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“How much is she worth?”
The question cut through the private room like a blade.
Aruna froze behind the velvet curtain, her fingers tightening around the tray she was holding. She was not supposed to hear that conversation. This room was reserved for men who spoke softly about dangerous things, men who paid extra for silence. But the walls were thin, and tonight, fate had no interest in protecting her.
“She is not for sale,” the bar owner replied with a laugh that sounded forced. “She only serves drinks.”
A pause followed.
Then the man spoke again, his voice calm, unhurried, and terrifyingly sure.
“Everything has a price.”
Aruna swallowed.
She had heard many voices in this place. Drunk voices. Greedy voices. Men who promised heaven and delivered hell with a smile. But this voice was different. It carried no hunger, no impatience. Only control.
The kind of control that made people obey before they realized they were doing it.
“Aruna,” the owner called out suddenly. “Bring the whiskey. Now.”
She stepped into the room.
The air felt heavier here. The lighting was dimmer than the main hall, shadows dancing along the walls lined with dark wood and gold accents. The man sat on the leather couch like he owned the space, long legs relaxed, one arm draped casually along the backrest. He wore a black suit tailored to perfection, the fabric clinging to his broad frame like a second skin.
He lifted his gaze.
Their eyes met.
Aruna felt it instantly. A pull she could not explain. Not desire. Not fear alone. Something deeper. Something that made her chest tighten as if her body recognized a danger her mind had not yet processed.
His eyes were dark. Not just in color, but in depth. Like a place where light entered and never returned.
She lowered her gaze and walked forward, placing the tray on the table with careful hands. Her movements were practiced, graceful, trained by years of surviving unwanted attention. She poured the drink silently, just as she had been taught.
When she finished, she straightened.
“Thank you,” the man said.
His voice was softer now, closer. Too close.
She nodded, ready to leave.
“Wait.”
Her steps faltered.
“Yes, sir?” she asked, keeping her tone neutral.
“What is your name?” he asked.
The owner frowned. “Sir, she is just staff.”
“I did not ask you.”
The owner fell silent.
Aruna hesitated before answering. “Aruna.”
“Aruna,” he repeated, as if tasting the sound. “How long have you worked here?”
“Long enough,” the owner answered quickly.
The man’s gaze did not leave her face. “Do you like working here?”
The question startled her.
“No,” she replied honestly before she could stop herself.
The owner shot her a warning look.
The man smiled slightly. Not a warm smile. Not cruel either. Just a curve of lips that suggested he already knew the answer.
“Honesty,” he said. “Rare.”
He reached into his jacket and placed a black card on the table. No logo. No name.
“Leave us,” he said to the owner.
The owner hesitated. “Sir, about the deal…”
“Leave,” the man repeated, his tone unchanged.
The owner stood. “Aruna, go back outside.”
But Aruna did not move.
The man lifted his eyes to her again. “Did I tell you to leave?”
Her heart pounded.
“No, sir.”
“Good. Sit.”
Her breath caught. “Sir, I am not allowed to sit with guests.”
“I allow it.”
The owner opened his mouth to protest, then stopped. Sweat beaded on his forehead.
“I will be outside,” he muttered before leaving the room.
The door closed.
Silence filled the space.
Aruna stood there, unsure whether to obey. She had broken rules before to survive, but this felt different. Sitting meant crossing a line she had guarded carefully for years.
“I will not touch you,” the man said, as if reading her thoughts.
Her eyes flicked to him.
“Sit,” he repeated calmly.
She did.
The couch dipped slightly under her weight, but the distance between them remained deliberate. He did not move closer. He did not look at her body the way other men did. His gaze stayed on her face, studying, assessing.
“Do you know who I am?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“That is good,” he said. “It means you are still safe.”
Something about that statement unsettled her.
“Your boss owes me a debt,” he continued. “A very large one.”
Her fingers clenched in her lap.
“He cannot pay it,” the man went on. “So he offered an alternative.”
Aruna’s stomach twisted.
“I refused,” he added.
She looked up sharply.
“For now,” he finished.
Her chest tightened. “Sir, I do not understand.”
He leaned back slightly. “Tell me, Aruna. Why do you work here?”
The answer pressed against her throat, heavy and familiar.
“My mother,” she said quietly. “She was sick.”
He waited.
“She needed surgery. I needed money. A lot of it.”
“And now?” he asked.
“She is gone.”
The words left her mouth without emotion. She had cried enough for a lifetime. Grief had turned into something dull, something permanent.
“Did the surgery fail?” he asked.
“Yes.”
A lie. Or at least, the version she had been given.
He watched her closely. “And the debt?”
“I still owe it,” she said. “Every day.”
Silence fell again.
“You have never slept with a customer,” he said.
It was not a question.
Her breath hitched. “No.”
“You are telling the truth.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“I can tell,” he said.
She shifted uncomfortably. “Why does that matter?”
His gaze darkened.
“Because tonight,” he said, “your boss tried to sell me something that does not belong to him.”
Her blood ran cold.
“I am not for sale,” she said, her voice shaking despite her effort to stay calm.
“I know,” he replied. “That is why I did not buy you.”
Relief flooded her so suddenly she almost laughed.
“However,” he continued, “someone else might.”
The relief vanished.
“Leave this place,” he said.
She blinked. “What?”
“Tonight,” he repeated. “Pack your things and go.”
“I cannot,” she said quickly. “He will find me. The debt…”
“I will handle the debt.”
Her breath stopped.
“Why?” she whispered.
He stood.
Up close, he was even more imposing. She had to tilt her head back to look at him. He smelled faintly of smoke and something sharp, something expensive.
“Because you do not belong here,” he said.
“And what do you get in return?” she asked.
His eyes locked onto hers.
“You,” he said simply.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
“I am not asking for your body,” he added. “Not yet.”
Fear crept back in. “Then what are you asking for?”
“Your obedience,” he replied. “For now.”
The door opened abruptly.
The owner rushed back in, his smile strained. “Sir, I have good news. Another client is willing to pay double.”
The man turned slowly.
“For her?” he asked.
“Yes,” the owner said eagerly. “A special request. He wants her tonight.”
The room went cold.
Aruna stood abruptly. “No.”
The owner ignored her. “We can arrange it discreetly.”
The man’s expression did not change, but something shifted in the air. Pressure. Threat.
“You already sold her,” the man said.
The owner laughed nervously. “Not officially.”
The man reached into his pocket and placed something on the table.
A gun.
Aruna gasped.
“I am buying her,” the man said calmly. “Now.”
The owner’s face drained of color.
“You said you refused,” the owner stammered.
“I changed my mind,” the man replied.
He turned to Aruna.
“Come with me,” he said.
Her legs trembled. “If I say no?”
His eyes softened just a fraction.
“Then I will still make sure you leave this place alive,” he said. “But you will be alone.”
She looked at the door. At the man. At the life she knew, miserable as it was.
“What is your name?” she asked.
He paused.
“Dante,” he said. “Dante Ravelino.”
The name meant nothing to her.
But the way the owner flinched told her everything.
Dante extended his hand.
“Choose,” he said quietly.
Her fingers hovered inches away from his.
Outside the room, sirens wailed in the distance. Or maybe it was just the music from the bar, pounding like a warning.
Aruna took a breath.
And reached for his hand.
The owner shouted, “You do not know what you are doing, girl!”
Dante’s grip closed around hers.
“Oh,” Dante said, his voice low and dangerous as he pulled her toward the door.
“She knows exactly what she is doing.”
- Penulis
