Chapter Three:

But then

He stopped.

He just stopped.

He rolled away from me, onto his back, lying flat at the edge of the bed.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

I stayed still, stunned. My heart thudded in my chest as my thoughts spun with panic.

Why did he stop?

Did I do something wrong?

Did he see through me?

Did he sense the hesitation I tried to hide, the shame I couldn't scrub off no matter how many times I played pretend?

Maybe he could feel that I wasn't used to being touched as I mattered.

The minutes ticked by, thick and heavy. An hour passed, maybe more. I kept my eyes on the ceiling, afraid to move, afraid to breathe too loudly. He didn’t say a word.

Just when I started to believe he’d fallen asleep, his arm reached out and wrapped around my waist. He pulled me into him, his chest warm against my back.

“Just sleep,” he whispered, his voice like gravel in the dark. “I don’t think I want to have sex with you.”

My heart cracked.

The words weren’t cruel, but they landed like a blade.

I sank.

Was it rejection?

Did I repulse him?

Or did he pity me?

Did he look at me and see the girl who was just surviving, who was trying too hard to seem okay?

Maybe I’d made him uncomfortable. Maybe I was stiff or awkward or maybe he saw through me in a way no one else had.

I didn’t reply.

I couldn’t.

I just lay my head on his bare chest. His skin was warm. His heartbeat was steady.

And for the first time in years, I let myself stop pretending. I let myself feel safe.

No words. Just stillness.

Wrapped in the arms of a stranger who didn’t want to use me.

And in that rare silence, somewhere between heartbreak and something I didn’t have a name for, I finally drifted off to sleep.

The sound of the running water stirred me, from the bathroom, but my eyes remained shut. Moments later, I heard the door creak open. He stepped out, with a white towel slung low around his waist as he reached for his suit from the bedside and began to get dressed.

I finally sat up in bed, fixing my face into that blank expression unreadable. The one I used when I was sixteen and first learned what it meant to survive.

I didn’t say a word as I rose and made my way to the bathroom. When she returned a few minutes later, she began pulling on her clothes in silence.

I stood, walked past him, and entered the bathroom. I didn’t even shut the door all the way. I just splashed cold water on my face, raised my mouth quickly, and avoided the mirror.

The girl staring back at me in there I hated her.

When I returned to the room, he was buttoning his shirt, tie slung around his neck. He didn’t say anything. I didn’t either.

I rummaged through my bag, searching for the nightgown I wore the night before. I found it and folded it neatly, but frowned when I realized something was missing.

Where are my panties?

I crouched beside the bed, checking beneath the pillows, under the mattress, even sweeping my hand under the bed frame. Nothing.

Then his voice cut through the silence.

“Are you looking for this?”

My heart stuttered.

I turned sharply, and there he was sitting casually on the edge of the bed, dangling my panties between his two fingers like it was some kind of trophy.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

My face burned. God. I rushed over and snatched it from him, too stunned to even speak.

He chuckled.

And for the first time, I noticed the curve of a smile on his lips.

He hadn’t smiled yesterday.

Is he mocking me now?

“You don’t have to feel embarrassed, sweetie,” he said, voice annoyingly smooth. “Don’t forget I was the one who took it off.”

That was it.

I snapped inside. Like something cold cracked in half.

Embarrassed? Sweetie? He thought this was funny?

If there was one thing I couldn’t stand more than being broke, it's being mocked and that was exactly what he was doing.

I shoved my feet into my heels, grabbed my bag, and moved toward the door. He had already paid Madam Rose far more than her usual rate. And yet he hadn't even had sex with me.

Not that I ever liked the sex. Sometimes, I cried through it.

I was almost at the door when his voice came again.

“Wait.”

I stopped but didn’t turn. Not right away.

I didn’t want to hear another smug comment.

When I turned, he was walking toward me, one hand extended holding what looked like a business card.

I hesitated, staring at him warily. “What’s that?”

“Take it,” he said softly.

I stepped closer, but didn’t take it.

“What, you want me to be your personal sex worker?” I snapped, pain tightening my throat. “Even though you didn’t have sex with me last night just because you weren’t in the mood?”

I hated that I’d said that. Hated that I sounded hurt. But I was. I didn’t even know why. It wasn’t like I had any right to feel disappointed.

I shook my head quickly, like I could rattle the shame out of me.

“Don’t think I’m doing this because I want to… or because I enjoy it,” I added, my voice trembling. “I don’t have a choice.”

My eyes burned, and before I could stop it, the tears came. I just hate how I cried easily.

“Hey,” he said gently, “you should listen to what I have to say before jumping to conclusions.”

His voice was calm.

“I don’t want anything from you. You have paid more than you should have, but I”

My breath caught when he interrupted.

“I want you to be a Mom to my daughter”

My breath hitched.

“What?” I whispered.

I blinked once. Twice. My heart slowed, then picked up again in rapid thumps.

I swallowed hard, the weight of his words settling deep inside me.

Yes, you heard me right.

“There’s an upcoming kindergarten family event at my daughter’s school,” he said, slipping his hands into his pockets like he was just asking for the time. “And she needs someone to play the role of her mom. Just for that day.”

I froze.

A mom?

His daughter’s mom?

He had a daughter?

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I blinked, trying to make sense of it, but my brain felt sluggish, like it couldn’t compute what he just said.