The slammed door rattled the tiny apartment's thin walls, but Nora barely flinched. She just stared at it, arms crossed, heart still hammering from the chaos at the club.
She heard Dina's heels clacking down the short hallway, then the muffled thump of her bedroom door slamming too. Silence settled over the living room like an unwanted blanket.
Nora sighed, slipping off her earrings and tossing them on the coffee table. She hated fighting with Dina — but tonight, her best friend had pushed it too far.
She kicked off her shoes, padded over to Dina's door, and knocked softly. No answer.
"Dina," she called. "Open up."
Silence.
She leaned her forehead against the wood. "What were you thinking back there? Slapping a man like that? Do you know who he is?"
Still nothing.
With a frustrated groan, Nora stomped back to the tiny kitchenette and poured herself a glass of water. She sipped it slowly, replaying the scene at the club: the heat in Pascal's eyes, Dina's frozen smile, the kiss that came out of nowhere — and that slap. God, that slap. Nora's stomach twisted remembering Pascal's face afterward.
No woman rejects the boss. She'd heard that phrase whispered around the city before. Pascal Huxley wasn't just any rich playboy. He owned half the hotels, bars, and clubs they spent their weekends dreaming about. He was untouchable — and humiliating him in public was the kind of reckless mistake that never ended quietly.
She glanced down the hallway again. If Dina thought Pascal would just forget it, she was out of her mind.
In a different part of town, Pascal Huxley sat alone in his penthouse suite, glass of scotch dangling from his fingertips as he replayed the slap in slow motion. He could still feel the sting of Dina's palm — and the taste of her lips.
He let out a soft, humorless laugh. The city lights glowed behind him through floor-to-ceiling windows. Below, the world buzzed and crawled, but up here, Pascal was king.
And yet, tonight — a girl nobody knew had made him look like a fool. A soft, trembling girl with fire in her eyes. He could still feel how her mouth had yielded under his. That kiss had ignited something dangerous. It wasn't just about the slap anymore. It was about power. It was about reminding her — reminding everyone — that you don't say no to Pascal Huxley.
He tossed back the rest of his drink and let the ice clink against his teeth. He smiled — slow, sharp.
"You'll come to me begging," he murmured to the empty room. "One way or another."
Back in the apartment, Nora tapped on Dina's door again the next morning. No answer. She was about to give up when the door cracked open and Dina's tired eyes peeked through.
"You didn't sleep," Nora said flatly.
Dina didn't deny it. She turned away, leaving the door ajar. Nora followed her inside, picking her way around piles of clothes and scattered makeup brushes.
"Dina, talk to me. What were you thinking last night? What if he'd hit you back? Or his bodyguards? You could've ended up in the hospital."
Dina flopped onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. Her voice came out muffled. "It's your fault."
Nora blinked. "Excuse me? How exactly is it my fault you decided to slap the most dangerous man in the city?"
"You dragged me there," Dina snapped, sitting up suddenly. Her eyes were puffy, her eyeliner smudged. "I didn't even want to go out last night."
"Oh, so I dragged you to the club and forced you to kiss him?" Nora crossed her arms. "Because from where I was standing, it looked like you were enjoying it."
Dina's mouth opened and closed like a fish. "I — I didn't enjoy it."
Nora raised an eyebrow. "Then why'd you kiss him back?"
Silence. Dina grabbed a brush and started attacking her hair like it had personally offended her.
"Look, I'm going out," she said stiffly. "I have an interview."
"For what?"
"A receptionist job. Just — don't start. I'll be fine."
"Dina—"
But Dina was already gone, grabbing her purse and slamming the door behind her.
Pascal stood on the balcony of his high-rise office, ignoring the phone that buzzed endlessly on his desk behind him. Deals, meetings, mergers — none of it mattered right now.
He closed his eyes, breathing in the morning air. He could still taste her on his lips.
When his assistant knocked, Pascal didn't turn around. "What?"
"Sir, the men are asking what you want done about the girl. Should we—"
"No," Pascal said sharply. He opened his eyes, watching the tiny people scurry on the street far below. "Let her think she's safe. Let her think I've forgotten."
A wicked smile curled at the edge of his mouth. "I'll remind her when it matters most."
