Oliver's POV
It was her.
It was really her.
Even without the mask or the costume, I recognized her instantly. Some women blend into the crowd the moment they step away, but she didn't. She stood apart—like she carried something rare in her bones. I've met women. Countless women. Power does that. Money, influence, and control—they open doors. I've fucked women of every kind, women who looked like goddesses. But this one? She was different.
The moment she walked toward me, the air shifted. She stopped in front of me, and I took my time studying her. She was beautiful—naturally so. Her red hair wasn't dyed; I could tell. It had depth, fire. Her sea-blue eyes were sharp and expressive. Her nose was slightly pointed, and her lips were full and tempting in a way that stirred something dark in me.
But when our eyes met, I noticed something unexpected.
Hate.
So much hate. It wasn't subtle. It wasn't hidden. She looked at me like I was something she despised. I didn't understand it. Why would someone stare at another person with this much hate? It was confusing.
"Do you need anything, sir?" she asked.
Her voice was composed, but her eyes weren't. They flicked to my wrist, then quickly away. I noticed it but didn't make anything of it; people tended to admire my tattoos.
I leaned back slightly, resting my arm on the couch. "You ran off last night," I said calmly. "While I was answering a call."
Her breath caught for half a second.
"I—I had an emergency," she replied quickly. "I had to step away."
An excuse. A weak one. I studied her face as if weighing my options. "Emergency?" I echoed. "You left in a hurry."
"Yes," she said. "I need to go home." She took a small step back, already halfway gone.
Interesting. I gestured lazily toward the chair across from me. "Sit."
Her eyes widened. She didn't move.
"I really can't," she said. "If there's nothing you need, I should—"
"I didn't say there was nothing I needed," I cut in.
She froze. Slowly, she asked, "Then… what do you want?"
There it was. I dismissed my business partners with a glance, waiting until we were alone. The music from the club felt distant now, muted. I looked at her openly, with no shame and no hesitation.
"I want you for the night," I said. "Tell me your price."
Her face drained of color. "That's not—" she swallowed hard. "That's not how this works." Her frown deepened as the hate for me increased in her eyes. "I don't fuck customers, sir."
"Everyone has a price. How much?" I asked bluntly.
She stiffened as if I'd struck her. "How much for a night?" I asked again.
I didn't care about romance or 'getting to know' her. I was a man of transactions. I see what I want, I ask the price, we fuck, and I move on. No attachments, no messy emotions.
She glared at me. "I'm not a submissive, sir. I only work here, that's all. If there is nothing else, then I beg to take my leave."
She didn't wait for a response; she stood to her feet, turned around, and left while I was left speechless. For the first time in twenty-seven years, a woman rejected me.
I scoffed and took a sip of my drink. It seemed she was playing hard to get. I get it; two could actually play this game.
"Alpha King." Alpha Steven, who was seated a few seats away from me, stepped forward and bowed.
I ignored him, still sipping my drink as I fixed my gaze on a certain red-haired girl who had just rejected me, now serving drinks to another customer.
"She's called Aurora," he said, lowering his voice. "And she doesn't sleep with customers."
My brow lifted slightly, but I said nothing.
"She's been offered ridiculous amounts of money," Steven continued. "She's turned them all down. Men with influence. Men with power."
Finally, I glanced at him. "Does she have a reason?"
Steven hesitated, then shrugged. "I believe she has a boyfriend who she is faithful to. Lucky bastard."
I returned my gaze to her. She was serving drinks now, calm on the surface, but I could still see the tension in her shoulders. "Money hasn't worked," Steven went on carefully. "But I believe you can have her."
That earned him my full attention.
"You're the Alpha King," he said confidently. "Once she knows who you are… once she understands what you represent… she'll change her mind."
I smiled slowly. He was right. Women fall on their knees wanting to warm my bed once they know who I am and what I can offer them. Once this red-haired girl knows who I am, she will beg me to fuck her.
I turned to Steven. "Get me a sub. Take her to room 205."
Steven nodded and hurried away.
Where I sat, I kept staring at Aurora, politely serving drinks to other men. I could see how their hungry eyes roamed over her body, and strangely, it made me so possessive. I wasn't the jealous type when it comes to women, but this lady—this red-haired girl—why was I fuming at the sight of other men staring lustfully at her? Especially when she bent over; most of them were so shameless that they leaned in to have a glimpse under her skirt. And this uniform of hers—why was it so fucking short? The black skirt was right on her lap, and she was not even wearing hose to cover her legs. Everything was exposed.
"Fuck... get a grip of yourself," I grunted and emptied my glass of whisky.
Not able to stand the sight of other men lustfully staring at her, I got on my feet and made my way toward my private room. I needed a distraction because I was going insane.
When I entered the room, a blonde was already in position, her knees pressed to the floor and her eyes lowered in submission. Usually, this sight was enough to settle the restlessness in my blood, but tonight, it did nothing to quench the fire Aurora had ignited. If anything, it only fueled my obsession. As I looked at the girl on the floor, my mind traitorously swapped her image for Aurora's, imagining those sea-blue eyes—usually so full of hate—looking up at me with this kind of surrender.
"Good girl," I praised, though the words felt hollow as I closed the door, sealing us in the dimly lit silence. "Let's see if you can make me forget her, even for a little while."
I moved toward the leather sofa, my gaze fixed on the submissive. She was stunning, with a slender, lithe frame that ticked every box of my usual preferences. But she wasn't her. She didn't have that untamable spark.
"I have rules," I stated, my voice dropping into a cold, commanding register.
"Yes, Master," she whispered.
"First, you do not touch my face. You do not attempt to remove my mask," I warned. "Second, you stay away from my personal belongings—my wallet, my phone. You make no attempt to learn who I am outside this room."
"Yes, Master," she replied, her obedience perfect, almost robotic.
"I am not a romantic Dom. I don't do romance. Are we clear?"
"Yes, Master."
"Lastly, use your safe word the second I hit your limit. I have no intention of stopping unless you do."
She nodded frantically. "Yes, Master."
"What is it?" I asked, unbuttoning my jacket.
"Black," she responded softly.
I nodded, kicking off my shoes and tossing my jacket aside. "Get up. Strip."
I watched with focused interest as she rose and began to undress. She was seductive, peeling away her mini-dress to reveal a set of black lace lingerie. Her eyes remained locked on mine as she reached for the hook of her bra, releasing her breasts. They were full and firm, their peaks reacting to the cool air of the room. I gave a curt nod of satisfaction.
"Keep going."
She slid her lace panties down her legs, stepping out of them until she stood before me completely bare. She was a masterpiece of smooth skin and soft curves, standing in silence, waiting for my next move. I leaned back, crossing my legs as I studied her, but the irritation in my chest wouldn't subside. Aurora's rejection still stung like an open wound; her defiance was a challenge I hadn't expected, and it was making me crave her with a violence that bordered on insanity.
"Go to the bed," I commanded. "Lie back and spread your legs for me."
"Yes, Master." She obeyed instantly, moving to the mattress and opening herself up, offering me a clear, unobstructed view.
I let out a low groan, the sight stirring a physical reaction, but my mind was still miles away. I reached for the humidor on the side table, pulling out a cigar. I lit it slowly, taking a long, deep draw and letting the smoke swirl around me before I turned my attention back to the woman on the bed.
"Pleasure yourself," I demanded, the smoke curling from my lips. "And keep your eyes on me the entire time. Don't you dare look away."