Chapter 002

Bianca’s POV

As I walked in, it wasn’t just one customer like I expected —it was a group of men whose presence made the air feel heavy and scary. They radiated power, the type that doesn't ask for respect; they demanded it. My throat tightened, but I forced myself to keep walking.

I scanned the room, taking in the girls draped over their laps, their laughter too loud, and their eyes glazed. A small part of me felt relieved that I wasn’t the only one here, but it didn’t last. We weren’t the same. They were here to entertain; I was here to work.

“Good evening, I’ll be serving you tonight,” I said into my mini mic, standing in front of their table. I kept my voice steady and my eyes down, but my heart pounded in my chest.

“Hey, sexy,” one of them slurred beside me, the stench of was whiskey heavy on his breath. I glanced at him—drunk, of course. He looked like the kind of man who thought his money gave him a pass to behave like anyhow.

“Come here,” another voice cut in, sharp and commanding. I looked up, meeting his gaze, and my stomach twisted. He didn’t need alcohol to be dangerous. It was written all over him. I hesitated but forced myself to step forward.

I stopped at their table, hoping they would just order and let me leave. But instead, their eyes roamed over me, making my skin crawl. My hands clenched at my sides, and I tried to stay calm.

“Turn around,” one of them said, grinning in a way that made my stomach churn. I froze. It was obvious they weren’t interested in drinks.

“I asked if you needed anything from the table,” I said, forcing a tight smile and ignoring his demand.

“Oh, shut up. Turn around and come closer,” he repeated, his laugh was annoying.

“Excuse me?” The words slipped out louder than I intended. Heads turned. I took a deep breath, reminding myself, “Stay calm. You need this job. Don’t mess it up.”

“I can’t. If you need anything else, call me. I’ll be at the stand,” I said quickly, turning to leave before they could say more.

But the order bell rang again, and I had no choice but to go back. This time, they actually ordered more wine—but it was clear they were just messing with me, making me run back and forth like a servant. I clenched my teeth but kept my face neutral. The faster I worked, the sooner my shift would end.

“This is the last bottle we have of this kind,” I said, setting it down.

“Last one? Then let’s go with the first one instead,” one of them smirked, clearly enjoying himself.

I didn’t react, just poured the wine into their glasses. As I reached for the next bottle, one of them grabbed my wrist, yanking me closer. My body went stiff, and the wine spilled across the table, splashing on their expensive suits.

I quickly grabbed some wipes from under the tray, trying to clean the mess. As I turned to leave, one of them held my wrist. “What, you’re not going to clean us too?” he sneered.

My pulse raced. Before I could answer, the order bell rang again—another table needed me. I took the chance and pulled away.

“Thank goodness,” as I walked off.

The next table was quieter, more composed. One of the men gestured toward a dark corner of the club. “Serve the boss the same.”

My heart pounded as I walked toward the shadows. Why does everything in this place feel so strange?

When I reached the table, he was surrounded by women, their voices blending together. But I barely saw them. I squinted, trying to focus, but the dim lighting made it difficult.

“Do your job,” a voice snapped behind me, making me jump. I bent down to pour the drinks, my hands trembling. I tried to focus, but his eyes-intense and unrelenting-were locked on me.

“You’re not done here,” the man across from the boss said, stopping me in my tracks.

I turned slowly. “Do you need something else?” I asked, trying my best to sound calm.

“You seem eager to leave. Why?” His voice was loud, too loud for someone sitting that close to me.

“I’ll be at the stand if you need anything else,” I said, stepping back.

“Anything else?” he mocked, grinning. “We own you for the night. Remember?”

His words flashed something in me. I didn’t even think before I said, “You don't own me.” Ever since that night six years ago, I hated to hear anything linked with own.

The boss, sitting in the shadows, raised his head slightly. I couldn’t see him clearly, but I felt his gaze, sharp and calculating, like he was sizing me up.

I grabbed the empty glass, ready to leave, but his voice stopped me.

“Another shot,” the boss said, his tone was soft but commanding.

I hesitated, but quickly prepared the drink. My hands trembled under his steady gaze, and my grip slipped, spilling the drink across the table. “Shit, not again.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” I muttered, scrambling to clean up the mess.

And then I felt it—a hand, firm and possessive, on my waist. My heart jumped to my throat. This time, it wasn’t my imagination. It was real.

“This isn’t right. Let me go,” I snapped, trying to pull away, panic rising in my chest. But the hand didn’t budge. “Don’t lose this job.” My mind screamed, but the fear of being molested was louder as I pushed him off.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Before I could finish, he grabbed me again, pulling me closer.

Without thinking, my hand flew up, and the sharp crack of my slap echoed through the room.