"I had no idea the life I was about to bring into the world—or the man who would claim it."
It was just another night of surviving. Neon lights slashed across the smoky club, bodies moving like fire, music shaking the floor, bass pounding straight into my chest. I perched on the pole, heels digging into the stage, black straight hair cascading down my back, green eyes catching every glint of light. Tipsy enough to blur the shame, sober enough to make the tips rain. Every flick of my hair, every sway of my hips, every grind reminded me—I was the best at what I did. And tonight, someone new was watching.
I hated this life quietly. Hated the way my skin gleamed under neon, hated the leering men, hated that I had to smile while my soul shrank. But it kept a roof over my head, food in my belly, and maybe—just maybe—a tiny edge of control in a world that wanted nothing from me. That's why I took a sip of cheap whisky before performing, letting the burn blur the edges between shame and survival.
The men cheered, tossing bills like confetti. "Yeah, girl! Work it!" "Give it to us!" "Spin it!" Their voices mixed with the bass, intoxicating and degrading all at once. I twirled around the pole, hips slick, heels clicking, my black hair whipping over my shoulder. Every motion was precise, sexy, rehearsed. I arched my back, letting my green eyes roam the crowd, daring them, teasing them, hiding the quiver of nerves beneath.
Then the door opened.
A hush fell over the club, subtle at first, then palpable. Conversations stopped mid-word. Laughter cut short. The music didn't lower—it obeyed the aura of the man who walked in.
He was tall. Black hair slicked back, dark aura radiating control, expensive suit hugging him like it had been made for royalty. Piercing blue eyes cut through the haze, sharp enough to make the crowd hold its breath.
Every step he took made the air tighten, When he sat, calm and deliberate, sipping whisky, the crowd instinctively parted. Eyes followed him; whispers rose like a tide.
And then… he looked at me.
Not like the rest. Not leering, not cheering. Just watching. Eyes sharp, calculating, almost dangerous, and somehow… claiming. My pulse hit my throat. Hunger? Curiosity? Something darker twisted in my stomach. I kept dancing, twerking, twirling, letting my heels click like a metronome. Every grind, every sway, every flick of hair was just for him.
He didn't move. Didn't flinch. Didn't smile. And that made me grin wider. The more he didn't react, the more I wanted him.
I felt his gaze like heat pressing into my skin. When I reached his table, he leaned forward slightly, brushing a hand along my waist in a way that made my heart skip. Music, lights, crowd—all blurred. His eyes scanned me slow, precise, calculating. I felt exposed, naked even, though my clothes clung just enough to hide it.
"I want you tonight."
Pulse hammering, I nodded. Normally I was careful—always careful—but tonight, tipsy enough to blur the rules, I'd slipped. Forgotten protection.
We passed through the main floor, the crowd instinctively giving us space. Whispers rose behind us, but I barely noticed. My focus was him, the dangerous pull in his gaze, the subtle scent of sandalwood and something darker—expensive, commanding, impossible to forget.
The private room door loomed, soft leather, faint cologne lingering. Every fiber in my body screamed what it meant. He closed the door behind us, swallowing the chaos of the club. Just him. Just me. The change in the air made my skin ache.
I hesitated, then began to take off my clothes, letting the cool air kiss my naked body. Shame wrapped around me. He noticed. The faint flicker of sadness in my eyes, the trembling of my hands.
"Undress me," he said, low, commanding, a sound that made my heart stutter.
I obeyed.
He brushed a loose strand of hair from my neck, deliberate, claiming. The night became a blur: soft moans, the sharp slap of skin, bodies colliding. Quiet, intimate chaos. Every touch burned into memory, every whisper and gasp folded into the dark pulse of the room.
I didn't know his name. He didn't tell me his. And when it ended, I was left lying there, tipsy, half-dizzy, fully aware my life had shifted in a way I wouldn't yet understand.
I woke up alone. Sunlight slanting through the curtains painted gold stripes across the floor. The bed smelled faintly of expensive cologne. On the nightstand, a crisp envelope of cash. Enough to survive for months—maybe longer. No note. No name. Just the lingering echo of him, the ghost of his heat on my skin.
Somewhere inside me, a life had already begun—a life tied to a man I barely knew, a child I wouldn't meet for years, yet already marked by the night that changed everything.
I dressed quickly. Outside, the city was waking. Horns honked, people shouted. Life moved on, oblivious to the thread tying me to a man I had never seen again.
And then… a chill ran down my spine. A presence I couldn't place, memories of eyes, heat, and command echoing through my mind. I gasped, heart hammering.
"W…who are you?"