The Substitute Bride

imperial Club

Chloe’s heart nearly jumped out of her chest. “You’re hired.” The manager’s words hit her like a lifeline. She bowed so fast she almost toppled. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much. I won’t disappoint you.” He just waved her off. “Anita will show you around. Don’t be late.” Anita, a tall girl with sharp eyeliner and sharper heels, looked Chloe up and down. “I still can’t believe they hired someone same-day. You must be lucky. Or someone pulled strings.” Chloe smiled, tight. _Thank you, Harry._ “What can I say? I’m blessed.” “Changing room’s this way.” Anita turned on her heel, not waiting. Chloe followed. Then stopped dead. The “uniform” hanging in her locker wasn’t a uniform. It was two black scraps of fabric and a prayer. “What in heaven’s name is this?” Chloe held it up with two fingers, like it might bite her. “What?” Anita blinked, confused. “Your uniform.” “I’m supposed to be a waitress, not a stripper. This covers nothing. My _apologies_ show more than this does.” Anita snorted. “Honey, this isn’t Applebee’s. This is the _Imperial Club_. Billionaires, CEOs, oil princes. They come here to forget their wives, their board meetings, their lives. They tip in hundreds if they like what they see.” She eyed Chloe up and down. “And trust me, they’re gonna like you. Count yourself lucky you even got in.” Chloe opened her mouth to quit. Then she saw $470,000. She saw Chester Adams’ hands. She saw Liam’s face when he found out she failed. _Damn the consequences. I need this._ She swallowed. “Fine.” The fabric was silk. It clung. The skirt barely covered her thighs. The top… wasn’t a top. It was a suggestion. She tugged at it, then gave up. Modesty didn’t pay debts. “Attagirl,” Anita said, approving. “Come on. Trial by fire.” --- The club swallowed her whole. Bass hit her chest before she even stepped inside. Lights strobed — red, gold, electric blue. The air was cologne, sweat, and money. Girls in designer scraps ground on each other in the middle of the floor. On raised stages, masked dancers moved like sins, some with nothing but glitter and a G-string. In dark corners, couples didn’t bother with rooms. Moans cut through the music. A man in a $10k suit had a girl bent over a velvet couch, her heels still on. Chloe’s mouth fell open. She’d been on movie sets. She’d been to wrap parties. But this… this was decadence with the brakes cut. Anita followed her gaze and laughed. “Yeah. First night’s always a shock. Rule one: don’t stare. Rule two: don’t touch. Rule three: if a man in VVIP asks you to bend over, you ask _how far_. Unless you want to end up like Sandra.” “Sandra?” “Called in sick. Real sick. Some banker didn’t like being told no.” Anita’s smile vanished. “Stay out of sight, Chloe. These men don’t hear the word _no_ often. And they don’t like it.” Chloe nodded, blood cold. _What have I walked into?_ Part of her wanted to run. The other part saw $250,000. Maybe $500,000 if she got VVIP. “I hope you keep yourself in check,” Anita added, softer now. Chloe straightened her back. She’d faced cameras, critics, and Liam Reigns. She could face this. “I’m here to work. That’s all. I’ll do my job.” --- *Manager’s Office, 7:40 PM* “Chloe,” Manager Dave said, not looking up from his tablet. “You’re covering for Sandra. She’s out.” “Yes, sir.” “You’ve got VVIP 3. Don’t spill. Don’t speak unless spoken to. Don’t make eye contact too long. Got it?” “Got it, sir.” Her pulse jumped. _VVIP. That’s the money room._ Daisy was right. Maybe tonight she could make a dent. Maybe two nights and she’d have Chester’s debt cleared. _Hang on, Dad. Your terrible daughter’s coming._ --- *9:12 PM, Bar Counter* Chloe exhaled. Three rounds to VVIP 3, no incidents. No hands where they shouldn’t be. One man — silver hair, Rolex — had tipped her $1,000 for “having class.” She’d smiled, bowed, and walked away before her legs gave out. She was doing it. She could do this. Then Anita rushed up, shoving a tray into her hands. Crystal decanter. Screaming Eagle Cabernet. 1992. Chloe had read about it. $500,000 a bottle. “Chloe, lifesaver. I’m gonna pee my pants. Take this to VVIP 1, please?” Chloe froze. “VVIP 1? Who—” “Don’t know, don’t care. Big tip. Just don’t drop it or you’ll be working here till you’re sixty.” Anita was already gone. Daisy’s warning echoed: _“You’ll meet all sorts of people. It won’t be easy. But the money…”_ Chloe adjusted the tray. Her wrist throbbed under the bandage. Her father’s hands. $470,000. Eight hours. She squared her shoulders. _It’s just wine. It’s just a room. It’s just money._ She pushed through the velvet curtain of VVIP 1. The room was dark. Cigar smoke. Low laughter. Three men. And at the center, sitting like he owned the world — because he did — was Liam Reigns. His tie was loose. His jacket off. A glass of whiskey in his hand. And his eyes, emerald and lethal, locked on her. On the uniform. On the bottle. On _her_. The tray in Chloe’s hands trembled. Of all the VVIP rooms in all the clubs in this city… He took a slow sip. Didn’t blink. “Well,” Liam said, voice soft. Deadly. “Party B.” The door shut behind her with a quiet _click_.