Chapter Seven: Breaking Point
Elena stared up at Alexander from the floor, his words echoing in her fever-hazed mind.
"Move into your penthouse?" she repeated slowly, trying to process through the fog. "I don't understand…"
"It's simple." He took a casual sip of whiskey. "I'm hosting a private party this weekend. Very exclusive. Very important clients. I need entertainment. You'll dance for them."
The words hit like ice water. "You want me to strip. For your friends."
"Business associates," he corrected coldly. "And yes. One night. You perform, keep them entertained, make them happy. After that, you get your two thousand dollars plus another five thousand as a bonus."
Seven thousand dollars. Enough for rent with money left over. Enough for food, medicine, maybe even a small cushion against the next disaster.
But stripping. For a room full of wealthy men who would look at her the same way Marcus had, like she was worthless. Like she was nothing but a body to be used.
