Rose's POV
I've worn the same three dresses for five years. And now I'm standing in a private dressing room wrapped in silk—real silk—staring at the mirror like I just met myself for the first time.
My cheeks glowed. My lips shimmered. My lashes were curled to perfection. I didn't recognize the girl looking back at me… but I liked her. No, I loved her. She was stunning.
"Poverty is a bitch," I muttered under my breath, touching my face with disbelief.
All it took was a little makeup, the right lighting, and a dress I could never afford in ten lifetimes—and I had become someone else. Someone beautiful. Someone worthy.
"Quick, hurry up, they're here!" Moga, the red-haired lady, snapped, pulling me out of my trance. Her voice was sharp like a blade but oddly charming. Five girls immediately sprang up, adjusting their cleavage, fluffing their curls, and checking their reflections for what felt like the fiftieth time. The rest of us just watched, hoping our turn would come one day.
Or so I thought.
"Hey, new girl."
I turned toward a tall goddess in blonde hair and perfect curves. Her confidence oozed with every step she took.
"I'm Daniella. Just wanted to say… you look sexy as hell," she said with a wide grin, stretching her hand out.
I blinked, stunned. "I'm Rose," I replied, still trying to make sense of what I was getting into.
Before I could ask anything else, a soft bell rang somewhere in the room. Daniella grabbed my hand and tugged.
"Come on. You're with me tonight."
Wait, tonight? I thought this was just waitress duty? What exactly was going on?
She didn't give me time to think. I followed her—her hand warm and firm around mine—down a narrow hallway. The walls were dark, the lights dim. And then we reached a door guarded by four massive bouncers in black suits, their muscles so stiff they looked like statues.
Daniella flashed them a sleek black card.
They opened the door without a word.
And what I saw inside will haunt me for the rest of my life.
The air was thick with the heavy scent of cigars, alcohol, cologne, and something else I couldn't quite place—lust, maybe. The lighting was low, almost seductive. On the couches sat six men—each one dressed like power and money dripped off their skin. Bottles of the finest liquor lay on the table, and cash—real notes—was scattered across the room like trash.
I nearly choked.
"What in the name of God is this place?" I whispered to myself, frozen.
Daniella squeezed my hand gently. "Relax," she mouthed.
I couldn't.
Because that's when the girls started moving—like they had roles already assigned. Each one picked a man and went to work. I mean, really went to work.
Touching. Kissing. Lap dancing.
One was already giving head.
I felt my legs wobble.
My heart dropped to my stomach.
This wasn't what I signed up for.
I stood there, trembling, unsure if I was even breathing.
Then—
"Don't keep me waiting. I hate it," came a cold, deep voice from across the room.
I turned.
And the air around me shattered.
Sitting there, legs crossed, a glass of bourbon in his hand, eyes sharp and unmoved by the chaos around him, was the last man I expected to see again.
Luca Moretti.
I froze, my breath caught in my throat. His face—chiseled and unreadable—was lit just enough for me to recognize every line, every scar, every memory he carried with him.
The same man who had nearly killed me.
The same man who had paid for my hospital bills.
And now, he was sitting there… waiting for me.
No. No. Hell no.
I wasn't doing this.
I began to back away, slowly, trembling, trying to find the door.
My hand brushed the wall—and accidentally pressed a switch.
Suddenly—
Bright light.
The entire room flooded with brightness. Every sinful act was now on display. The girls jumped up in panic, pulling their dresses up, trying to cover themselves. The men shielded their eyes and swore loudly.
"Shit! What the fuck is going on?!" one of the men shouted.
I stood there, a deer caught in headlights.
That's when I turned back toward Luca… and saw his face clearly.
He didn't yell.
He didn't curse.
He simply picked up a phone on the side table, dialed a number, and said coldly:
"I'm embarrassed. You brought me a low-class whore. You're fired."
He dropped the phone, his eyes slicing through me like a razor.
A low-class whore?
The words stabbed me. Not because they were true, but because they came from him.
From the man who had stared into my soul the night of the accident. Who had seen me stripped bare in a hospital bed and still didn't look away.
And now—he was looking at me like I was dirt under his feet.
How did I get here?
"Rose… you've gotten us all into trouble," Daniella whispered, her eyes wide with fear.
Around me, the girls whispered among themselves, ignoring the tension.
"Is that Luca Moretti?"
"Oh my God, he's so hot!"
"This is my first time seeing him in person."
"I'd kill to be with a man like that…"
I didn't wait to hear more.
I ran.
My heels echoed in the hallway, my chest tight with shame, fear, and something else—heartbreak. I didn't even know why it hurt this much.
Maybe because for one moment, I thought meeting him the first time meant something.
But now, I knew better.
He didn't just see me as nothing.
He called me a wh*re.