43
~Bella's POV
The cold night air wrapped around me as I stepped out of the brothel, my hands shoved deep into my coat pockets, fingers brushing against the money I had stuffed inside. The streets were quiet, the usual chaos of the city replaced with an eerie stillness. My stomach growled, reminding me why I was out here in the first place.
Food.
Real food.
Not the half-eaten scraps I had gotten used to, not the stale bread and watery soup the brothel provided when they felt generous. I wanted something warm, something that filled me up, something that didn't taste like punishment.
I walked down the dimly lit street, the neon signs of late-night diners and fast-food joints flickering in the distance. I had spent so long stretching every coin, barely surviving, that the idea of having money, actual money, to spend on myself felt strange. It almost made me nervous, like someone was going to jump out of the shadows and rip it away from me.
