Chapter 2
1328 Words
Aria
I froze mid-step.
The world tilted as the familiar voice echoed through the phone.
“And today of all days, you decide to ruin it yourself.”
My breath hitched.
“No—no, sir. Please… please! I’m on my way now!” I pleaded, panic flooding my chest as I finally recognized the voice. It was my boss.
Of all nights to fall apart.
All this time, while I was drowning in love, believing in a marriage that had already been buried, I had forgotten something else — I was working late shifts at the club near my school. Bartending. Smiling through exhaustion. Saving every penny to support myself. I hadn’t even told Jake at first. But he had insisted he could handle everything financially, but I refused. It was my education. My future. My pride.
Blinded by love, I never imagined I would need that independence so soon.
“Not that I care,” Mr. Roswell continued coldly. “I’m only calling to remind you of the agreement. Miss a single day within the month, and your entire pay is forfeit. Just in case I choose to enforce it, you won’t call me a wicked man.”
My heart plummeted.
“No, sir…!”
The line went dead.
A chill crawled down my spine as realization struck like a vicious blow.
Tonight was the last day of the month. One full month since I started working there.
If I completed tonight’s shift, I would receive my full salary… the money I desperately needed to fund my final project submission. I had no savings left. Every penny had gone into rent, food, books… and a marriage that no longer existed.
I checked the time.
It was already twenty minutes late.
And the ride back would take at least an hour.
If I didn’t show up, I would lose everything.
My heart raced violently as panic settled deep in my ribs. I shoved the phone into my bag and flagged down the nearest taxi, forcing myself to breathe through the ache in my chest.
The pain from Jake still lingered, raw and burning.
But survival demanded attention.
An hour later, I finally arrived. I handed the driver my last remaining card without even checking the balance and rushed inside.
Music thundered through the air. Lights flashed violently against the walls. The scent of alcohol and perfume mixed thickly in the atmosphere.
Life here continued.
As if mine hadn’t just been destroyed.
I pushed through the crowd, ignoring the annoyed glances and muttered complaints. My heels nearly slipped on the polished floor as I hurried toward the bar.
When I finally saw him, my breath caught.
“Uhm… S-Sir… good evening,” I managed.
Mr. Roswell turned slowly, setting down a champagne bottle he was holding with deliberate calm. His gaze was sharp and calculating.
“You’re late,” he said flatly. “Seriously late. I assumed you wouldn’t bother coming.”
“I… I’m very sorry, sir. It won’t happen again.”
His fingers tightened around the napkin in his hand. Something unreadable flickered in his eyes before he spoke again.
“Since you’re here, you’ll serve the VVIP section.”
My eyes widened.
“But sir… ”
He ignored me, already arranging several expensive champagne bottles, rare, exquisite labels, polished crystal glasses onto the large golden tray.
“You have no excuses, Aria,” he said firmly. “The other attendants are occupied. There’s only one order left. From the VVIP section.”
That word pulsed uneasily in my chest.
VVIP.
I had never been assigned there before.
The regular VIP section was already intimidating enough… wealthy, entitled men who expected perfection. But VVIP? That floor was reserved for powerful figures, influential men, and the untouchables. I’d heard several stories that only experienced staff handled them. One wrong move, one wrong word, and you were finished.
Panic clawed at my throat.
Everything had already been taken from me tonight.
I could not lose this too.
If I served this order successfully, I would get my paycheck, that was all I needed.
Just this…
Just one tray.
I swallowed hard and forced myself steady as I lifted it carefully.
“When you reach the upper floor,” Mr. Roswell said, pointing to a small slip attached to the tray, “look at the number. That’s the section.”
Instinctively I glanced down and saw:
Room 306?
My brows furrowed tightly, raising a suspicious look at him.
“There are no visible room numbers,” he added casually. “It designates a private section. I forget to tell you since you never served the VIPs before.”
Minutes later, I stood in front of a dark wooden door marked 306.
The hallway was quieter than the rest of the club. Dim and isolated.
My heart pounded violently.
“It’s just a delivery,” I whispered to myself. “In and out.”
I pushed the door open.
The room was larger than I expected.
Dark.
Low red lighting bathed a single corner. The air conditioning brushed cool against my overheated skin. The space felt… expensive, controlled, far more luxurious than the rest.
I walked inside, placing the tray carefully on the center table. I didn’t immediately look toward the seating area.
But I felt his presence.
Heavy, silent, and watching.
“Here’s your order, sir,” I said carefully, placing the bottles and glasses neatly onto the central table.
Just as I turned to leave, a groaning sound stopped me in my tracks.
Another groan followed, sharper this time.
My heartbeat quickened. Slowly, against my better judgment, I turned. He was seated awkwardly in one of the lounge chairs, body bent forward, one hand gripping his lower abdomen so tightly his knuckles had gone white. He shifted slightly, groaning again.
Instinct screamed for me to leave.
But something else overruled it.
I rushed toward him.
“Sir? Are you okay?”
To my surprise, he wasn’t bleeding. No visible injuries. But his breathing was uneven, strained. Sweat glistened faintly along his temple under the dim red light.
Too much alcohol? Or something worse perhaps?
“Sir, wait here. I’ll get help quickly,” I reassured him, turning toward the door, but his hand gripped my wrist firmly.
“Please… help me,” he rasped, voice low and roughened by pain.
“You need medical attention!” I insisted, tugging at his wrist, but his grip held.
“Don’t,” he breathed sharply, another wave of pain seizing him. “Please… don’t tell anyone.”
His grip tightened. Panic surged through me.
“You’re only going to die here if I don’t help,” I snapped. “Just let me go, I promise I’ll be back in no time.”
He tried to speak, but only managed a strained, “At least… water.”
Relief and fear collided. I turned to the table, hands trembling, grabbed a bottle, and poured water into a glass.
My palms betrayed me. The glass slipped, spilling icy water across the floor and onto his shirt. A cold patch bloomed across his torso.
“Oh my God! I’m sorry!” I gasped.
He flinched, pain flashing in his eyes, but didn’t move to scold. I grabbed a towel from the small bathroom nearby and dabbed carefully at his soaked shirt.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” I whispered, forcing calm into my voice. “We’ll fix this.”
Carefully, I guided him back into the lounge chair, steadying him. His breathing slowed slightly. For a fleeting moment, the world outside… the chaos, my heartbreak, everything—slipped away. It was just the two of us, suspended in fragile tension, in the dim red room, amidst the expensive stillness.
I finally allowed myself to step back to drop the towel in the bathroom and leave him to regain his strength… but I couldn’t have known the next moments would spin everything into complete chaos.
- Writer
