared on the wall

What the hell happened here?

I reached for my cleaning apron, trying to focus.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

The voice cracked through the silence like a whip. Deep. Controlled. Dangerous.

I turned and froze.

Theodore Winston. Shirt undone. Sleeves rolled. He sat on the bed like a goddamn king expecting tribute.

But his eyes were cold, empty and calculating like he was staring at a object not a person.

 "I was just trying to—"

"Strip."

My heart stopped.

"What?"

"I didn’t call a maid. I called you."

"I—I thought this was for cleaning—"

He scoffed. "If you trying to act that role and make me work for it, you can just skip that part." He stood. "Now, strip."

My knees buckled as I took a step back from him.

"I’m not that kind of girl."

"You accepted the money. You walked through that door. You're already mine."

My voice cracked. "You are making—"

"One thousand for one night. That's the price and you agreed."

His presence wrapped around me like smoke.

"Take. It. Off."