HIS DARK SECRET

Clara’s POV The neon lights of the club always made my head ache, but tonight, the air felt heavier than usual. I was just a ghost in a uniform, moving through the thumping bass and the smell of expensive spilled liquor. When I was suddenly assigned to deep-clean the VIP suite on the third floor, I expected to find empty champagne bottles and silk ties. I didn't expect to find him. He was tall—sharp-edged like a jagged piece of glass—and devastatingly handsome in a way that felt dangerous. But he wasn't dancing or drinking. He was hunched over, his veins standing out against his pale skin as he pressed a cold syringe into his arm. My breath hitched in my throat. I knew men like this; men with too much money and too little soul. If he saw me, he’d hunt me just for witnessing his weakness. I scrambled behind a heavy velvet curtain, my heart hammering against my ribs. Just stay quiet, I pleaded with myself. Just let him finish and leave. Suddenly, my pocket vibrated. The sharp ping of a text notification sliced through the silence of the room, and the bright flash of my phone’s LED light cut through the shadows like a beacon. Before I could even blink, the air was sucked out of the room. A hand, cold and strong as iron, snatched my arm and hauled me out from behind the curtain. I tried to run away, but he was too fast, pinning me against the wall. His eyes were a terrifying, bloodshot red—the look of a man who had just surrendered his mind to a high chemical drugs. "Who sent you?" he growled. The sound was low, vibrating through my chest. "Why were you recording me? Give me the phone!" "I wasn't! I swear!" I gasped, my voice thin with terror. "It was just a message—I didn’t record anything!" He didn't listen. He ripped the phone from my shaking fingers, his thumb swiping aggressively through my gallery. When he found nothing—no photos, no videos—he didn't apologize. Instead, his grip on my arm tightened until I felt the bone groan. "Please," I whimpered. "I was just sent to clean the room. I don't even know who you are." He leaned in, his face inches from mine. He smelled of expensive cologne and the bitter tang of drugs. How much are they paying you? Tell me, “I’ll pay you double to tell them you saw nothing.” I stared at him, Confused. “what is he talking about"? who are they? Before I could ask, his eyes glazed over. His head rolled back slightly, his grip slackening as the drug finally took full control of his nervous system. I didn't wait. I shoved him with every ounce of strength I had, his heavy body stumbling back against the leather sofa, and bolted out the door. My heart was a frantic drum against my ribs, echoing in the quiet VIP hallway. I didn't stop until I reached the main office. "Finished with room 302 already, my boss asked, tapping a cigarette against his desk. "Yes," I gasped, trying to steady my breathing so he wouldn't see my hands shaking. "I... I've finished the deep clean.Sir, I’m feeling really unwell. Can I please head out early tonight?" He looked at me for a long, agonizing second, then shrugged. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a small envelope—my meager pay for the shift. "Fine. You’ve been a good worker, don't make this a habit. Get out of here." I snatched the envelope, a tiny weight of relief in my palm, and practically ran for the staff exit. I didn't feel safe until the cold night air hit my face, and even then, I kept looking over my shoulder, half-expecting the man with the blood-red eyes to be standing in the shadows. "I burst through the back door of Mrs.Victoria’s house, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath. The club was miles away, but I was still shaking, half-expecting that man with the red eyes to jump out of the shadows. The "home" I returned to wasn't a sanctuary. It was a cramped, two-room basement apartment tucked beneath the main mansion, smelling of damp concrete and old laundry. As I stepped inside, the sight made my blood run cold.