Aurora's POV
"A glass of your strongest whisky," a voice said from behind me.
I turned with the polite smile I used for serving customers, but the moment I realized who it was, the expression died on my face.
It was him. He was still here. I thought he was gone, but I was wrong—and something told me I would be seeing much more of him.
"My order," he demanded when I didn't move to get his drink.
I nodded stiffly, poured the drink, and returned to the bar, setting the glass in front of him. He picked it up and drank without hesitation. For a fleeting, ugly second, I wished I'd poisoned it.
But that was impossible. There were cameras everywhere, and this man was definitely a werewolf. They have a lethal sense of smell; if there was anything in that glass apart from the alcohol, he was sure to scent it.
As he drank, my eyes lingered on him. The mask still covered half his face, but it did nothing to hide how devastatingly handsome he was. His piercing eyes and the shape of his lips were all I needed to see. It was ridiculous—how could a brutal killer be this attractive?
"If I got a dollar for every time you stared at me," he said suddenly, "I'd be a millionaire by now.
I blinked, snapping back to reality. "I wasn't staring," I lied, frowning as I turned away. I picked up a glass and began polishing it, though it was already spotless.
"You know," he continued casually, "I find you very interesting."
I kept my back to him, choosing to ignore him. Ever since I realized he didn't know who I actually was, I had been more at ease. He didn't recognize me. To him, I was just like any other girl here—someone he wanted to fuck. It was a massive relief.
"My offer still stands," he muttered. "Name your price."
I turned and glared at him. "Like I said," I snapped, "I'm priceless when it comes to sex."
He raised a brow and lifted his cup. As he took a sip, I caught a glimpse of my nightmare: his tattoo. I took a deep breath and looked away, forcing myself to stay calm and composed.
"Five hundred thousand dollars," he said.
The number hit me like a blow.
I stared at him, stunned. What kind of man casually offered half a million dollars for one night?
I scoffed. "You must be joking."
"I'm not," he replied, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble. "Five hundred thousand for one night. Most people in this club would kill for a fraction of that. Why are you the only one playing hard to get?"
I tightened my grip on the towel in my hand. "Because unlike the people you're used to," I said coldly, "I can't be bought. Not for a million. And certainly not by you."
He leaned forward, the scent of expensive whisky and forest rain rolling off him. "Everything has a price, Aurora. I just haven't found the right currency for you yet. But I will."
He finished his drink in one gulp and set the glass down with a heavy thud. He didn't look away; he watched me like a predator watching a deer that thought it was hidden.
"I'll be back tomorrow," he stated, sliding a high-denomination chip across the bar as a tip. "Think about the offer. Half a million can buy you a lot of things."
As he walked away, I watched his broad shoulders disappear into the crowd. My heart was hammering against my ribs. He was right about one thing: that money could change my life. It could help with James's medical bills, but over my dead body will I sleep with my parents' murderer.
"Aurora? You okay?" Clara's voice broke through the static in my head. She stepped into my space, her eyes scanning my pale face. "You look like you're about to faint. Was that new Dom troubling you?"
"No. I'm fine, Clara. Just a long shift," I lied.
"He's looking at you like you're the only thing in this room worth owning," she murmured, glancing toward the VIP section where he had disappeared. "And he just dropped a tip that could pay my rent for a year. What did he say to you?"
"Nothing that matters," I snapped, more harshly than I intended. I softened my voice when I saw her flinch. "I just... I need a minute. Can you cover the stand?"
She looked concerned but nodded. "Sure."
"Thank you."
I hurried toward the women's restroom and splashed cold water on my face, gripping the edge of the sink as I stared at my reflection.
Clara was right. I looked pale. The past twenty-four hours had been pure hell.
The door swung open, and the heavy silence was shattered by the high-pitched giggling of two submissives. I kept my head down, pretending to fix my makeup as they flounced toward the mirrors, adjusting their lace and silk.
The blonde one leaned against the marble counter, a dazed, lovestruck smile on her face.
"Oh my Goddess," she sighed, fanning herself with a manicured hand. "That new Dom... the one with the piercing green eyes? I think I've actually died and gone to heaven."
My heart did a slow, painful roll in my chest. I froze, my hands gripping the edge of the porcelain sink.
"You actually got in with him?" the other girl asked, her voice thick with envy. "He looked so... intense. I was too intimidated to even make eye contact."
"Intense doesn't even cover it," the blonde whispered. "We just finished. My God, he is a total god in bed. He's dominant, sure, but the way he looks at you... like he's trying to peel back your very soul."
I felt a wave of nausea hit me.
"And he's generous," she continued, her grin widening as she reached into her small clutch and pulled out a stack of high-denomination chips. "Guess how much he gave me for just an hour or two? This is more than I usually make in a month."
The other girl gasped, reaching out to touch the chips. "No way! Are you serious?"
"Dead serious. I wish he could just make me his permanent sub," the blonde boasted, reapplying her red lipstick. "He didn't say much, though. He seemed... distracted. Like he was thinking about someone else the whole time. But with moves like that, who cares?"
They kept talking, their voices fading as they walked back out into the club, leaving me alone in the sudden, crushing silence.
Anger exploded inside me. He was alive. Living his life. Spending carelessly on women while, six years ago, he destroyed mine. My bright future, every dream I had as a little girl—gone, just because of him.
With rage burning in my veins, I glared at the mirror, staring at my reflection.
"I'm going to kill you," I whispered. "Even if it's the last thing I do."
I made my way back to the bar stand, my face a mask of professional composure, though my soul felt like it was screaming.
Clara was busy wiping down the counter, but she leaned in the second I stepped beside her. Her eyes were bright, dancing with the kind of gossip that usually kept this place alive.
"Aurora, guess what?" she whispered, her voice buzzing with excitement.