Two months had passed, and for the first time in a long while, life felt light. No debts hanging over my head, no fights with my mother, and no fear of running into Black. I had disappeared from his world just as easily as I had entered it, and I intended to keep it that way.
It was just me and Grandma now, and that was enough.
I found a job as a server in a strip club, thanks to my neighbor, Mia. She is a dancer there and had vouched for me when I needed work. The pay was better than most places, and the tips were decent. It wasn't exactly glamorous, but I didn't mind. The music, the flashing lights, the scent of perfume and alcohol, it was a different world, but one I could handle.
Most nights, I kept my head down, took orders, and made sure not to spill drinks when the crowd got rowdy. The dancers were cool, and the bartenders always had my back when a customer got too handsy. It wasn't the kind of job I had imagined for myself, but it paid the bills, and most importantly, it gave me control over my life.
Grandma no longer had to go to the market. I handled everything now. It felt good to come home and see her resting, without the weight of stress pulling her down. The loan shark was paid off, and we owed nothing to anyone.
For once, life was simple. Peaceful.
And I wanted it to stay that way.
The night stretched on, the bass from the speakers vibrating through my body as I moved between tables, balancing trays of drinks and dodging wandering hands. The usual routine.
Then, I felt a hand wrap around my wrist. Firm, but not rough. I turned quickly, ready to snap at some drunk customer, but my breath hitched when I saw who it was.
Black's friend.
"Zhan," he said, his eyes scanning my face like he was checking if I was real.
"Hi," I replied, my gaze darting around. I half-expected Black to be nearby, watching.
"I called you several times. At some point, I got worried because Black wouldn't tell us anything," he said, his voice barely audible over the music.
I forced a laugh. "Oh, my phone broke, and I can't afford a new one right now."
He leaned in, the scent of expensive cologne mixing with the club's hazy air. "When do you get off work?"
"6 AM," I answered, loud enough for him to hear.
"I have a party tomorrow. I want you to be my plus one."
I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I can't. I'm working tomorrow."
He smirked. "I'll pay you $5,000. Call in sick."
Before I could react, he slipped a card into the waistband of my work pants, his fingers lingering for half a second before he stepped back, flashing me a knowing smile. Then, just like that, he was gone.
I reached into my waistband, pulled out the card, and stared at it. Five thousand dollars. That was more than I made in 2 years.
A very tempting offer.
I bit my lip, tucking the card into my pocket. Maybe someone could cover my shift.
Maybe, just this once, I could say yes.
By the time my shift ended, the sky was shifting from deep black to soft gray. I trudged home, exhausted but restless. Black's friend's offer lingered in my mind, teasing me.
Five thousand dollars.
That kind of money could cover rent for months. It could buy Grandma medicine, fix the leaking bathroom sink, get me a new phone and save the rest.
I pulled out the card from my pocket as I climbed the stairs to my apartment. The name printed on it was Dre, along with a number. No last name, no business, just Dre.
I slipped inside quietly, not wanting to wake Grandma. The small room was dark except for the dim glow of the streetlights outside. She was curled up on the bed, her breathing soft and steady.
I changed out of my work clothes and sat on the floor, staring at the card.
Could I really call in sick?
Mia would cover for me if I asked. She owed me from last week. But something about this felt off. It wasn't just a party—nothing in Black's world was ever just what it seemed.
I grabbed my bag and rummaged through it until my fingers found what I was looking for—my broken phone.
The screen was cracked, the edges chipped, but it still turned on when I plugged it into the charger.
I stared at it, watching the battery symbol flicker to life. I sighed, pushing it aside.
The floor felt cool against my skin as I spread out my duvet, arranging it neatly before lying down.
The bed was for Grandma. She needed it more than I did.
I curled into myself, staring at the ceiling before I drifted to sleep.
The smell of food wrapped around me like a warm embrace as I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. My body still felt heavy from last night, but the moment I looked toward the window and saw Grandma sitting there, peacefully knitting, a sense of calm washed over me.
"Come and eat," she said without turning around.
I paused, glancing at her with a small smile. How does she always know when I'm awake?
"Good afternoon, Grandma," I greeted as I stretched and walked to the mini dining table. The plate in front of me was filled with steaming rice, sautéed veggies, and beef sauce, still warm as if she had timed it perfectly.
I sat down and dug in without hesitation. The first bite melted on my tongue, and before I knew it, I was eating like I hadn't seen food in days.
Grandma chuckled softly, still knitting. "Slow down before you choke."
I grinned, my mouth still full. "This is really good. Thank you, Grandma."
She gave a small nod of approval before continuing. "Mia just left a while ago," she said, her voice casual. "She dropped some money for food and said we should buy a bigger fridge."
I looked up, surprised. "A fridge?"
Grandma hummed. "The one we have is too small for three people. Mia says it can't hold enough food, and I agree."
I leaned back slightly, letting the information sink in. As I ate, my thoughts drifted to Mia.
