Doris Elizabeth Corday

Lady Q's words twisted my stomach into knots, my pulse thundering in my ears.

Mister Death paid for me to perform?

I didn't even talk to this creep.

I glanced toward him, unable to help myself. His messy black hair fell over a matte black mask that hid everything except his sharp jaw. It faintly resembled a skull shape, but it was too subtle to notice immediately.

I suppose that was why he earned the nickname, Death.

"Are you sure?" I whispered.

Lady Q arched an unimpressed brow.

"You heard me. He asked for you specifically." She leaned in, her voice dropping to an excited whisper. "I haven't had a newbie do this well before. Keep this up and you might earn a Velvet Room someday. Don't blow it."

My mouth was dry, my thoughts spiraling as I nodded blankly. My legs felt heavier than before, but I forced them to follow Lady Q as she led me toward the dressing room.

The dim space was lined with racks of glittering outfits, each one more revealing than the last. A tall dark woman with a clipboard barely glanced at me before thrusting a silver outfit into my hands.

"Change into this," she said curtly. "It's easier to move in than what you've got on."

I stared at the fabric — at what little of it there was.

But I didn't argue. I changed quickly, adjusting the straps in front of a large mirror.

The outfit shimmered in silver, catching the light like a cascade of fallen stars. The top was a metallic halter with delicate diamond beading, barely covering my chest while keeping my midriff well exposed. The matching skirt was little more than a wrap covering the silver bottoms which blatantly exposed more of me than some of my underwear did.

It was flashy, bold, and left no room for modesty.

With a sigh, I smoothed the platinum wig framing my face.

"And what kind of performance can we expect?" the woman with the clipboard asked, her tone disinterested.

"Dance," I answered.

She nodded without looking up, her pen scratching noisily against the clipboard.

"Any particular song?"

I thought about it. The song that came to mind was one I often sang in the shower.

"Criminal," I said. "By Fiona Apple."

She nodded and disappeared to relay the request. I took a shaky breath and squared my shoulders.

"Let's do this," I psyched myself up.

When I stepped into the main room, the stage loomed like a golden altar. Velvet curtains framed the polished wood, glowing under the searing heat of the stage lights. My pulse thundered with every click of my heels against the steps.

The microphone was cold in my grip, and I tried to focus on that detail. My gaze swept the crowd. Most were lost in their drinks and whispered conversations, barely sparing me a glance. The few who did turn to look at me, only stared at my body.

Except for two men.

King's gaze locked onto mine, the gold of his eyes searing even from across the room.

And then there was Mister Death. His stare wasn't fire. It was ice. It pressed down on me, slowing my thoughts and movements.

"This dance," I said, forcing my voice into a sultry tone, "is dedicated to Mister Death."

The room stilled in half anticipation.

Mr. Death raised his glass in acknowledgement, but his mask hid any expression that might have given me a clue as to what he thought.

My chest tightened as another server removed the mic for me and the music began to play.

The bass hit low and heavy, a steady thrum that synced with the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat. It was a remix of the song I'd requested, its darker edge saturating the room like smoke, wrapping itself around me.

I let the beat guide me.

At first, my movements were cautious. My body swayed to the rhythm as I adjusted to the revealing outfit and the small space the stage allowed. But the beat seeped deeper, breaking through my hesitation. My hips rolled in time with the pulsing bass, my arms cutting through the air. The fringe of my wrap skirt shimmered with every step, catching and scattering the light like shards of broken glass.

As I gave myself to the music, memories swelled inside me.

I could feel my mom's hands gently braiding my hair. I could hear her quiet whispers. Her promises. We'll run away from all this mess. We'll be free.

Back then, my only brief escape was the dance club in high school. It was the one place I could lose myself and pretend I was someone else. It was the one place where I felt free.

But this illusion of freedom was so quickly shattered.

Mom disappeared and it was up to me to free us of this burden. I had to give up high school and the one place that gave me peace of mind.

Each movement of my dance here carried those memories, raw and bleeding. My body told the story my voice never could — of longing, anger, and a hunger for something I had been chasing my whole life.

At first, no one noticed much. But then, one by one, heads began to turn my way. Conversations halted. Cigars burned out. And eyes forgot to blink.

The smoky pulse of the music filled every corner of the room, and with every spin, every deliberate arch of my body, I could feel their attention narrowing.

Until not a single person could look away.

The song peaked, and I gave myself to it completely. I folded backward, palms flat on the cool wood, and shifted my weight to my hands. With a steady push, my legs lifted smoothly, the tips of my heels pointing toward the stage lights above.

