Miranda wiped the sweat from the back of her neck as she climbed the stairs after the last client left the booth.
The club was getting less busy, the music turned low, and the remaining men nursed their final drinks at the bar.
Her feet throbbed inside the high heels, and the red dress clung to her skin from hours of moving under hot lights. She had counted close to three thousand in tips tonight, most of it already hidden in different places around her room. Every night added a little more to the escape fund, but it still felt nowhere near enough.
Sofia waited for her near the dressing room door, holding two bottles of water. She handed one over without a word. Miranda twisted the cap and drank half in one go.
"You look beat," Sofia said, keeping her voice low. Guards still lingered downstairs.
"I am." Miranda leaned against the wall, letting the cool bottle rest against her forehead. "That group in VIP three wouldn't let me leave for two hours. They kept ordering bottles just to keep me sitting there."
Sofia snorted. "Rich idiots. At least they tipped."
"Yeah." Miranda rubbed her thigh where one of them had gripped too hard. "Worth it for the cash."
Amara joined them a minute later, coming off stage with her hair pinned up and a tired smile. "Almost done. Victor's in his office counting money."
"Good," Miranda said. "Maybe he'll stay there."
The three of them slipped into the dressing room together. It was quieter now, most girls were already upstairs. They sat on the long couch, kicking off heels and stretching sore legs.
Amara pulled a small bag of dates from her pocket and passed them around.
"From the kitchen. At least it's better than nothing."
Miranda took two, chewing slow. "Any word on Lily?"
Sofia shook her head. "Haven't seen her in two nights. The guards say she tried to come yesterday, but Victor turned her away at the door."
Miranda felt a mix of relief and worry. Lily showing up less meant less risk for the girl, but also less chance of whatever help she kept promising.
"Her brother sent that messenger again today," Amara whispered. "I heard the guards talking.
Miranda's stomach tightened. "What kind of questions?"
"If you're really trapped. How Victor runs things." Amara shrugged. "The guard told him to leave. Said it was none of his business."
Sofia lit a cigarette, blowing smoke toward the vent. "Whitmore money is big. If Charles decides to push, Victor will feel it."
"But Victor pushes back harder," Miranda said. "He threatened my family again tonight."
Sofia reached over and squeezed her arm. "We should watch out for each other. Always."
They sat in quiet for a few minutes, the kind of tired silence that came after long shifts. Miranda closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the wall. She thought about Ethan back home, wondered if he was asleep or studying late again. She hadn't spoken to him since the day she left Seattle. Victor still held her phone.
A guard's voice barked from the hallway. "Upstairs. Now."
They stood slowly, gathering their bags.
Miranda slipped her newest tips into hidden spots in her dress before heading out. Her room felt smaller when she got there. She changed into an oversized t-shirt and shorts, then sat on the bed counting everything again. The total was growing, but passports and plane tickets cost more than she had. She needed time that Victor wasn't willing to give.
By morning, the usual tray was brought under the door, it was bread, cheese, coffee. Miranda ate standing by the small high window, watching the city wake up far below. Skyscrapers gleamed in the sun, buildings she could have been designing if life had gone different.
A knock came mid-morning which was unusual. The door opened to a guard she didn't know well. "Victor wants you in his office."
She followed him down, heels not needed yet. The office door stood open. Victor sat behind his desk, phone in hand, face darker than usual.
"Sit," he said without looking up.
Miranda sat, back straight. "What now?"
He ended the call and tossed the phone down. "Your dad's debts. Someone paid them."
She blinked. "What?"
"All of it." Victor leaned forward, eyes narrow. "Every dollar he owed me. Wired this morning. Anonymous, but I know where it came from."
Miranda's heart started pounding. "Who?"
"Whitmore." He spat the name. "Charles Whitmore's account. Thinks he can buy you out of here."
She stayed quiet, her mind was racing now. Charles had moved fast, and without asking her.