Dina's interview was a disaster from the moment she walked into the tiny office above a run-down mall. The man behind the desk smelled like stale cologne and cheap liquor. He barely glanced at her résumé before his eyes dropped to her legs.
"So, Dina," he said, leaning back in his chair, his fingers drumming on the desk. "Tell me, how badly do you want this job?"
She forced a polite smile. "I'm willing to work hard, sir. I—"
His grin widened. "I like hard workers. Maybe we can… discuss the details in private?"
Dina's stomach turned. "Excuse me?"
He stood, circling the desk until he was too close. She could smell the sweat on his collar. He reached out, grazing her arm.
"I said, maybe we can—"
She shoved him back so hard he crashed into his squeaky office chair. "Don't you dare touch me."
She was out the door before he could even stand up, her heart pounding so hard it drowned out the rest of the world. She didn't stop until she was outside, gulping in air that felt too thick to breathe.
When she finally got home that evening, she found Nora sprawled on the couch, phone pressed to her ear.
Nora glanced up, covering the mouthpiece. "Hey. How'd it go?"
Dina didn't answer. She dropped her purse, kicked off her shoes, and sank to the floor next to the couch. She pressed her face into her knees.
Nora hung up immediately. "Dina? What happened?"
"It was useless," Dina mumbled. Her voice cracked. "He tried to — he—" She broke off, fighting tears. "I'm so tired, Nora. Every interview, it's the same. Men think they can—" She let out a bitter laugh. "Maybe I should've just let Pascal do whatever he wanted at the club. Maybe then I'd have some money."
"Don't say that," Nora said sharply, sliding off the couch to sit beside her. She pulled Dina into a fierce hug. "Don't ever say that."
Dina sniffed. "I hate this city."
"I know," Nora murmured, stroking her hair. "But you're not giving up, okay? You're stronger than this."
Dina let out a wet laugh. "Am I? Because I feel like I'm drowning."
Nora pulled back, brushing a tear from her friend's cheek. "Then let me throw you a lifeline."
Dina frowned. "What?"
Nora hesitated. She hadn't wanted to mention it — not after last night, not after everything — but seeing Dina like this made her decision for her.
"I know someone," she said slowly. "He runs these private poker games for VIPs. They always need pretty girls to serve drinks, smile at rich idiots, keep them happy. The pay's good — tips are better. One night, you could make more than you'd make all month waiting tables."
Dina's nose wrinkled. "I'm not working in a strip club, Nora."
"It's not a strip club," Nora insisted. "You're just serving drinks. Talking. Smiling. That's it. And if anyone touches you, you tell the boss and they're out."
Dina bit her lip. "I don't know…"
"You said you'd do anything," Nora pressed. "This is good money, Dina. One night. If you hate it, you never do it again."
Dina stared at the ceiling, chewing her thumbnail. She thought of the rent due in three days. The unpaid phone bill. Her mother's medicine. Her eyes drifted to the tiny crack in the ceiling — the same crack she'd stared at every night for the past year, wondering if this was it. If this was all her life would ever be.
"Okay," she whispered. "I'll do it."
"Yeah?" Nora's relief was palpable.
"But if I hate it—"
"Then you never do it again," Nora promised. She grabbed her phone. "I'll call Max now. He'll be glad to have you. He loves pretty new faces."
Dina winced. "Don't say it like that."
Nora laughed. "Relax. You'll be fine. Wear something cute. They love it when the girls look classy but a little… fun."
Dina lay awake that night, staring at the same crack in the ceiling, her heart doing a nervous dance in her chest.
She thought about Pascal — the heat of his mouth, the way he'd looked at her like she was a challenge he couldn't wait to conquer.
She thought about the job tomorrow. The men who'd leer at her, maybe whisper filthy promises in her ear. She shivered, pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
She wondered if Pascal would be there. The thought made her stomach twist in a way she hated — half fear, half something she refused to name.
Far across the city, Pascal poured himself another drink, ignoring the string of messages pinging his phone. Deals. Contracts. Women who'd happily crawl into his bed if he so much as crooned their name.
But he didn't want them tonight.
He wanted the girl who'd slapped him. He wanted the fire in her eyes. He wanted to see her on her knees, begging for the favor she thought she'd never need.
He swirled the ice in his glass, his smile slow and lethal.
"Run all you want, little girl," he murmured into the dark. "You'll come to me soon enough."