"Do you have a family member? A mother? A father? A sister?"
Melody typed into her phone: "No. I have a guardian, Mr. Matthew. He runs a restaurant in Maylene City."
The man nodded as he read the words. "That is also good. Are you in school? How old are you?"
"I'm nineteen. A school dropout."
After she typed it and showed him the screen, she realized she shouldn't have mentioned she was a dropout. She expected the man to feel burdened by it, but instead, a faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"You are to start work the first day of next month—"
She quickly picked up her phone and began typing before he could finish his statement. She showed him the screen, anxiety clawing at her throat.
"My friend told me about a one-week job of serving special guests. Is the vacancy still open?"
After reading the message, the man slowly raised his gaze to her and assessed her properly. Then suddenly, his hand was around her neck, gripping tightly with intent.
Melody struggled, thrashing and clawing at his arm, but his grip was like iron. Her breath slipped away gradually.
"Who sent you?" he barked, tightening his hold.
She shook her head frantically, eyes watering, her head light.
His rigid face softened slightly as he released her. The moment his grip loosened, Melody flew out of the chair, gasping desperately for air. She grabbed her phone and typed furiously, the keypad clacking loudly in the tense room.
"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT?!"
"Sit," he commanded, leaning back into his seat.
Melody sat again, her legs trembling beneath her.
"I'll believe you are mute for now," he said coldly. "But if I so much as learn that you are deceiving me, consider yourself dead meat."
The threat slipped out of him so easily that she knew instantly he wasn't bluffing.
She began another aggressive round of typing, but his voice cut through the air again.
"One hundred thousand dollars."
She froze and lifted her gaze slowly.
"One hundred thousand dollars to serve my guests for the week. But whatever you see within these walls stays with you—and dies with you."
One hundred thousand dollars? Didn't Nicola say it was sixty?
"You are to resume work tomorrow evening at six and close by midnight," he added.
Melody canceled her earlier message and typed another one, this time calmer.
She showed him the screen: "Am I to receive the payment by the end of the week? And am I also free to leave after one week?"
He studied her once more. "Yes, you are."
Melody thought for a moment. That was far too much of a mouth-watering pay for just one week's job.
"Whatever you see within these walls stays with you and dies with you."
The stern warning from Mr. Van clung to her mind as she hopped into the taxi that drove her to the casino the following day. Her fingers trembled while the guards from the previous day let her in, her lips moving in silent prayers of forgiveness, even reciting Psalm 51.
It felt wrong being in the midst of men drowning in sin, and she wished she didn't have to earn money this way. But she had no other choice. Every employer from the interviews she had attended offered no more than ten thousand dollars. She was never going to see such a mouth-watering pay again, even if she completed her education and graduated.
The casino was packed that evening. Ambitious men and women sat around poker tables, clad in elegant attire, placing bets and losing them in the same breath.
From the corner of her eye, she saw a man grab another and hurl a violent punch after losing. Men in black suits rushed in, seizing him and dragging him away as he continued throwing a fit.
Her breathing hitched, her stomach rumbling with nausea.
The colognes. The groans of defeat. The tossing of chips. The yelps of victory. Everything about the environment unsettled her, making her reconsider working in such a place.
A small tap on her shoulder made her flinch. She turned slowly to face the woman who had escorted her to Mr. Van's office the previous day.
The woman wore the same outfit as before. Two other girls stood behind her, their faces caked in makeup—eye shadow, mascara, and thick red lipstick.
"Are you starting with us today?" she asked, a small smile painting her face.
With trembling hands, Melody pulled out her phone, typed, and showed the woman:
"Yes. I'm working for a week, serving some special guests of Mr. Van."
Melody noticed the expressions of the girls behind her drop as soon as they read the message. It wasn't a sinister look this time—it was fear. As though they were worried for her.
She struggled to ignore it. Even if she didn't, it was already too late.
"Follow me, then," the woman said, turning to the girls. "You can wait by the craps table. I'll be with you shortly."
They both nodded and walked away.
The woman turned back to Melody with a smile. "Let's go, Miss Melody."
Melody stopped her before she could move. She typed again into her phone and showed her:
"I noticed the faces of those girls change when they read that I was serving some special guests. Why is that?"
Her smile widened. "It is nothing for you to worry about."
Melody typed again, showing her the screen:
"Please. I might be mute, but I'm not stupid. I have to know what I'm getting into. I need to know what's coming for me."
The woman sighed, then grabbed Melody by the arm and pulled her toward a corner where a secret door was hidden. They slipped through it and entered an empty dressing room.
"Let me be sincere with you. It has to do with the special guest Mr. Van is expecting."
Melody nodded, urging her to continue.
"A lot of the girls here were given the offer to serve this guest, and they declined. Some even resigned because they didn't want to be around when he arrived."
Melody's heartbeat quickened.
"He is a notorious and fearful man. Ruthless. Cold-blooded. A monster. Many know him. And the few who don't? Well, they should be grateful they don't."
Melody's trembling fingers danced over her phone screen:
"Who is this man?"
"I can't disclose that," the woman replied quietly. "You'll have to see for yourself."