His Stripper, His Obsession

CHAPTER FOUR: THE INVITATION

The changing room door creaked open, and Tony, the club’s manager, stepped in with a face like stone. His eyes found Velvet immediately.

“Luna,” he said in a low voice, beckoning her closer.

She paused mid-motion, halfway through slipping her heels back into her locker. “What?”

He leaned in, dropping his tone to a whisper.

“Dante wants you in his room.”

For a moment, she thought she’d misheard. “Excuse me?”

“He said he’ll pay triple the private charge.” Tony’s mouth barely moved as he spoke. “It’s good money, Luna. For you. For the bar.”

Her stomach twisted, anger and shock bubbling up at the same time. “No. I—”

“Don’t start,” Tony cut in, his voice still soft but firm. “You know it’s part of the job here. And you should be lucky—he’s never requested anyone before. Not once.”

“I’m not—” she began, but he lifted a hand.

“You know Mr. Richard’s loyal to him,” Tony said flatly. “We wouldn’t want to get him angry. Be at your best behavior, girl.”

She hesitated, jaw tight. The truth was, refusing wasn’t really an option. Not here. Not with a man like Dante.

Without another word, she reached for a more comfortable black wrap dress and slid it on over her lingerie. The heels stayed—stage habit. She quickly reapplied her lipstick, the crimson shade feeling more like armor than allure.

The walk to the VIP area was short, but each step felt heavier. When she reached the door to his private suite, she took a breath, knocked once, and waited.

The door swung open to reveal a sharply dressed man—Dante’s PA, the same one from the mezzanine. He gave her a polite nod and gestured her inside.

“Mr. Cross is finishing up in the shower. Please, make yourself comfortable,” he said before excusing himself, the door clicking shut behind him.

The room was dimly lit, smelling faintly of expensive cologne and steam. A low couch faced a marble table, and on it—bundles of cash, neatly stacked, beside two gleaming wristwatches that looked like they cost more than her rent for the year.

She didn’t touch them. But her eyes lingered, just for a second, before she sank into the corner of the couch, crossing her legs and folding her arms tight.

The sound of running water stopped.

A few moments later, he stepped out from behind a frosted glass door—bare-chested, a towel slung low around his waist. Water still clung to his skin, tracing down over hard muscle. He looked completely at ease, like she wasn’t a stranger, like this was his home and she had been waiting here for him her whole life.

She, on the other hand, could feel her pulse drumming in her ears.

Dante closed the space between them in a few slow steps, settling onto the couch beside her. Too close.

She immediately stood. “What do you want from me, sir?”

His eyes didn’t waver.

“All of you,” he said simply. “How much will it cost me?”

The words landed like a slap. Heat flashed in her cheeks—not from flattery, but from the sting of being reduced to a transaction.

“I am not some kind of possession,” she bit out.

For the first time, something in his expression shifted. A flicker of awareness. He heard the tension in her voice, the edge of fear she tried to hide. He didn’t know how to answer—Dante Cross didn’t often find himself needing to explain himself to women. He’d never really wanted one before.

Silence stretched between them until he broke it with a calmer tone.

“You don’t belong here, you know.”

She blinked. “What makes you say that?”

His eyes held hers, steady and certain.

“Because I want you for myself.”

She stiffened as he turned away, moving with no urgency as he reached for the closet, pulling on a dark shirt without bothering to hide himself from her. Then he reached into his wallet, pulled out a sleek black card, and held it out to her.

“My number,” he said. “I’ll know more about you soon. And I’ll give you time to accept that I want you.”

Her fingers hesitated before she took it, but she didn’t say another word. The walls felt like they were closing in on her.

Without another glance, she turned and walked out, her pace quickening until the door shut behind her.

The card felt heavy in her hand.

And for the first time in months, she wasn’t sure which man she was more afraid of—the one chasing her from the past… or the one who’d just decided she was his future.