The hallway was deserted, silent except for the chill of the air conditioner. Zeya paused in front of the metal rack where she usually placed her trays, but this time it was empty—nothing was left. She looked down, counting the tip sheets she had just collected from the tables littered with glasses and the smell of alcohol.
A faint smile spread across her lips. The small amount was still far from enough to cover her next semester in London, but still—to her, every note was a hope.
"Zeya!" A voice called out, making her turn her head reflexively.
The club manager rushed in, his breath short, his shirt slightly open, and his face sweating. In his hand, he held an exclusive-looking room card.
"Yes, sir? How may I help you?" Zeya asked politely, her eyebrows raised in curiosity.
The manager handed over the room card while catching his breath. "Hurry up and go to this VIP room. A distinguished guest is waiting for you."
Zeya's eyes widened, unsure of what she had just heard. "A distinguished guest? Asking for me?"
The manager nodded firmly. "Yes. Now, hurry up and don't keep him waiting."
Without a chance to refuse, the card was transferred to Zeya's hand. She froze, her body seemingly disoriented, while the middle-aged man took the shelf and walked away, humming a soft tune.
"Tonight's jackpot was truly amazing," the manager murmured with a satisfied expression. "That kid is truly lucky. Meeting a rich man who could change his life... and I didn't go home empty-handed tonight, either."
Zeya now stood in front of the VIP room door, silent, frozen. Her fingers trembled, and the card in her hand nearly fell. Her face was confused, anxious, and afraid—a mixture of emotions. But the thought of her final exams and her fear of failing to study abroad kept her from turning back.
He took a deep breath, looked at the door in front of him and whispered softly, "Calm down Zeya... it's just one night. Just one time, and then it's all over. After this, you're out of this world... forever."
With determination quivering in her chest, Zeya knocked softly and entered.
The room was dark, lit only by the pale moonlight filtering through the thin curtains of the large window. There stood a tall, sturdy man with his back to her. His face was obscured by the shadows of the night, leaving only his silhouette clearly visible. In his hand, he was shaking a glass of alcohol with slow, almost meditative movements.
"Excuse me... Sir, did you call me?" Zeya asked quietly, politely.
The man didn't answer immediately, only turning slightly. The moonlight illuminated part of his face, but not enough for Zeya to recognize him.
"Take a shower. I'll wait," he ordered, calmly... but firmly. The tone of his voice made Zeya swallow hard.
"Good, Sir."
Zeya placed her room card on the marble table and headed for the bathroom. As soon as she opened the door, her eyes widened. There, above the sink, hung a pair of bright red lingerie, both delicate and sheer. Her hands gripped the door tightly, her breath hitching.
But he had no time to refuse. He had no power. He could only hope that this truly was his last night.
Without thinking much more, he took a shower, letting the warm water flow over his body, trying to calm the rumbling in his chest.
Meanwhile, Delson sat on a black velvet sofa. He twirled the crystal glass in his hand, as if reflecting the reflection of the girl currently bathing. The sound of trickling water disturbed his thoughts, conjuring up wild images he couldn't resist. Delson's chest heaved—for the first time, he felt... nervous.
The shower stopped.
Delson gripped his glass tightly. His breath hitched, his eyes fixed on the slowly opening bathroom door. The soft, feminine scent of soap wafted out, filling the room.
Zeya emerged, her body clean, her hair still slightly damp. She approached, her steps hesitant but still advancing. Her face was lowered, avoiding eye contact. But that very attitude drove Delson crazy.
There was nothing more intoxicating for Delson that night... other than the presence of a woman who was not only physically beautiful, but full of mystery, polite, and had a sense of shame - traits he had never seen in the glamorous life he used to live.
And for the first time... Delson wanted to stop time. Because he knew—this woman was not like the others.
Zeya's steps approached slowly, like a deer realizing it was in the presence of a predator. She stopped in front of the table, right under the moonlight that illuminated part of her body. The red lingerie wrapped her body neatly, but her aura wasn't the least bit vulgar. Instead, there was a sense of vulnerability... and that was what made Delson even more transfixed.
"I've done that," Zeya said, almost a whisper, but enough to break the silence between them.
Delson didn't react immediately. His eyes lingered on the girl for a long moment. There was something about Zeya that confused him... not just her beauty or her alluring body. It was the way she stood. The way she looked down. The way she kept her distance, as if her body was here, but her soul... was bound elsewhere.
"What's your name?" Delson asked, finally speaking. His voice was deep and heavy, but not his usual predatory one. This time... it sounded curious.
Zeya looked up, slightly surprised. She thought the man would immediately approach, touch her, or order her further.
"Zeya," he answered hesitantly.
"Real name?" Delson narrowed his eyes, taking a sip of his drink. The sound of ice in his glass rang out loudly in the silence.
Zeya was silent for a moment. "It's still Zeya," she answered honestly.
Delson smiled lopsidedly. Then he stood up, his step steady, approaching... making Zeya back reflexively. But Delson stopped before touching her. His eyes swept the girl from top to bottom, not with the lust he usually used to judge women, but with unusual curiosity.
"Are you afraid of me?"
Zeya lowered her head again, her hands tightly gripping the front of her nightgown. "I... just want this to be over quickly, sir. I have class tomorrow morning."
The answer stabbed Delson like a small, slow but sharp knife. College? He suddenly saw Zeya in a different light: not as a club girl... but as someone struggling. A young girl trying to survive in a cruel world with what little dignity she had left.
"Why do you work in a place like this?" muttered Delson, more to himself this time.
Zeya looked up, looking at Delson for the first time. Their eyes met. In those eyes, Delson saw exhaustion... pain... and determination.
"Because dreams are expensive, sir. And I don't have parents who can pay for them."
Delson terdiam.
A few seconds passed in silence. He turned and went to the minibar to pour another drink. But this time he didn't offer it to Zeya.
"Take the money from my wallet. It's on the table. A thousand dollars. Consider it tonight's tip. Then go home."
Zeya's eyes widened. "W-what?"
Delson leaned against the bar counter, sipping his drink as he stared out the window. "I said go home. I don't want to touch anyone tonight... and you're too real to be treated like a doll."
Zeya didn't move. She stared at him intently, trying to guess the motive behind his sudden change of attitude. But he seemed honest. Calm. Tired... like herself.
"Is this... some kind of test?" he asked in a barely audible voice.
Delson smiled lopsidedly. "Just think... I'm trying to be a little sane."
Zeya slowly walked to the table, picked up the money, and held it tightly in her hand. Her heart was racing. This night was too strange. Too different. She walked to the door, but before she opened it, she turned around.
"Thank you, Sir..."
Delson turned around. "My name is Delson."
Zeya nodded, then opened the door and went out.
As soon as the door closed, Delson downed the rest of his drink and smiled slightly to himself.
"I'm crazy," he muttered.
But somehow, tonight... he felt like for the first time he was doing something right.