2:37 AM. My hands started shaking—not from exhaustion, but because I knew taking another client might break me.
The VIP room opened. He sat on the sofa, his gaze like inspecting a priceless object.
Ding—my phone vibrated. I looked down: 100,000 credited.
He smiled faintly. "Tonight, you don't need to do anything."
This money wasn't a tip. It was a price tag. —He had chosen me.