Before I Lose My Head

Chapter-5

I followed the instructions written on the flyer until I was standing in front of the Velvet Moon club. From the outside, the place practically screamed obscene wealth. I swallowed the last shreds of my pride, pushed open the heavy mahogany doors, and walked in.

Right at the entrance stood a receptionist, leaning against a lavish marble desk. I had to admit, she was 'beautiful' in an almost unbelievable way—flawless makeup, perfectly styled hair, and a silk dress that probably cost more than my entire life.

I walked toward her with confidence, pulled the crumpled flyer out of my pocket, and slapped it on the desk.

"I'm here for the job. I want to work."

The pretty receptionist looked down at the wrinkled paper, then slowly raised her eyes to me. Her gaze swept over my hay-tangled hair and my dirt-stained, torn dress. She wrinkled her nose in pure disgust, as if I were some sewer rat.

She sneered, her voice dripping with condescension.

"I'm sorry, but I don't think you're... suited for this place. We have standards here, sweetie. Now leave before I call the guards."

My eyelid twitched with rage. Sweetie? Again?!

I leaned over the desk, my fists clenching as I prepared to lunge at her perfectly made-up face and rip out that styled hair.

"Listen to me b***h, you plastic-coated fashion mannequin—"

"Is there a problem here?"

A sharp, commanding voice cut through the tension. I turned to see another woman descending the stairs. She was dressed impeccably, radiating an unmistakable air of authority. This was the woman in charge of hiring.

The receptionist straightened up instantly, panic flashing across her face.

"Boss! No problem at all, just... a beggar trying to—"

The manager completely ignored her. Her sharp eyes locked onto me, studying my face, my defiant, furious expression.

"I heard you from the other end of the hallway,"

the manager said, an intriguing little smile forming on her lips.

"You want to work here, don't you?"

"Yes,"

I answered, crossing my arms and refusing to back down.

"And I'm worth ten of this receptionist."

The manager let out a light laugh, clearly amused by my sheer nerve.

"Bold. I like that. Come with me."

She motioned for me to follow, and I shot the receptionist a smug, victorious smile as I walked past her.

The manager led me into a massive, luxurious dressing room connected to a private bathroom. Before I could even ask a question, she snapped her fingers, and three maids rushed in.

"Clean her up,"

the manager ordered.

"Head to toe. Fix that hair, scrub off the dirt, and put her in the red silk dress."

What followed was a brutal but necessary transformation. They scrubbed my skin until it nearly burned, washed the village grime and stubborn straw out of my hair, and styled my short locks until they fell around my neck in perfect, glossy waves. Finally, they squeezed my body into a tight, incredibly provocative red silk dress, with a bold slit that ran all the way up my thigh.

When they finished, I stood in front of the tall mirror, and my jaw nearly hit the floor in shock.

The exhausted, ragged village girl was completely gone. In her place stood a stunning woman, with sharp eyes, lethal charm, and a body that could tempt saints. The tight dress wrapped around every curve of my body perfectly, seductively.

The manager walked in, took one look at me, and froze in place. Her eyes went wide, her face lighting up with pure astonishment and excitement.

"Oh my god!"

the manager gasped, clapping her hands together in sheer excitement.

"You're... breathtaking! This body, this face... the nobles won't know what hit them! You're officially hired!"

I smiled wickedly at my reflection in the mirror, running my hand over the expensive silk.

It didn't take long before I became the star attraction, the living legend of the Velvet Moon club. But I wasn't just some ordinary hostess; I set one strict, non-negotiable golden rule: look, drink, but do not touch.

I was the prince's future partner, for heaven's sake! I was saving myself completely for my handsome prince. There was no way I was letting these disgusting middle-aged aristocrats lay a single finger on me.

"Another glass of the fine royal wine, beautiful?"

a wealthy nobleman murmured, leaning in far closer than necessary, his breath reeking of expensive wine and pathetic desperation.

"Of course, sir,"

I said with a charming, polite smile, smoothly sliding my chair back a few inches to reclaim my personal space. I poured him a glass, raised my own, and clinked it against his.

"To your health. And to your hands staying exactly where they are, right above your knees."

He let out a loud laugh, thinking I was just teasing him. That was the trick—I used my sharp tongue and my remarkably high tolerance for drink to entertain them. I'd drink alongside them, laugh at their painfully unfunny jokes, and empty their heavy pockets, all while keeping them at a full arm's length.

I'd become a true professional at this. I could get a nobleman drunk enough to collapse under the table, coax him into confessing every one of his family's secrets, and have him tossing bags of gold at my feet without him ever so much as brushing the hem of my dress.

"You're playing them like a fiddle, Lillian," the manager whispered to me one night as I passed by the bar. "But the customers are losing their minds over you. They're paying triple just to sit at your table and drink with you."

I smiled, running a hand through my glossy hair.

"Of course they are. People always want what they can't have."

The manager looked me up and down.

"I like you, Lillian."

I looked down, feeling a rare, faint blush of shyness creep over me.

"Thanks for the compliment,"

I said softly, a small smile tugging at my lips.

The manager let out a light laugh, clearly pleased by my reaction.

"I'll leave you to your work, then. I'll head off now."

She turned and walked away, leaving me alone with my thoughts.