​Chapter 3: The Golden Blindfold

Aurelia's POV

The drive home to our small apartment was a blur of neon lights, but for the first time, they didn't feel like a warning. They felt like a celebration. By the time I walked through the door, the sun was threatening to peek over the desert horizon.

"Is that you, Rey?" my mother’s voice called out weakly from her bedroom.

​"It’s me, Mom," I said, pitching my voice to be bright and steady. "Just got back from the hotel."

My mother has no idea about my real job. To her, I was working the graveyard shift at a high-end hotel on the Strip, a job that paid incredibly well because "tourists are demanding at 3:00 AM."

She was focusing all her strength on recovery now, finally retired from the stage. She had no idea her daughter was wearing the lace she once wore, dancing under the same golden spotlights.

"You must be tired honey." She said as I pulled her in an embrace. I rested my head on her shoulder, and as I listened to her steady breathing, I felt a wave of peace.

These past months had been a gruesome battle against the cancer. I managed to take over everything she used to deal with first hand, including the loansharks.

It was infuriating when I discovered that the money Mom had sent them for years was only treated as a "late payment f*e."

They argued it was due to my father’s missing payments; apparently, he hadn't paid them for over a year before his suicide.

​I tried to negotiate, but they refused, even threatening to take Amelia as another form of payment.

In the end, I agreed to send a higher amount every month to finally chip away at the principal debt. It satisfied them, and finally, they stopped blowing up my mother’s phone.

"I'm tired but I'm alright Mom. I'm happy to do this for you." I forced a bright smile as I pulled away.

She smiled back, her eyes pooling with tears before she pressed a soft kiss on my forehead.

"You're an amazing daughter Aurelia."

"And you're an amazing mother Elena."

Her honey-brown eyes met mine, and it glistened with glee before we broke into small giggles.

I love her so much. She has worked tirelessly for us and now, it was my turn to do the same for her and Amelia.

"I'm going to bed mom, I've got a date with Amelia tomorrow." I said, kissing her good night.

I watched as she slipped back into her bed. Her blonde hair, so similar with mine, had thinned out drastically from the chemotherapy.

The image broke my heart, but I knew that at least she wasn't dying anymore, and that was all that mattered.

I cleaned myself up and start preparing for bed.

I've promised Amelia I'll take her out before I started college. I know once it started, I'll be busy from noon until midnight.

The next afternoon was a rare gift. I spent it with Amelia at a park far from the Strip. We ate ice cream and talked about her upcoming exams.

We talked a lot, laughed, and for the first time in years, the crushing weight of debt didn't feel like it was suffocating us.

My college orientation was next week. I'm going to be a student. I'm going to have a life, a new future for me.

Everything was finally falling into place. I just have to keep dancing, and the thought of Lucien's double payment fuel me with a new spirit.

Returning to Casanova that night, the usual dread was replaced by a strange, focused energy.

I chose a new outfit: a flower-embroidered lace bodice that clung onto my skin, and a micro-mini skirt made of layers of sheer, floaty chiffon.

I made sure the tube top cover up my chest properly from the inside, and then I secured the white masquerade mask behind my head.

Staring at my own reflection in the mirror, I felt different. In this mask, I wasn't Aurelia, I am Crystal.

I waltzed into the private booth, and the scent of expensive bourbon and cedar hit me instantly.

Lucien was already there. He sat perfectly still, draped in a charcoal suit that fit him like armor.

Up close, his handsomeness was almost overwhelming—a sharp, angular face with a jawline that could cut glass and eyes the color of a stormy sea.

He looked intimidating, radiating a raw, masculine power that made the air in the booth feel heavy. He looked like a king waiting for a subject.

Just like the night before I stepped onto the table in front of him. I wrapped my hands around the

cold steel of the pole, swaying to the music as I spun with one arm.

I can feel his eyes burning on me, his dark eyes following every fluid motion, every arch of my back.

Laying back against the pole, my hands wrapped around it above my hair, I slowly bring myself down, my legs slightly parted.

I saw his eyes drop to my inner thighs, and before he could catch a glimpse of my thong, I snapped my knees closed.

His jaw tightened, his lips lifted into a smirk before he took a slow sip of his bourbon.