She had become a part of our lives so naturally, I barely remembered what it was like before she was around. At first, it was just small things—her knocking on the door to borrow something, then lingering to talk.
It started with Grandma noticing how she mostly ate junk—ramen, chips, convenience store sandwiches. So, without a word, she began setting aside extra food for her. Mia resisted at first, claiming she was fine. But hunger doesn't listen to pride.
Eventually, she gave in and somehow, along the way, we started splitting groceries, bills, and now—buying a fridge together. It was strange, how quickly we had become like a small, makeshift family.
I took another bite, chewing slowly. "Okay. I'll drop my half of the money."
Grandma smiled, pleased.
"Did Mia say when she'd be back?" I asked, wiping my mouth.
Grandma didn't look up from her knitting. "She said she had errands. But she'll be back for dinner."
I nodded, pushing my plate aside, my stomach full and my mind slightly clearer.
I sighed and grabbed my phone, the cracked screen barely responding as I typed out a message to Mia.
"Can someone take my shift tonight? Something came up."
A few minutes later, she replied. "Ugh, you owe me. But yeah."
I exhaled. Decision made.
I picked up the card again and, before I could overthink it, I dialed the number.
It rang twice before he picked up.
"You changed your mind," Dre's smooth voice came through.
I hesitated, then said, "Yeah."
He chuckled. "Good choice. I'll send a car for you. Wear something nice."
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone. Something nice? I barely owned anything other than work clothes.
I glanced at Grandma, still knitting. She didn't need to know about this.
Standing up, I went to the small shelf where I kept my best outfit—a simple black trouser and shirt that hugged my body just enough. I pulled it out and laid it on the bed.
Whatever this night had in store, I was already in too deep to back out.
By the time I was ready, the city was alive again, neon lights flashing, car horns echoing in the distance. I slipped into the black trouser and shirt smoothing it down as I caught my reflection in the small mirror by the door. It wasn't flashy, but it would do. I pulled my hair into a low bun and added a touch of lip gloss. Simple.
A sharp honk outside made me jump.
I peeked out the window. A sleek black car was parked at the curb, engine humming softly. Dre didn't waste time.
I grabbed my broken phone, glanced once more at Grandma, she had slept for the night, and I slipped out the door, moving quietly down the stairs.
The driver, a man in a crisp suit, stepped out and opened the back door for me. He didn't say a word.
I slid in, the scent of leather and expensive cologne wrapping around me. The city lights blurred past as we sped through the streets, heading to a part of town I rarely visited, where the clubs had no signs, and the parties never made it to social media.
When the car pulled up in front of a towering building, I hesitated. The entrance was lined with expensive cars, and the people walking in dripped in wealth—designer dresses, diamonds flashing under the streetlights.
I exhaled and stepped out.
Dre was waiting just inside, leaning against the marble wall, dressed in a deep blue suit that probably cost more than my rent for 10 years.
"You clean up nice," he smirked, eyes scanning me from head to toe.
I crossed my arms. "You didn't say it was this kind of party."
"You didn't ask." He chuckled, placing a hand on the small of my back, guiding me inside. "Relax, Zhan. Tonight's just about having fun."
But I knew better. Nothing in this world came without a price.
The moment we stepped inside, I felt it—the air was different. Heavy. Expensive.
The room was bathed in golden light, chandeliers hanging like dripping jewels. Laughter and clinking glasses filled the space, a steady hum of power and wealth. Women in silk dresses floated past, men in tailored suits watching them with lazy interest.
Dre led me through the crowd, his hand light on my back but firm enough to remind me I was here because of him.
"Drink?" he asked, plucking two champagne flutes from a passing tray and handing me one.
I took a sip, my eyes scanning the room. Then I saw him.
For a second, I forgot how to breathe.
It was him—the man from that first party, the one I followed Black to months ago.
He looked exactly the same. Godly. Untouched by time.
Dressed in a sharp black suit, he stood near the far end of the room, talking to someone, but his presence swallowed everything else. The way he held himself, the way people unconsciously leaned in when he spoke—it was like he was above all of this. As if the party existed around him, but he wasn't truly part of it.
A strange pull tightened in my chest.
I never forgot his half face after that first night. Something about him had stayed with me, haunting the back of my mind. And now, here he was again, like a ghost stepping back into my life.
Dre must've noticed me staring because he chuckled. "Ah. I see you've spotted him."
I forced myself to blink. "Who is he?"
Dre smirked. "Let's just say... he's someone you don't approach unless invited."
As if on cue, the man turned his head slightly. His gaze flicked across the room—and landed on me.
A slow, deliberate look.
My stomach flipped.
Then, just as effortlessly, he turned away, as if I was nothing more than a passing thought.
I exhaled, realizing I'd been holding my breath.
Dre watched me, amusement playing at the edges of his lips. "Careful, Zhan," he murmured. "That one? He doesn't just look godly. He plays by rules only he understands."
