Doris Elizabeth Corday

My steps faltered for the briefest moment, but I forced myself to keep moving. I tried to match my frantic heart to the steady rhythm of my heels on the polished floor.

It was impossible not to recognize who was watching me. The branded clothes... The tanned, tattooed arms... The gold chains and rings catching the light... And, most of all, those hazel eyes glinting like molten amber behind the golden mask.

Denis Kingston.

The King of Diamonds.

What the hell was he doing here?

I tore my gaze away, plastering a smile onto my face that I hoped didn't look as forced as it felt. My steps carried me to the nearest table, where I refilled their drinks and took the empty glasses. My hands shook slightly, the silver chains draped over me clinking with each movement.

Still, I couldn't shake that feeling of being watched.

Though the familiar face should've been a welcome sight — especially after we established ourselves as partners...

I couldn't help feeling on edge.

Even here, in a room full of men with too much money and too little morality, King stood out like a wolf among a pack of dogs.

It was impossible to tell what he had on his mind. And since I was in a position where I couldn't blow my cover, I was terrified of what he'd ask of me.

My attention was suddenly drawn to the center of the room as the velvet purple drapes parted, revealing a gilded stage bathed in a soft, golden glow. The shift in focus was magnetic, the chatter in the room quieting to an excited hum.

A stunning blonde woman emerged, her silky red dress catching the light with every step she took toward the microphone. She paused, a slow, sultry smile spreading across her lips as she addressed the room.

"This one," she said, her voice like silk, "is for Mister Bird."

My eyes instinctively sought out the man she referenced. The client behind the feathery mask inclined his head slightly, a silent acknowledgment of her dedication.

So, not only do the clients have masks but nicknames as well, I noted.

The performer on stage was captivating. Her voice was a tempting mix of heartbreak and seduction, a melody that wrapped around the room like a lover's touch. Men watched her with rapt attention, some tossing bills toward the edge of the stage.

Yet despite all this, a certain pair of golden eyes remained on me alone.

I tried to shrug the feeling off as I focused on balancing the tray of drinks in my hands. The older man whose table I cleared barely looked my way, his attention locked on the woman draped across his lap.

This was how it was meant to be. Even with the beautiful wig and all my makeup, compared to everyone else, I wasn't supposed to stand out. Just a shadow.

And yet King still stared like I was the only person in the room.

I made my way to the bar, setting an empty glass on the counter.

"First night?" a voice asked, startling me.

I turned to the bartender — a gorgeous woman with the same platinum wig that all the servers wore. She had a knowing smirk that suggested she'd seen it all.

"Yes," I admitted, forcing my voice to stay steady.

"You're doing fine," she said, sliding a tray of drinks toward me. "You're only a server. So, no pressure. Smile and serve. Let the hostesses do the flirting and touching."

I nodded, grateful for the brief reassurance.

A cheer rose from the crowd as another performer stepped onto the stage — a stunning woman in a deep blue dress that glittered like a thousand stars. She carried a sleek violin in one hand and an air of confidence that rivaled King's. Her performance began with a sharp, vibrant note that silenced the room.

Was this how women attracted high rollers? If I went up there, could I catch someone's interest too?

"Do they perform when they feel like?" I asked the bartender.

She poured another set of drinks.

"Clients pay a lot to have their favorite girl perform," she answered. "Other than the Velvet Room, it's the most expensive thing to buy here."

"Oh..."

I couldn't help but glance back at King, half-expecting him to shift his attention to the stage. But he didn't. His gaze was still locked on me, as if he were waiting for something.

The bartender's voice startled me again.

"He's been watching you since you walked in, you know."

I turned to her, my heart hammering.

"Who?"

She smirked, flicking a glance toward King.

"Mister Gold. You must've made quite the impression."

"Lucky me," I muttered, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Careful with that one," she warned, her tone light but serious. "Men like him don't look unless they mean to take."

The words settled over me.

I had dealt with King for years. All he ever did was look.

He wouldn't cross it now...

Would he?

A shiver ran through me as I wondered if I could even deny him tonight if he asked for me. Would it blow my cover if I punched a client in the face?

Onstage, the violinist struck her final note, her performance ending in thunderous applause.

When I turned back to the room, King was gone.

My stomach flipped like a pancake as my eyes widened. I scanned the hazy crowd, searching for the glint of gold among the dim lights and the swirl of smoke. My heart thudded louder with each passing second.

Then I felt him.

"Hey, Baby."

The deep, familiar voice sent a shiver down my spine. Slowly, I turned to find him standing a few feet away. His posture was casual, his golden mask hiding most of his expression. But the intensity in his eyes burned right into me.

"May I?" He gestured toward the purple drink on my tray.

I hesitated, then nodded, offering the glass to him. His tattooed fingers brushed mine as he took it, the brief contact searing like a brand.