With a flick of his finger, he gestured for me to move forward. Instinctively I slowly crawled on the table, working my way towards him.

His crooked smile widened into a full grin at my boldness, his dark eyes never left mine. Up close he looks even more terrifying, beautiful but deadly.

My pulse thrummed against my skin, a warning alarm ringing in my head, but I kept moving until I was straddling his lap.

I began to sway, my hips moving in a rhythmic, sensual loop. I leaned closer, my chest inching towards his, when suddenly, his hand shot out.

I flinched for a split second, but he didn't grab me.

He caught my wrist gently, then lifted my hand and pressed my palm flat against the center of his chest.

Through the fine silk of his shirt, I felt the steady, powerful thrum of his heart. It was fast—just like mine.

His dark, stormy eyes captured mine once again.​The unspoken permission was clear: You rejected my touch, but you can have mine.

I didn't pull away. This time, the dance changed. I let my fingers splay across the broad expanse of his chest, he was as solid as a board.

My pulse spiked, but it wasn't from terror—it was the thrill of being allowed to explore someone so powerful. I moved around him, my touch lingering on his shoulders and the hard line of his jaw.

I pinched his chin softly, bending down slowly and when he reached out for me I pulled away instead.

A low groan escaped his throat. I held onto his shoulders, my back arching as my head make a bold turn, my platinum blonde hair swayed across the air.

My body writhed sensually. He watched, unblinking as my hands roamed over my body, caressing my own curves. My hips swaying mere inches from his crotch.

I watched his hands closely. They remained gripped tightly on his sides, his knuckles white. It was clear I was testing the limits of his restraint from touching me.

His eyes followed my gaze, before it lifted back up to mine. A dark, knowing smirk lifted on his lips.

A flick from his fingers, and one out of his many guards that stood in front of the booth walked in with a black duffle bag.

The guard unzipped it, and out of it was a huge wad of cash. I watched him stack them next to my thighs before his eyes lifted back to mine.

His head tilted, and with one shot from his brows I know what he wanted.

My gaze trailed back to the stack of cash. It's a couple of extra grand alright, but I've never let anyone touches me.

The guard in Casanova always make sure I'm safe, and with Lucien as their boss nobody dares to cross him.

Except now the boss himself wanted to touch me.

I can't deny the attraction I've felt for this man, and I wonder how does it feel if he touched me.

I was silent for a while, and Lucien took it as a sign that it wasn't enough. He dig further from his back, stacking more of it on top of the piling mountain of cash.

I gasped, eyes staring at him once again as he waited.

Finally I nodded meekly.

"Now," he murmured, his thumb tracing the thin fabric where my skirt met my thigh, "We speak the same language."

His eyes locked into mine, dark and hungry. "Dance. Move. But this time..." His fingers gripped my hips, pulling me down against him so I could feel exactly what I've been teasing.

"Dance for me."

I gasped quietly as I felt his hard length of him pressing right beneath me. His other hand slid up, gripping the back of my neck, not hurting, but making it clear who was in control now.

I didn't know what I was doing, driven by fear I let myself flow along with the music. His hands stay rooted on my waist, and every sway on my hips created a friction against me and the thick bulge of his pants.

I started to feel very nervous, but at the same time there's a haze filling in my head, thick cloud of desire as his hands trailed against the embroidered laces on my skin.

His fingers sent heat wherever it left me, from the length of my throat down to the collarbone. He traced my skin down softly, as if he's savoring every moment of it.

To my surprise he avoided my chest, his fingers drifting to my side before trailing back under my breasts.

I leaned in close, the scent of his cologne—sandalwood and cold desert air—filling my lungs. I let my hair brushed against his cheek, and I can hear his breath hitched.

We were so close, and I could feel his heart racing against my fingers as I pressed it against his chest.

His head tilted to my side, his lips searching for mine, his hands trailing from the side of my hips down to my thighs.

"Time." I whispered, his lips stopped only inches from mine. The music faded, the thirty minutes were up.

I stepped back immediately, my skin tingling. I smoothed down my skirt, my breath hitching as the reality of the room came rushing back.

A predatory smirk lifted at the corner of his mouth as he gaze at me. I gave a respectful bow and practically fled the booth. I was too scared to stay even a second longer.