Emma looked down at her hands-ink-stained from drawing between shifts, knuckles cracked from hours in dishwater. Art school was a dream abandoned years ago, tucked in a box beneath her bed like the sketchbooks she didn't have time to fill.
Her phone vibrated. It Lena.
"There's an event tonight. She said, Black-tie. High-tipping crowd. You in?"
Emma hesitated. Fancy parties weren't her world. But Lena only called when things were serious. And serious usually meant money.
"Text me the address." Emma said.
Wolfe Hall didn't look like a building. It looked like power. Glass walls, black marble floors, and a valet who raised an eyebrow at her scuffed shoes before handing her a tray. Lena had pulled strings to get her on the catering crew. "Don't spill anything," she whispered. "And don't look them in the eyes."
But someone looked at her.
Emma felt it before she saw him. A weight, a stare, like being undressed in slow motion.
He stood by the far wall, separate from the crowd. Black suit, no tie, collar undone. He didn't hold a drink. Didn't speak. Just watched.
Their eyes met. He smiled.
A curl of heat wound down her spine.
Emma was caught in his smile that she dropped a glass.
At the sound of the shattering noise, Lena noticed and came to grabbed her wrist to the kitchen. I told you to be careful, but you never listen. I guess Today's your lucky day because you're not fired and Somehow, someone wants to see you. In the VIP lounge. "Now."
"Why me?" Emma sounded confused
Lena's eyes were wide. "Because he pointed at you like you were an item on a menu."
The elevator opened onto a floor swathed in shadows and candlelight. A man sat on a leather couch, fingers steepled, jaw sharp as a blade.
"I'm told you're... agreeable," he said.
"I-I'm just a server."
"No." He rose. "You're desperate. There's a difference."
She swallowed hard. "What do you want?"
He stepped close. Too close. His voice was velvet and threat. "One night. No rules. No questions. Fifty thousand dollars. Cash."
Her breath caught.
"That's insane."
"It's business."
"And if I say no?"
He smiled. "You won't."
Outside, thunder cracked. Her hands trembled as she stared at the check. Fifty thousand. Signed. Real.
Her phone buzzed.
St. Jude's Hospital.
She answered.
"Miss Blake? It's your mother. You need to come. Now."
As Amara rushed out into the rain, the check clutched to her chest, she didn't see the man watching her from the balcony above-eyes cold, smile colder.
He turned to his assistant.
"Send the car. She'll come back. They always do
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