A dark, hollow chuckle escaped me. I said nothing, my eyes locked on my reflection in the mirror—a frightened girl in a dancer's costume, with a monster looming behind her.
I could feel him moving closer, his scent of frost and expensive cologne filling the small space.
I slowly turned to face him, my body tense.
"You were magnificent tonight," he said, his gaze stripping me bare. "But all that beauty... it's a shame to keep it on a public stage. Don't you think it's time for a... private viewing?"
He reached out, his fingers brushing a stray strand of hair from my cheek. I flinched back as if burned.
"I have a meeting," I said, my voice trembling despite my effort to steady it. "With some a guest."
Trevor's smile widened. "They can wait. I outrank everyone here. In every way."
He took another step, backing me against the vanity.
My hand crept behind me, searching for my phone.
"I'm not interested," I stated, my voice gaining a sliver of strength.
"You're a slave," he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You don't get to be interested. You get to be available."
That word—slave—ignited something in me. The fear began to curdle into a cold, sharp fury.
"My duties are to entertain," I shot back, my fingers finally closing around the cool metal of my phone. "Not this."
"Everything you are is for our pleasure," he snarled, his patience snapping. He grabbed my wrist, his grip crushing.
"And I decide what pleases me."
In that moment, I wasn't a twenty-eight-year-old woman. I was fifteen again, small and helpless, begging for a mercy that never came.
The tears, the pain, the feeling of my world ending in that sterile room—it all crashed over me.
But then I saw him.
Billy's face, bright and smiling from the video call. My son.
The fear evaporated, incinerated by a mother's rage.
With a strength I didn't know I possessed, I wrenched my hand free and shoved him. Hard.
He stumbled back, crashing into a small table and landing on the floor with a grunt of pure shock.
He stared up at me from the ground, his expression a mix of disbelief and rising, volcanic anger.
I held up my phone, the red recording light glowing like a demon's eye in the dim room.
"If you don't leave," I said, my voice terrifyingly steady, "I will play this for the entire pack. Let's see how your legacy holds up when they hear how the mighty and reputable Trevor Gray forces himself on the onyx club star."
He slowly climbed to his feet, brushing himself off. The shock was gone, replaced by a cold, murderous calm.
"Don't you remember me?" I asked, the sorrow and pain of thirteen years breaking through my voice.
"You raped me years ago. Or am I just one name on a list too long to remember?"
Recognition dawned in his eyes, followed by a flicker of something ugly—not remorse, but annoyance.
The annoyance of a man being reminded of a messy, forgotten transaction.
"You...?" he uttered.
"Yes. Me," I said, the words a vow. "Touch me again, and I will burn your whole world to the ground."
He straightened his jacket, his eyes promising a slow, painful retribution.
"I wish I'd done more than just rape you," he sneered, the words designed to shatter what was left of my spirit. "Then you wouldn't have the nerve to stand there. You will pay for this insult."
He unlocked the door and left, slamming it behind him.
The click of the latch was a gunshot in the sudden silence.
I stood there, alone. The adrenaline that had been a fire in my veins vanished, leaving me cold and hollow.
A violent tremor started in my hands, traveled up my arms, and seized my entire body until my teeth chattered.
I slid down the vanity, my legs unable to hold me, and crumpled to the floor.
The phone clattered from my grip. I had won. I had faced him down. So why did I feel so shattered?
I drew my knees to my chest, pressing my forehead against them, and forced myself to take one breath. Then another.
Each one was a battle. The scent of his cologne still hung in the air, a ghost in the room.
But then I saw it. On the screen of my fallen phone, the background picture: Billy's smiling face, smudged with my fingerprint.
The trembling began to slow. The coldness in my chest warmed, hardening into something new. Something solid.
I slowly pushed myself up from the floor.
I picked up my phone, my hand now steady. The battle lines were drawn and I didn't feel like a slave.
I was a mother with a weapon.
And I was ready for war.
I changed into a simple, elegant dress—another uniform, after every performance, I sat with elites, listened to their boring stories, and laughed at their old jokes, it was a PR thing for the onyx club.
I opened the door. Danny stood there, his face a mask of worry and unasked questions.
"Ri..."
"Not now," I whispered, cutting him off. I couldn't speak about it. If I did, I might shatter. "Let's just get this over with."
He nodded, his jaw tight, and fell into step beside me as we navigated the opulent halls toward the champagne fountain. The performance was over, but the night's work was far from done.
The cold night air did little to cleanse the feeling of Trevor's hands on my skin.
The glitter and glamour of the gala felt a world away, replaced by the dull hum of the city and the roar of silence between Danny and me.
I raised my hand, and a yellow cab pulled to the curb.
"The Onyx Club," Danny told the driver as we slid into the worn leather seats.
The cab smelled of stale cigarettes and old regrets.
The silence between us was a physical weight, pressing me against the worn leather seat.
I stared out the window, watching the glittering lights of the city blur into meaningless streaks.
Each one felt like an eye watching me, judging me.
I could feel Danny's gaze on the side of my face, a worried, heavy thing. The silence stretched, taut and screaming.
"Riley," he finally said, his voice low and strained. "Talk to me. Please. What happened back there?"
"I can't," I whispered, the words scraping my throat raw. "Just… not now."
"Let me help you!" The frustration broke through his careful control. "That's my job! That's what I'm here for!"
Job. The word was a spark on a gas leak.
It wasn't just a word. It was a cage. His job. My slavery. Finn's rules. Trevor's ownership. It was all the same suffocating system, and in that moment, Danny—my friend, my protector—was just another part of the machine designed to keep me compliant and in my place.
A wave of pure, unadulterated claustrophobia washed over me. The walls of the cab closed in. The air was too thick to breathe.
"Stop the car," I said, my voice dangerously calm.
The driver glanced in the mirror but didn't slow.
"Riley, no—" Danny reached for me, his face a mask of alarm.
"I said, STOP THE GOD-DAMNED CAR!"
The command ripped from me, raw and guttural, a sound I didn't recognize as my own.
The cabbie jerked the wheel, swerving toward the curb with a screech of tires.
I didn't look at Danny. I didn't dare. I shoved the door open, the cold night air hitting me like a physical slap.
I stumbled out onto the pavement, the city's roar filling my ears.
He moved to get out after me.
I spun around, planting my feet, my hand held up like a shield. The streetlights cast harsh shadows on his face, highlighting the fear and confusion in his eyes.
"Don't—" The word was a shard of ice. "—Follow Me."
I poured every ounce of my turmoil, my fear, my desperate need for a single moment of true autonomy into my glare.
"I need to breathe. Just for a minute. Please."
The last word was a broken thing, the only part of me that was still the Riley he knew.
Before he could argue, I slammed the door.
"Drive," I told the cabbie.
I watched the car disappear, its red taillights swallowed by the night.
I stood alone on the sidewalk, hugging myself, the cold air a sharp relief on my heated skin.
For the first time all night, I was truly, utterly alone. NoDanny. NoTrevor. Noaudience.
Just me. And the terrifying, intoxicating taste of freedom.