She decided to call Edith, one of the girls she used to work with. With Edith's help, she went out that night—really out. They hit clubs she hadn't been to in months, drank until the room blurred at the edges, and danced until her feet ached. She stumbled home as the sun was coming up, makeup smeared, dress wrinkled, feeling hollowed out but somehow lighter.
The next morning, her phone told a different story. Eight missed calls from Daniel.
She stared at his name on the screen, almost giddy with excitement, then set the phone down without calling back.
He was pissed, angry enough to actually pick up the phone after weeks of silence. But she didn't care. Or at least, she told herself she didn't and refused to seem desperate.
Edith had connected her with someone that night. A billionaire well into his sixties, the kind of man who wore his wealth like cologne—expensive but overpowering. The thought of going back to that world, to men like that, made her stomach turn. But if Daniel was really done with her, she needed a safety net. She couldn't just freefall and hope someone would catch her.
The money was good; he'd offered her ten thousand dollars for the night, and she'd accepted without hesitation. That was real money. The kind that could buy her time to figure out her next move.
She'd been more than happy to oblige.
He'd paid five thousand dollars upfront, with the remaining five to come if she satisfied him. And if there was one thing Amira knew, it was how to do her job well. She didn't doubt for a second that she could make him obsessed with her; that's what she'd always been good at.
That night, she dressed carefully. A short red dress with a slit that ran dangerously high up her thigh, paired with black heeled boots that made her legs look endless. She studied herself in the mirror, then reached for her collection of wigs.
She always wore wigs when working with clients, not because her natural hair wasn't beautiful, but because it helped her slip into character. The wig was like a mask, allowing her to become someone else entirely, someone who didn't carry the weight of her real life.
For tonight, since she hadn't done this in a while, she chose the darkest straight wig she owned—sleek, black, and dramatic. Then came the purple contact lenses, transforming her eyes into something striking and unfamiliar.
She applied her makeup with the skill of someone who'd done this hundreds of times: foundation smoothed to perfection, lipstick painted on like armor, and mascara making her lashes thick and sultry.
With each stroke, each layer, she felt herself slipping back into the girl she used to be. The confident one. The one who was in control. Not the desperate, pathetic woman Daniel had been turning her into, the one who begged and pleaded and sent unanswered messages into the void.
That girl was gone for the night. This version of herself knew exactly what she was doing.
When working, she usually chose dresses or super short skirts because they made things easily accessible. Trousers or shorts meant having to pull the whole thing off, which just complicated matters.
She debated whether to wear a thong, then decided against it. This guy was loaded, and she needed his money; there was no point pretending to be some kind of good girl. The best approach would be to go all in, be wild, and give him exactly what he was paying for.
She barely recognized herself in the mirror. She looked completely different and absolutely stunning. She made a mental note to be careful.
She didn't want the staff to see her like this, though most of them had already retired for the night. She slipped out quietly and walked several blocks away from the house before hailing a cab.
The location turned out to be an exclusive lounge, the kind with velvet ropes and doormen who sized you up before letting you through. Edith hadn't given her the man's number directly; in this line of business, everyone took their cut. The man had obviously paid Edith a finder's fee, probably a thousand dollars for the connection, and Amira would owe her a thousand too.
She dialed Edith's number when she arrived, and Edith came downstairs to collect her. Edith worked at the lounge as a stripper, but she also had a side hustle connecting wealthy men with younger women who had loose morals and needed money—women exactly like Amira.
They exchanged brief pleasantries as they walked. Edith reminded her to treat him well because he was one of their most generous clients. Amira nodded, feeling completely detached from the conversation. She was only doing this to spite Daniel anyway, to prove that if he could move on without her, she could damn well do the same.
She listened with half an ear as Edith continued talking. Finally, they reached the private section, and she met him.
He was handsome for his age, sophisticated, and obviously dripping with wealth. Everything about him screamed money: the watch, the suit, and the way he carried himself. He gestured for her to sit, which she did, and immediately offered her a drink. She accepted, needing something to help her loosen up and slip fully into character.
After her third martini, the edges of her anxiety had softened. She was ready for whatever came next. She just wanted to get this over with and go home.
A part of her regretted being here at all, but she hardened her heart against it. This was survival. This was what she had to do.
Amira uncrossed her leg, enjoying the power she had over this man; he watched her like a hungry man, following every movement of her arms and legs. She spread her legs slightly, allowing him to get a glimpse of what he had paid for.
"How would you like this session to go? She questioned him, turning on the siren quality her voice took whenever she was with her clients; her voice dripped with desire and honeyed sweetness.
Amira struggled to keep her expression neutral as he began explaining his perverted desires to her; he wanted it rough with no foreplay, and he wanted her to give him a blowjob while he whispered degrading words at her.
He would even pay her extra to put out cigarette butts on her skin until he filled her mouth with every drop of his release, and he expected her to swallow every drop and thank him.
Amira just stared at him in disbelief as she fought the urge not to gag, show her disgust, or offend him. The price was good, but the thing is she had expected, well, something quick because of his age; she had not expected him to be a complete pervert. A part of her wanted to just transfer his money to him and walk out or maybe keep it for the insult he was subjecting her to and still walk away.
She zoned him out as he kept talking because she was afraid if she kept listening to him, she would have no choice but to slap him.
If she turned down his request, she would have offended Edith, and she could not afford to offend Edith, not now that she may have to start fending for herself; Edith had the contacts.
She realized suddenly that he'd stopped talking and was staring at her expectantly, as if waiting for a response to something she hadn't heard.
"Did what I said offend you?" he asked, his voice taking on an edge. Then his eyes narrowed, and his tone shifted into something colder. "You're just a slut, aren't you?"
The words shouldn't have stung; she'd been called worse, and besides, wasn't that exactly what she was here pretending to be? But for some reason, they cut deeper than they should have. She felt the sharp sting of humiliation burn through her chest.
Once again she was sourly tempted to throw her drink in his face and walk out. Instead, she forced herself to take a slow, steadying breath.
"Edith didn't tell me I'd have to do that," she said carefully, her voice level. "For that particular service, I charge at least a hundred thousand dollars."
The man looked at her incredulously, like she'd just told him the most absurd thing he'd ever heard. For a long moment, he said nothing.
Then he relented. Fine. He'd pay because Edith had told him the girl was good at her work and very exclusive. But he'd make damn sure he got his money's worth; he'd wipe that smirk off her face and break her in the process. She could count on that.
Amira sagged slightly, disappointment washing over her. She'd been hoping he'd lose his temper and refuse, giving her an easy excuse to walk away without offending him or losing face with Edith. But a hundred thousand dollars was a lot of money. Life-changing money.
So why not?
She signaled the bartender and ordered a shot of vodka. Straight. She knew she was going to need it; she dug into her and found the tiny tablet. She swallowed the tiny ecstasy tablet and chased it with vodka, numbness washing through her like cold fire.