"Silver suits you," he said, his voice pitched low. "Although that dress..." His gaze flicked over me, lingering in a way that made my skin prickle. "I suppose the Queen of Hearts figured out your body was your strong point."

My throat tightened.

All I managed was a curt nod before he chuckled and returned to his corner.

Servers weren't allowed to speak to clients anyway.

I turned toward the bar again, needing the steadying presence of something solid. Two women approached the counter and grabbed cocktails as they chatted eagerly.

One wore an emerald dress that glimmered like liquid jewels under the golden light, her chestnut curls tumbling over her shoulders. The other was clad in a sleek black number that clung to her like a shadow, her sharp black bob framing beautiful cat-eyes.

"He's a new guy, right? I don't even think he has a name yet," the emerald girl said.

"Yeah, and he looks loaded," the cat-eye girl replied.

"Never mind his money! Did you see how handsome he was? That mask isn't fooling anyone."

Swallowing my nerves, I approached them.

"Hi," I said, offering a tentative smile. "I'm Liza. It's my first night."

The emerald girl's warm brown eyes squinted at me as I approached.

"First night, huh?" she said, her voice light and pleasant. "You're holding it together better than most newbies."

"Thanks," I replied, the knot in my stomach loosening slightly.

"I'm Ivy," she said, extending a hand with surprising warmth.

The woman in black, shorter but no less stunning, grinned, a sharp tilt to her lips.

"And I'm Cleo. Welcome to the jungle, newbie."

"I appreciate it," I chuckled, shifting my weight nervously. "So... any advice for surviving the night?"

Ivy toyed with a lock of curly hair as she grinned at me.

"Smile like it's your weapon," she said. "Even when you don't mean it. And keep your eyes open. A man's tip can tell you everything about him."

Cleo leaned in, her cat eyeliner making her dark eyes gleam mischievously.

"And if a guy gives you bad vibes, pass him off," she said with a wink. "This isn't some cheap joint. Everyone here gotta have manners, or they're out."

That was... marginally reassuring.

"Good to know," I murmured, glancing around the room.

I decided to push a little further. Now that I had some semblance of friends, I needed information.

"So... what's the deal with high rollers?"

Cleo's brow arched, intrigued. Ivy answered first, her lips quirking into a smile.

"They're the whales," she said simply, taking a sip of her green cocktail. "The kind of men who throw money around like it's nothing. If they take you to a Velvet Room, you've hit the jackpot."

Cleo giggled, her grin playfully wicked.

"But don't get too excited," she warned. "It's rare. The price for that kind of... exclusivity... is obscene. You gotta be worth it, y'know?"

My stomach twisted.

"How much are we talking?" I asked, already regretting the question.

"Enough to buy a supercar," Cleo said breezily.

"Or a small island," Ivy added.

My throat tightened. Great. So, not only did I have to survive the night, but I also had to somehow convince someone to spend a fortune on me.

No pressure.

My shoulders slumped, the weight of the task sinking in.

"You've caught someone's eye, newbie" Cleo murmured, her cat eyes landing on something behind me.

"Lucky girl," Ivy teased. "He's the handsome new guy."

I turned, expecting to see King watching me again, but instead the man they referred to was someone else. He had messy black hair that hung over his black mask in a sort of... wild way. His black shirt had a few loose buttons, exposing a wide chest as he leaned back in his seat.

He sat with even more swagger than King, holding a glass of pure vodka.

Who the hell was this creep?

"Mister Handsome?" Ivy asked. "Or Mister Mysterious? I can't pick a name for him."

"I'd take him to the Velvet Room free of charge," Cleo sighed. "Look at that jawline... And those rolled up sleeves... Damn he got some good forearms. I bet he could pick me up like it's nothing."

Before I could reply, a shadow fell over us. I turned to see Lady Q, her piercing green gaze locking onto me.

"Liza, one of the gentlemen has requested your company," she said, her crimson lips curving into an enigmatic smile. "This doesn't usually happen to servers, but I suppose you must be his type. Take him the diamond whisky and serve him well."

My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my expression steady.

"Of course," I replied, fighting to keep my voice calm. "Who is it?"

Lady Q nodded toward the shadowed corner where King sat.

"He's at the far couch. Mister Gold. Don't keep him waiting. And be careful with that one. He's a friend of mine, but he can be... particular."

Particular?

What the hell did she mean by that?

I grabbed a bottle of dark amber alcohol from the bar, the diamond stopper glinting under the chandelier's gold light. Holding it like a shield, I crossed the room.

A thought suddenly popped up as I walked.

Could I use this? Could I call in a favor from him?

I could feel Lady Q's gaze trailing me, her presence a silent reminder to stay composed.

When I reached King, he looked as though he belonged to the shadows, effortlessly owning the air around him. He lounged on the velvet couch, his hazel eyes sharp and intrusive behind the gilded mask.

Even here, surrounded by decadence and excess, he still felt expensive.

