The Mysterious Encounter
Sophie POV
The music reverberates throughout the club, a steady beat of deep sounds that thumps against my skin. The air is thick with perfume, sweat, and various alcohol odors.
Stepping inside, my heels click against the marble floor, and my dress shimmers under the dim neon lights.
It hugs my curves like a second skin, the black sequins reflecting the disco ball's blue and purple lights.
It is one of the few nice dresses I have, backless and with tiny straps that barely hold my massive front in place.
My white heels were a lucky find at a clearance sale, and my golden anklet sparkles with every step I take.
My hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, framing my face perfectly.
I know I look good, and in a place like this, appearance is everything, especially if you want to impress someone.
I weave through the crowd, being careful not to bump into anyone.
The last thing I need is for some drunk i***t to mistake my presence for an invitation.
My first stop is the bar, which has a shiny, glossy counter with rows of expensive liquor and a handsome, tattooed bartender who nods at me.
I slide onto a stool and cross my legs as I take in my surroundings.
Couples rubbing against each other, men in faux-expensive suits whispering into the ears of women pretending to be captivated, and laughter that never quite reaches the eyes.
The usual.
Pressing my lips together in disgust, my thoughts return to the house I walked out of less than thirty minutes ago.
My mother's voice, as insulting as always, echoes in my ears.
“You are not useful. Much like your father. No, that is worse.
You spread your legs to survive, and you think that makes you superior to me?”
As I applied my eyeliner, I kept my back to her and focused on my reflection in the tiny, cracked mirror.
My hands remained steady, even as my chest tightened.
She did not pause.
She never did.
“You act like you are someone, but you are not. Nothing. Exactly like him.”
I swallowed hard and blinked quickly to keep the tears from smudging my mascara.
Her words should not hurt anymore, but they always managed to get under my skin.
"You are a w***e; you are the reason I am stuck on this bed; you are also the cause of your father's death. You are bad luck.”
Her words sting, no matter how many times I try to ignore them, but I turned to face her before leaving.
I leaned down and kissed her forehead, followed by her cheek.
Her skin was cold, and her body was fragile against the pillows.
Her eyes, however, remained filled with hatred as she turned away from me in disgust.
Despite my tears, I walked out.
Now, sitting at the bar, I take a deep breath and shake the memories away. This is the current state of my world.
It is not that house.
Not the oppressive walls that close in on me.
I scan the room, my gaze shifting from one group to another, assessing the situation. Men in cheap button-downs, women draped over them wearing fake smiles.
My gaze is drawn to a burly man who steps inside.
Broad shoulders, an average suit, and shoes that attempt to appear expensive but are not. I have decided to be middle-class.
It was not worthwhile to spend my time.
Some would describe me as a gold digger.
They would not be mistaken.
But I prefer to describe myself as an opportunist. I see an opportunity and take advantage of it.
The opportunity is for wealthy and stupid men who simply want a beautiful woman in their hands. That is how you survive.
I give the bartender a polite smile before sipping from my glass of water.
It is the most I can afford. I had not intended to buy my drinks tonight, especially since I am so broke.
A quick scan of the room tells me that no one here is worth my time.
My stomach churns in frustration as I massage my temples, hoping to relieve the impending headache. I have had a bad week.
If I leave here empty-handed or without a man in my arms, rent will be one of my problems.
I push myself off my stool, ready to try my luck somewhere else when my gaze falls on him.
He is in the farthest corner of the club, away from the flashing lights and wandering eyes.
The darkness clings to him like a second skin, but it does nothing to diminish his presence. He exudes a dark, brooding energy that makes him difficult to ignore.
I take a brief pause in breathing.
Everything about him screams cash. Not only rich, but also wealthy.
The type of wealth that does not need to be flaunted because it is readily understood.
The way he sits, relaxed yet powerful, tells me that he is used to people coming to him rather than the other way around.
Around. And he is gorgeous.
His features are sharp, almost too perfect, as if he were crafted over several days.
He had dark hair, a strong jaw, bulging muscles, and a small stubble on his chin.
My fortunes have finally turned.
I straighten up, adjusting the tiny straps on my dress before running my hand through my golden hair.
A fresh coat of lip gloss, a glance at my reflection on my phone's screen, and I am ready.
I saunter over, swaying my hips sideways with each step.
The club dissipates around me. He is all I can think about right now.
It is time to play my favourite game: preying on men.
Finally reaching his table, I tap my long red-blooded nails against the polished surface, flashing him my best flirtatious smile, which has never failed to attract attention.
His eyes lift to meet mine, and as he notices me, a frown settles on his handsome features, followed by a perfectly arched brow.
I point to the seat beside him, tilting my head and pouting my lips. “Is this seat already taken?”
A long silence separates us.
A smirk gradually tugs at the corner of his lips.
“Depends,” he replies, his voice deep and smooth.
It causes a shiver down my spine. “Are you looking for somewhere to sit, or something else?”
I suppress a smile. This has just got interesting.