I tore my gaze away, gripping my glass tighter.
I wasn't here for him. I was here for five thousand dollars.
But somehow, I already knew—I wouldn't forget this moment anytime soon.
I shifted on my feet, suddenly hyperaware of how I looked. My black trouser and shirt, once my best outfit, now felt cheap, like it didn't belong in this room. The women around me sparkled—real diamonds, designer labels, silk that draped like water. And me? I was just a boy from a rooftop apartment, wearing second hand clothes people had owned for years, standing in a world that didn't belong to me.
The weight of it pressed against my skin, creeping into my bones.
I wrapped my fingers around my champagne flute, taking a small sip to steady myself. But it didn't help. The bubbles popped against my lips, a reminder that even the drink in my hand was too expensive for me to afford on my own.
Dre was saying something, but I wasn't listening. My eyes flicked back toward the man across the room.
He hadn't looked at me again.
But that single glance earlier had unraveled something in me.
It wasn't just the way he looked, though that alone was enough to make anyone pause. It was something deeper. The way he stood, the effortless authority in his posture. He didn't need to demand attention. He simply was. And the rest of us existed in the space he allowed.
I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to turn away.
What was I doing?
This wasn't my world.
I was a server in a strip club, wearing a secondhand clothes, trying to blend into a room filled with people who would never know what it meant to struggle for rent money. And yet, here I was, pretending I wasn't out of place.
Dre touched my arm lightly. "You good?"
I forced a smile. "Yeah. Just... taking it all in."
He laughed, leaning in slightly. "Relax, Zhan. No one here cares where you came from. You're here now, and that's all that matters."
Easy for him to say.
I wanted to believe him, but the weight of everything pressed down on me—the borrowed confidence, the aching reminder that I was playing dress-up in a world that could swallow me whole.
Still, five thousand dollars was five thousand dollars.
So, I lifted my chin, straightened my shoulders, and pretended my outfit didn't feel too cheap, the room didn't feel too big, and my heart wasn't beating too fast.
For tonight, I would play my part.
The night stretched on, the air thick with laughter, expensive perfume, and the slow haze of alcohol. People moved around me like ghosts in a dream, their voices blending into the hum of music. I stayed close to Dre, but I never really felt present.
Because every so often, he looked at me.
At first, it was just a flicker of attention, like before. A glance. A passing curiosity.
But as the hours bled into each other, something changed.
I felt it before I saw it—the weight of his gaze settling on me again.
This time, he didn't look away so quickly.
I turned my head, and there he was, across the room, watching me. The golden glow of the chandeliers cast soft shadows over his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw, the unreadable expression in his dark eyes.
The party carried on around him, but he wasn't distracted by it. His focus was on me.
A slow, steady look.
Not casual. Not fleeting.
I swallowed, my fingers tightening around my champagne flute. My heart pounded, my skin buzzing like static electricity had passed over me.
Was I imagining it?
No.
Because even as a drunken woman stumbled into him, laughing against his shoulder, he barely acknowledged her. His gaze didn't waver.
I broke the stare first, turning sharply toward Dre, who was in the middle of a conversation with someone I didn't know.
I felt unsteady, though I had only had two glasses of champagne. Most people here were already drunk, voices louder, movements lazier. But I stayed clear-headed. I couldn't afford to get lost in this world, even for a night.
And yet, he made me feel dizzy without a single drop of alcohol.
I exhaled, trying to steady myself.
Who was he?
And why did I feel like, somehow, he already knew me?
I tried to shake off the feeling.
Tried to tell myself it didn't mean anything.
But as the night deepened, and the party thinned into something looser, hazier, my eyes found him again—only this time, he wasn't alone.
Yu Bin stood beside him.
My stomach twisted.
Every nerve in my body tensed as I took in the sight of him. Yu Bin. Everyone around him was bad news, and if he was standing next to him, then that could only mean one thing.
I shouldn't be here.
A strange, heavy disappointment settled in my chest, and I couldn't understand why. Why did it hurt? Why did it feel like something had cracked inside me over a man I didn't even know?
I tried to look away, tried to pretend I didn't care, but then—he pointed at me.
The movement was subtle, but my body recognized it before my mind did. His long fingers gestured in my direction, and Yu Bin's head turned sharply.
His gaze locked onto me.
I went cold.
Something about the way his eyes pinned me in place made my stomach lurch. It wasn't lust. It wasn't drunken amusement. It was sharper. Darker. Like a decision was being made, and I wasn't part of the conversation.
I gripped my champagne flute so hard I thought it might shatter.
And then, before I could react—they started walking toward me.
Panic surged up my throat.
I didn't know why I was scared, but I was.
I took a half-step back, bumping into Dre, who turned slightly.
"What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low, casual.
I didn't answer.
Because they were getting closer.
And I had the terrible, sinking feeling that after tonight, nothing in my life would ever be the same.