"Good evening, Mister Gold," I said, the words practiced and perfect as I poured him a glass of whiskey. My tone was light, teasing. I perched on the couch beside him, closer than I wanted.

King turned his head, his movements slow, as if savoring the moment. His eyes met mine, as dangerous as a blade pressed against my skin.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

"Good evening," he replied, his voice low and smooth. "Do you have a name, Baby?"

My teeth clenched behind my smile.

This was nothing but a show. If we acted like we knew each other, Lady Q would find it suspicious. Yet playing along like this and acting flirty toward him grated at my bones.

"Liza," I answered.

"Liza Dove?" he asked, his smirk widening.

"Just Liza tonight," I bit out.

His chuckle was soft and intimate.

"Liza Baby just doesn't have the same ring, now does it?"

I leaned in slightly, my knee brushing against his, forcing myself to look comfortable.

"Did you ask for me?" I asked, keeping my voice soft and flirtatious, the perfect image of a girl eager to please.

King's gaze lowered to where our knees touched.

"I did." His voice dropped lower as his eyes met mine again. "You seemed... intriguing."

I swallowed the urge to glare.

"Is that so? And what makes me so intriguing?"

His hand rested casually on the back of the couch, his fingers just barely grazing my spine.

"Let's just say I've never seen you in this... setting."

Heat crawled up my neck, but I forced it down, laughing lightly as though I wasn't unraveling under his gaze. Pouring another glass, I kept my hands steady.

"Well, there's a first time for everything."

King tilted his head, studying me like I was a puzzle he intended to dismantle piece by piece.

"Are you so prepared to throw away your first time?"

I nearly spilled the whiskey.

"What are you talking about?"

His smirk widened, his voice dropping lower as he leaned even closer, ensuring no one but me could hear.

"I've known you for years, Beth Baby. Do you really think I wouldn't know your history?" His words sent a chill down my body, but his smirk burned like fire. "I figured you'd come for Lady Q eventually. I just didn't think you'd follow through like this."

"Are you done gloating?" I whispered, my tone sweet but sharp.

His chuckle was dark.

"Not quite. I assume you know she keeps her card in her office? And the only way to get in is if she invites you for a glass of champagne."

I nodded, my throat dry.

"And you know how to get a bottle?" he asked.

"Yes," I admitted, my voice barely audible over the soft piano.

He shook his head, taking a slow sip of his whiskey.

"You surprise me, Beth Baby. I guess I underestimated how far you could go."

I bit my lip, hesitating.

"I need a high roller to buy me," I whispered. "Would you?"

His smile turned cruel.

"And then what? We go up to a Velvet Room and play pretend?"

"Yes," I said. "I'll pay you back. Whatever it costs."

I still had that $5,000,000 in my couch after all.

He leaned even closer, his breath warm against my skin.

"The rooms have microphones. They'd listen in on us," he murmured. "If I buy you, Beth Baby, there won't be any pretending."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. My composure wavered as I stared at him, my mind scrambling with this new information.

"You're lying," I whispered, though my voice was weak.

"You walked into the lion's den, Baby," he said. "Did you really think a little lamb like yourself wouldn't find any teeth?"

Panic clawed at my chest, but I forced it down, plastering on a calm mask.

"I'll figure something out."

I hated how my voice came out unsteady.

"You'd better," King replied, raising his glass and clinking it with mine. "But if it comes down to it, I won't say no. And trust me, I'd treat you well."

I downed my drink and set the empty glass on the table, forcing my hand to stop trembling as I rose from the couch. King's sharp gaze followed my every move.

"I need to use the restroom," I said.

Please let me get some air to figure this out.

King tilted his head, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

"Don't be too long, Baby."

I didn't respond. I simply turned and walked away, my steps robotic as I used all of my will power not to falter.

The bathroom was a sanctuary cloaked in polished perfection. The marble sinks gleamed under soft purple light, the faint scent of roses hanging in the air. I exhaled shakily, gripping the edge of the counter as I stared at my reflection in the ornate mirror.

My wig, perfectly styled, remained in place, the silver strands cascading over my shoulders. My makeup, however, was beginning to falter. A smudge of eyeliner here, a faint sheen on my forehead there.

I pulled a tissue from the dispenser, dabbing at the imperfections with mechanical precision. It was easier to focus on fixing the surface than to confront the turmoil beneath it.

"Pull it together," I whispered to myself, smoothing a hand over my wig.

The moment I stepped back into the main room, I was met with Lady Q. She was waiting, her arms crossed and her expression a mix of authority and something unreadable.

"There you are," she said smoothly, her heels clicking as she approached. Her eyes swept over me, and she gave a small, approving nod. "Looking better. Good. Now, listen carefully."

"What is it?" I asked.

"Great news," she smiled. "Someone's requested you for the stage tonight." She turned and gestured to the newcomer client with the messy black hair. "Mister Death."

The air left my lungs.

"What?"