I didn't go to the private section that night.
The manager tried to act like it was nothing, like plans changed all the time, but I could tell from his tone that someone had said no.
Not postponed. Not rescheduled. No. I took off my heels in the dressing room and sat there longer than usual, listening to the music fade through the walls. My body felt heavy, not tired, just weighed down by too much awareness.
Outside, the night air was cold enough to bite. I pulled my jacket tighter as I walked toward the staff exit. The parking lot was half-lit, the kind of place where shadows stretched longer than they should. I was halfway to my car when I heard footsteps behind me. Slow. Unrushed.
"Get in."
I stopped.
Adrian's voice didn't need to be loud. It didn't need explanation either. I turned around. He stood a few feet away, hands in his coat pockets, expression calm like he was asking me to pass him something small.
"I'm done for the night," I said. My voice sounded normal. That mattered to me.
"I know."
His car was parked nearby, black and expensive, the kind of car people noticed even when they tried not to. One of his guys stood a little distance away, pretending not to watch us while watching everything.
"I didn't call for you earlier," Adrian continued. "I don't mix business decisions with impulse."
"That's good to know," I said.
He looked at me then. Really looked. Not the way men in the club did. This was slower. Like he was assessing something he didn't want to want.
"You're smarter than most girls in there," he said. "You don't push. You don't beg for attention."
"I do my job."
"That's the problem."
I frowned. "How?"
"You make it look controlled. Like you chose it."
I didn't answer. There was nothing safe to say to that.
He stepped closer, stopping just short of my space. "Girls like you confuse men," he said. "They start believing things that aren't true."
"And you?" I asked before I could stop myself. "What do you believe?"
His mouth curved slightly, but there was no warmth in it. "I believe people sell what they can."
"That doesn't make them less human."
His eyes darkened. "It makes them compromised."
The word sat between us, heavy and ugly.
He reached out, not touching me yet, just lifting his hand as if considering it. "You dance like you don't belong there," he said.
"But you're still there."
"Not everyone gets choices."
"I don't respect excuses."
His fingers brushed my wrist. Light. Brief. Enough to make the point without crossing lines. I pulled my hand back immediately.
"Don't," I said.
Something shifted then. Not anger. Something more dangerous. Interest mixed with restraint.
"Get in the car," he said again. "Five minutes."
"For what?"
"So I can decide if you're worth my time."
"I didn't ask for it."
"No," he agreed. "You didn't."
Silence stretched. His guy looked away deliberately. The city hummed around us like nothing important was happening.
I thought about rent. About my mother's calls. About the weight that waited for me at home no matter how late I got there.
I opened the car door.
Inside, the car smelled clean and expensive. Adrian didn't touch me again. He didn't need to. He spoke instead—about the club, about the way men watched women like it was consumption, about discipline and disgust and self-control. He spoke like he was including me in a conversation I wasn't supposed to be part of.
When the five minutes were up, he stopped the car.
"You're not what I thought," he said.
"That supposed to help me?"
"No," he replied. "It's supposed to warn you."
As I stepped out, he added quietly, "Stay away from men like me."
I shut the door.
I already knew I wouldn't.