Unexpectedly, the motion sent the silver skirt sliding from my hips to the floor. The crowd gasped as though this undress was part of my routine. Rolling with it, I shifted my weight back to my feet and retrieved the discarded fabric. I used it as a prop in the rest of my dance, snaking it around my body as I spun and swayed.

Finally, the music built to its last climax.

I ended the dance on my knees, throwing the shimmering skirt into the air. My back arched as I let it flutter down over my face, veiling me in its sparkling cascade. When the last note echoed into silence, the room seemed to remain frozen.

I breathed heavily, my chest rising and falling as I waited.

Then, applause erupted like a sudden storm.

It was loud, electric. And yet distant. A blur against the pounding of my heart.

I pulled the fabric away as I returned to my feet, tying it back around my waist with trembling fingers.

Lady Q stood by the bar, a wide grin on her lips. But it was the men in masks who owned me at that moment.

King and Mr. Death were the only two not clapping. Just watching.

I stood there, chest heaving, as the applause thundered around me. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was seen.

And it terrified me.

The dressing room buzzed with excitement when I walked in. The other girls crowded around me, their voices overlapping with congratulations and compliments. Ivy threw her arms around my shoulders, her curly hair bouncing with each movement.

"That was incredible, Liza!" she gushed. "Who knew the newbie got some moves?"

Cleo leaned against the vanity, her arms crossed but a small smile playing on her lips.

"Yeah. You showed up the whole room. Even Lady Q looked impressed, and that never happens."

Their enthusiasm was infectious, but it left a bittersweet ache in my chest. I couldn't help but think of Olivia... My best friend, my partner in everything before I got tangled up in this mess. She would've been here cheering louder than anyone. The thought made my chest tighten.

I wondered what she was doing right now.

Did she miss me the way I missed her?

Lady Q's sharp voice cut through the chatter.

"Alright, that's enough. Everyone out."

The girls dispersed quickly, their energy fading into quiet whispers as they filed out of the room. Ivy gave me one last wink before disappearing through the door, leaving me alone with Lady Q.

She closed the door behind them and turned to me. The usual sharpness in her green eyes was softened by something I couldn't quite place.

"You did well tonight," she said. "Better than any new girl ever did. And you caught a high roller's eye."

I blinked at her, unsure of what to think.

"What do you mean?"

"A Velvet Room's been requested," she announced.

My eyes widened despite my attempts to remain calm.

That damned King... He jumped the gun and ordered me despite how I was still trying to come up with a proper plan.

Then again, this was probably the only way.

It had to be done.

"That's great," I said.

Lady Q stepped closer, her expression softening even more.

"Are you okay with this? I won't force you into anything, but I need to be clear. You know what a Velvet Room entails, don't you?"

I nodded, though my throat felt too tight to speak.

"You'll be alone with the client," she continued, her tone matter-of-fact. "Whatever happens in there is between the two of you. But I trust you know what to expect. Forty percent of the fee is yours if you accept."

Only then did I realize how much a girl could earn here. Perhaps I was lucky with my average looks. If I were pretty, I might've been tempted to work here instead of pursuing a life of thievery.

"I'm fine with this," I said, forcing the words out.

Lady Q tilted her head, studying me. Her voice lowered in a way that caught me off guard.

"Liza... you have been with a man before, right? You're how old now? Twenty-four your form said?"

My breath caught.

"Yes," I said quickly. "For both questions."

Her gaze sharpened, her lips curving into a faint, knowing smile.

"Don't lie to me, sweetheart. I can tell these things."

I hesitated, my cheeks burning.

"It'll be fine," I said again, this time with more conviction. "It doesn't matter to me."

She sighed.

"You've got guts, I'll give you that. Just remember — you're in control. If it's too much, you say the word, and it's over. Leave the high roller to me if he gets upset."

I nodded, grateful for the clarity.

"Go on then," she waved me off. "Take a thorough shower. I'll prepare clothes for you."

Lady Q left, and I headed to the showers, peeling off the silver outfit and letting the hot water wash over me. I leaned against the tiled wall, my mind racing.

The idea of being alone with King like that made my stomach twist. But at the very least being with him was better than being with some stranger.

My thoughts stubbornly stayed on King. I imagined his smirk softening, his gold mask discarded, his eyes piercing straight through me. I wondered what it would be like to kiss him... To feel the weight of his hands on my skin...

The thought made my chest tighten and heat rise to my cheeks. I shook it off, scrubbing at my arms like I could wash the idea away.

I never saw King like that. Never even considered it.

This wasn't about him. This was just a means to get that card.

I stepped out of the shower, wrapping the towel tightly around myself as steam billowed behind me. My new clothes were blatant in their use. A silver lingerie set and a loose-fitting white dress with a plunging neckline. Elegant, expensive, and easy to take off.

With a deep breath, I got dressed, trying not to think about how exposed I felt.

