Astrid Wilder
I woke up in an empty room with the echo of last night clinging to my skin. A folded note and a crisp hundred-dollar bill lay on the bedside table. My heart sank.
Really? A hundred bucks? That's what I'm worth now?
Shame wrapped around me like a second skin. I pulled the sheet tighter against my body, trying to forget the feel of his hands, his voice, the way he looked at me like I was everything—only to disappear like I was nothing.
I've never felt so cheap.
But desperate times... they don't just call for desperate measures. They scream for them.
Life hasn't been kind. My name is Astrid Wilder. I'm twenty-five, and I've been hustling to survive ever since my dad abandoned us. He knocked up his secretary and walked out like we were nothing. At first, Mom and I were okay—we managed. But then the illness came. Stomach cancer. Stage four. Six months to live, the doctors said.
I dropped out of college, begged my father for help, and when he said no... I did what I had to do. Two jobs, endless bills, and now… this. A stranger's bed, a hundred-dollar bill, and a guilt I can't scrub off.
A knock at the door jerked me from my spiral.
I threw on my clothes quickly, smoothing my shirt as I opened it. Freya Winter stood there, arms crossed, lips curved into a smirk.
"Well, look who's finally up. Come on, let's get going—and yes, I need the full rundown of last night."
I couldn't help but chuckle, cheeks burning.
Freya's my best friend—has been since college. Unlike me, she's flawless without even trying. Radiant skin, killer curves, and the kind of confidence I fake on my best days. She's wild, unapologetic, and somehow always knows when I need her.
"We're going to see Mom?" she asked as we stepped out into the sunlight.
"Yeah," I mumbled, heart heavy.
Freya knows Mom well. Ever since things went downhill, I've been living with her. She took me—and Mom—in without hesitation. We split the bills. She cooks, listens, and gives me strength when I'm falling apart.
The drive to the hospital was quiet, the kind of silence that hugs pain rather than avoids it. We stopped to grab some apples—Mom's favorite—and twenty minutes later, we were in her hospital room.
She was sleeping peacefully.
We sat there for nearly an hour, just watching her breathe. I peeled an apple, placed a note by her bedside, and kissed her forehead gently.
I'll come back after my shift, Mom. Rest well.
My night shift started at 10 PM. I work at one of the elite clubs in town—serving drinks, dodging creeps, pretending like I'm okay.
When we got home, I headed straight for a hot bath. Steam curled around me as I sank into the water, but my thoughts betrayed me.
Him.
I didn't even know his name. But God—those eyes. That body. That voice like gravel dipped in honey. We locked eyes across the club and I felt… something. Not love. Not even lust.
Something deeper. Something dangerous.
When he touched me, my body responded like it had known him forever. I hadn't planned it. I hadn't planned anything. But I gave in—and it was earth-shattering.
The way he pinned me down, the deep groan of his voice, the way he filled me like he belonged there.
I shook the memory away and climbed out of the tub, toweling off the goosebumps.
Sleep came quickly after that.
When I woke again, the smell of garlic and spices hit me like a warm hug. Freya was cooking.
"I'm starving," I said, yawning as I joined her in the kitchen.
We ate in comfortable silence until she finally leaned in, eyes gleaming.
"So…"
I laughed. "I knew this was coming."
She raised a brow. "Don't play with me. Was it good?"
I looked away, biting back a smile. "Amazing. Better than anything I ever had with Charlie."
"Damn. That good?" she grinned. "So? Did you get his name? Number?"
I shook my head. "Nope. Just memories and a sore body."
She snorted. "Girl. I hope he shows up at the club tonight. You need that kind of energy in your life."
I smiled but said nothing. Deep down, I hoped too.
But that night… he didn't show.
I searched the room, scanned every VIP corner, but he was nowhere to be found. My heart dipped with disappointment, but I pushed it aside and focused on work.
Six Months Later
I stood outside the funeral hall, numb.
Mom was gone.
Just like the doctors said. Six months.
Six months of sleepless nights, whispered prayers, and stolen hope. And now... silence.
I couldn't stop crying. My throat burned from holding in sobs, and my hands trembled as I gripped the funeral program.
Freya stood beside me, her hand quietly holding mine.
I was alone now. Truly. Dad didn't even bother to show up. I hated him. I hated what he did to us. But most of all, I hated how empty I felt.
We were getting ready to leave when I saw him.
A tall figure, dressed in black, walking away from the crowd.
I froze.
That back… I knew it.
He turned briefly—and our eyes met.
My breath caught.
It was him.
The man from the club. The man I'd slept with. The man I'd dreamed about.
He looked at me, expression unreadable.
And then… he turned and walked away.
Like we'd never met.
Like I didn't matter.
I stood there, heart breaking all over again, wondering why something that meant so little to him meant so much to me.