Victor stood and paced. "He thinks he can remove my leverage on your family. Smart." he said backing her. "But you're still here and I'm with your passport. The moment you leave, cops will get tipped about your 'illegal' visa. You stay gone, your brother has problems at school. Accidents happen."
Miranda clenched her fists in her lap. "You can't touch them if the debt's paid."
"I can touch whoever I want." Victor stopped in front of her. "Tell that rich bastard to back off. Next time he sends money or messengers, you pay for it."
He grabbed her chin hard, forcing her to look up. "Understand?"
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth.
He let go and sat again. "Good. You work double shift tonight. Wear the gold dress."
She stood and walked out, rubbing her jaw. The guard escorted her back upstairs.
Sofia and Amara were in the shared wardrobe room when she passed. She slipped in quick.
"Victor's pissed," she whispered. "Charles paid my dad's debts."
Sofia's eyes went wide. "Already?"
Amara smiled small. "That's good, right?"
"Maybe." Miranda leaned against a rack of dresses. "Victor lost leverage on my family, but he's still threatening, worse this time. Says Charles needs to stop."
Sofia handed her the gold dress. "Rich men don't stop easy."
The day dragged with preparations, makeup, hair, nails touched up. Girls talked quiet about the paid debt; word spread fast. Some looked hopeful, others scared Victor would crack down harder.
Evening came. The club filled with the weekend crowd. Miranda worked the floor with Sofia again, smiling through sore cheeks. Clients bought drinks, requested dances. She moved automatically, body responding even when her mind stayed sharp.
One private booth turned spicy fast. The client was young, handsome, clearly loaded, pulled her close the second the curtain closed. His hands roamed confident, mouth on her neck. She straddled him, grinding slow, feeling him hard under her. Heat built quick, breath mixing. "You're incredible," he murmured, fingers slipping under her dress. She let it go further than usual for the tip, rocking against his hand until she gasped real. He groaned, tipping huge.
Back on the floor, flushed, she caught Sofia's knowing look.
Near closing, a guard appeared beside her suddenly. "Private room. Now. Client's waiting."
She followed him to a bigger room, velvet walls, low lights. The man inside stood when she entered. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dark hair perfect, with expensive suit. His steel-gray eyes locked on her, expression controlled and cold.
Charles Whitmore.
He waited until the door closed. "You're Miranda Cole."
She crossed her arms, staying by the door.
"And you're the guy throwing money around without asking."
His jaw tightened. "Lily wouldn't stop talking about you. I paid the debt to remove the immediate threat to your family."
Miranda stepped closer. "And put a bigger target on me. Victor's furious."
Charles didn't flinch. "He'll learn to adjust."
"Easy for you to say." She looked him over though he had a domineering presence filling the room. "What do you want?"
"To understand the situation." His voice stayed even. "Then decide next steps."
"Next steps?" She laughed short. "I'm not some project."
"No." He moved closer, close enough she smelled his cologne, clean, expensive.
"But you're trapped. I can change that."
Heat sparked between them, tension slowly increasing. He towered over her, his controlled power obvious. She tilted her head up. "At what price?"
His hand lifted, thumb brushing her bruised cheek gentle. "None."
She caught his wrist. "Everything has a price."
His eyes darkened. "Not this."
The door rattled suddenly, Victory's angry voice was heard. "Time's up!"
Charles didn't move. "We're not done."
Victor burst in with guards. "Out. Now."
Charles turned slowly, completely ignoring Victor and his guards, his stare cold. "We'll speak again." Then he turned and left the room casually, completely unaffected by the situation.
Victor grabbed Miranda's arm hard. "What did he say?"
"Nothing," she lied.
He shoved her toward the hall. "Lock her upstairs. No more privates tonight."
As guards marched her away, she glanced back.
Charles stood at the end of the hall, watching, phone to his ear.
Talking to someone.
And his eyes promised he wasn't leaving empty-handed.