The door creaked open, and Ivy and Cleo sauntered in, their laughter echoing through the room.

"Liza, what's with the face?" Ivy asked, plopping down beside me. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Cleo leaned against the vanity, arms crossed.

"I heard you bagged a high roller! We should be celebrating! Not moping."

"I'm... just a bit nervous."

Their eyes widened in unison, and then they burst into giggles.

"Oh my God," Ivy said, practically bouncing. "What's there to be nervous about? At least you scored a handsome client! I would do it for free, honestly."

I sighed, trying to keep my voice steady.

"Yeah. Lucky me."

"Lucky?" Cleo said with a grin. "Girl, do you even realize how rare this is?"

Ivy's smile widened.

"And have you seen him? That messy hair? Those rolled up sleeves? The veins on his arms... He's like some kind of rugged prince or something."

I nodded, imagining what King would look like if he kept his hair loose.

"I like his tattoos," I muttered.

Cleo's dark brows met.

"I didn't notice tattoos..."

I cocked my head back as I looked at the women.

How could they not notice King's ink? It was all over him.

"Nah, I've been watching Mister Death all night," Ivy agreed. "He doesn't have tattoos."

My heart dropped.

"Mister Death?" I asked.

Not King?

Before they could reply, the door opened again, and Lady Q stepped inside.

"Ladies, out," she said firmly, her sharp gaze flicking to Ivy and Cleo. They exchanged amused looks but didn't argue, giving me one last wink before slipping out the door.

I stood, smoothing the dress nervously.

I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say. I already agreed to this and if I backed out now, I could forget about getting that card.

Lady Q appraised me.

"You look good. Come, let's not have Mister Death wait."

My stomach sank, but I forced myself to nod. She motioned for me to follow, and two security guards flanked us as we left the dressing room.

As we walked through the winding halls, my mind spiraled once again.

I didn't pay the rugged-looking client much mind, but now that I would spend the night with him, I tried to analyze everything I noticed about him. He seemed... messy. And somewhat dangerous.

What type of guy was he? What was he into? Would I be alright?

I thought back to the rings on his pale fingers and swallowed nervously.

It would leave a mark if he got violent.

We stopped in front of an ornate door, the wood polished to a mirror-like shine. Lady Q pushed it open, revealing the Velvet Room, and my breath caught.

The space was breathtaking. The walls were lined with deep purple drapes, and the lighting was low and golden, casting a warm glow over everything. A massive bed dominated the center of the room, covered in plush pillows and rich, velvet sheets.

Off to one side, a jacuzzi bubbled quietly, the water reflecting the soft light. But the most stunning feature was the view — a wall of glass overlooking the New Hale River, its dark waters glittering like a thousand diamonds under the city lights.

Lady Q turned to me, her expression becoming gentle just slightly.

"Have fun," she said before stepping out and leaving me alone.

I stood there, my hands trembling slightly as I took in the room. It was luxurious, seductive... and suffocating. Every second that passed felt like an eternity as I waited for Mister Death to arrive.

I sat on the edge of the bed, my fingers twisting the edge of the velvet sheet.

I eyed the mini bar and wondered if I could get him drunk enough to black out. Maybe I could pour drink after drink, coax him into oblivion, and leave without having to—

The door creaked open, and my breath hitched.

Mister Death walked in like a shadow spilling across the room. He didn't speak, his movements eerily quiet. His hand reached back, locking the door with a faint click.

My stomach twisted into a tighter knot.

He lingered by the door for a moment, his head tilted slightly as if surveying the space — or me. My mouth went dry as I took him in again, unable to stop myself.

His black hair was tousled, falling over the top of his dark mask in a way that made him look a bit unhinged. His black button-up shirt was loose, the top few buttons undone, exposing a large portion of his chest.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to work.

"Nice... uh, nice room, right?" I cringed internally at how shaky I sounded. "The view of the river is... something else."

He didn't respond, didn't even glance toward the window. His focus was locked on me, his dark eyes unreadable behind the mask.

Just as I was sure he would never respond, he moved. Slowly, methodically, he removed each ring, placing them on the table.

It was only then that I noticed he wore thin transparent gloves. The material caught the faint golden light, almost glowing against his skin.

My eyes widened.

I tried to speak but couldn't.

His hand dipped into his pocket. When it emerged, my heart stopped altogether.

Black leather gloves.

I froze, watching as he patiently slid the gloves over his hands, the supple material creaking faintly as it molded to his fingers.

Realization dawned upon me as I finally recognized the dark eyes behind the mask. I hadn't noticed because of his unruly appearance... Such a stark contrast to the pristine look he usually had.

But there was no mistaking it.

I was staring at Rob B. Illion.