CHAPTER 7 - $100 BILL TEMPTATION

$100 bill temptation

I was still lying there, staring at nothing, my mind replaying everything like a cruel loop—the dark road, the man, the way his hands tightened around another man’s throat,

the sound that came out of him before his body went still. I kept thinking I was awake, just… thinking.

But my body gave up before my mind did.

The exhaustion won.

The long hours from the bar.

The humiliation.

The fear that had clawed through me afterward.

The stress I forced my brain to carry, pretending I was fine when I wasn’t.

It all pressed down at once.

And I sank.

Deep.

When I woke up, it felt like being dragged violently back into my body.

My eyes flew open.

My heart exploded in my chest.

Oh my God.

Mr. Mark.

I jerked upright so fast the room spun. My hands were shaking—no, trembling—as I grabbed my phone. The screen lit up, and my stomach dropped hard.

Just a few minutes left.

I was supposed to be on my way.

My breath came out uneven, shallow, like I’d been running. My fingers wouldn’t stop shaking. Fear from the night before still lived inside my bones, but desperation pushed louder.

I jumped off the bed and rushed to my bag.

Clothes. I needed clothes. Something good. Something that didn’t scream motel or broken or desperate.

That, at least, I had.

Designer dresses.

Expensive fabric.

Pieces of the life I’d walked out of when I left my grandfather’s house. I pulled one out—a dinner gown. Elegant. Soft. The kind of dress that made people look twice.

I slipped it on.

When I looked at myself in the mirror, I almost didn’t recognize the girl staring back.

My hair fell neatly over my shoulders.

My skin glowed under light makeup from the kit I’d packed without thinking. I kept it simple. Just enough to look effortless. Just enough to look wanted.

I looked… beautiful.

A dangerous thought crept in.

Maybe he’d give me more money.

The thought disgusted me—and still, it stayed.

I pressed my lips together, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. My heart was still pounding, but my feet were already moving.

Fear behind me.

Hope in front of me.

I picked up my phone to book a ride.

Out of habit, I tapped BOLT—then the price flashed on my screen, and….

I froze.

Ridiculously expensive.

For such a short distance?

I scoffed. Why are humans like this? Why do we make life unnecessarily hard for one another, charging outrageous amounts just because we can?

I canceled it immediately and chose a local cab instead. At least it was better. More reasonable. Less insulting.

Once inside, I texted Mr. Mark.

On my way.

The cab moved, and I tapped my fingers nervously against my lap, my thoughts racing faster than the road beneath us. With every passing minute, my chest felt tighter, my heartbeat louder.

A few minutes later, I found myself standing in front of the hotel.

It wasn’t bad. Not luxury, not the kind of place that glittered like the ones around my father’s mansion—but it wasn’t terrible either.

Decent.

I hesitated.

I was about to text him to come meet me downstairs when my phone buzzed. A message from him. He had already sent the room number.

“Room 202”

I didn’t like that.

I called him immediately.

“Calm down,” he said softly. “Vindel, you’re safe. You can come up and meet me.”

“No,” I replied quickly. “I prefer we talk downstairs.”

There was a pause. Then he said, “Okay. Give me a few minutes.”

I hung up and waited.

One minute passed. Then two. Then five.

My irritation rose sharply.

How does a man take this long? If it were a woman, I might have understood…makeup,

clothes,

final touches.

But a man? Why wasn’t he ready already? Why was he keeping me standing here like this?

I was already furious when I lifted my head…

And saw him walking down the stairs.

“Vindel,”

he exclaimed the moment he reached the bottom of the stairs.

His eyes swept over me, slow and deliberate.

“Wow. You look very good,” he said. “I almost didn’t recognize you. The Vindel I saw at the bar and the one standing in front of me right now… completely different.”

I forced a shy smile. I even practiced a fake blush.

“Oh. Thank you,”

I said lightly, though my stomach tightened under his gaze.

He nodded, clearly pleased with himself. “Alright then. Let’s go upstairs.”

“No.”

The word came out sharper than I intended.

He blinked, surprised.

“If I wanted to come upstairs,” I continued, my voice steady now, “I would have come without asking you to come down. I’m not comfortable going to your room. We can talk somewhere open.”

He chuckled softly. “Don’t worry. You’re safe. Trust me.”

The way he repeated it unsettled me.

“Trust me,” he said again. “You’re safe.”

For a second, I almost gave in. Almost.

Then the image of the man choking someone on that lonely road flashed through my mind, and my chest tightened.

“No,” I said firmly.

He studied my face, then sighed. “Alright. Come.

There’s a garden at the back.”

We walked together, past the lobby, through a side door that led to a small garden behind the hotel. It was quiet, too quiet.

Dim lights lined the path, casting long shadows.

We didn’t sit at the center.

He led us to a corner. A secluded one. Slightly away from the main garden. Still visible—but far enough to feel isolated.

We talked. Small things. Nothing important.

Then, without warning, he reached into his jacket.

My breath caught.

He pulled out a thick bundle of cash and placed it casually on the table between us.

My eyes widened before I could stop myself.

It was money—real money. Not one bill. Not two.

A bundle.

Hundred‑dollar bills. At least twenty of them, tightly bound together.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

He noticed my reaction immediately. The way my eyes popped. The way my breath hitched.

A slow smile curved his lips.

“If you follow me to my room,” he said calmly, “this is yours.”

My throat went dry.

My mind screamed. My body froze.

So this… this was why I was here.

I reached out for the money.

He slapped my hand lightly—but enough to jolt me fully awake. My heart was racing. My cheeks burned. My mouth felt dry, my thoughts scrambled.

O.M.G. ! I exclaimed

I had been staring at it… drooling like an idiot.

“Still waiting for your response,” he said, his eyes sharp, unwavering.

“I… I can’t come to your room,” I stammered, my voice cracking.

He leaned forward, calm but commanding.

“you’re not ready.........I know you’re broke. You need money. This… this will go a long way for you.”

Then he pulled out two more bundles, placing them carefully beside the first.

Three.

Three thick bundles of hundred-dollar bills.

I could barely breathe.

My knees felt weak. My hands trembled. I wanted to touch them, to grab them, to shove them into my bag and run—but my mind screamed. What was he doing? Who was he?

I swallowed hard. “What… what is your work?” I asked, my voice small, desperate. “How do you even have this much money?”

The change in his demeanor was instant. His eyes darkened. His jaw tightened.

“Are you going to take the money or not?” he snapped, his tone sharp enough to cut glass.

“Why are you asking about my job? Are you going to take it, or not?”

I froze.

The harshness of his voice made me shrink back. My mouth opened, but the words froze.

I had just… said it out loud. I had mentioned what I thought he did.

He looked at me with a mixture of disbelief and annoyance.

“You’re not taking it?”

Before I could answer, he started stacking the cash meticulously, one bundle on top of the other, like it was nothing.

“Wait—wait! I…” I tried to speak, my voice trembling. “I…”