Chapter 2 A CERTAIN GRAY EYES

*VICTORIA POV*

YEARS LATER___

The cheers from the crowd of sex-hungry men made me bounce my buttocks against the pole more vigorously, sliding my long nails into my curly neck-length brunette hair. "Go, Vikky! The cheers pour in more. My gaze locked on the crowd of people, the kind of nightlife of the people of Manhattan.

"Bitch... better have my money, I sing the lyrics of the famous Rihanna song, grinding my waist against the pole while I blow my gum at the crowd.

"Shit, put yourself together," I scolded myself due to the way a particular grey-eyed man was staring intensely at me. I know that hunger swirling in his eyes; in all my three years as a stripper, I have come across numerous intense glances like this, just that this one looks more terrifying.

I continue to do my thing on the pole while still secretly watching out for the guy. I saw him whisper something to his bodyguard with his index finger pointing at me.

"Like bla...bla...blah," I yelled enthusiastically, banging my front against the pole softly while bouncing my hair rapidly. I stepped away from the pole, walking toward the end of the stage. I flap my hair at the crowd, which causes a loud scream, "Yee! Fucking hot bitch!" Some men tried to touch me, but I moved away quickly; I don't like men touching me; it disgusts me. In fact, I can't even remember the last time I had sex—my last was with Bradley to date.

I bounced back on my heels, going to take the pole again; numerous dollars were thrown at me, money I couldn't wait to pick after ending this shitty performance. I don't like the job, but I have to do it; besides, where can a dropout like me get a decent job? My parents left no inheritance; my ex-husband left me with nothing—only with a growing fetus that didn't end up surviving—or, should I say, still missing?

The music finally came to an end, signaling the end of my performance. I hastily grab my backpack, ran around the stage, picked up my money.

"God, let it be up to $500; I need to pay that damn investigator." I prayed slightly, shoveling the last paper of money into the bag.

"Goddess," I felt my heart leap from my chest when a sudden stoic man dressed in a bodyguard uniform blocked my path.

"You startled me!" I snapped, and he gave me an apologetic look before saying, My boss wants to see you."

My brows quirked. Your boss wants to see me; why?" I gave him a skeptical look.

"He is in the best position to answer you, ma'am." He replied politely; the way he talked to me politely and respectfully made my tense muscles relax. I'm just a stripper, though, not a hooker—never will.

"Alright then, let's go." He led the way, venturing up the stairs of the club, going over to the VVIP section of the club, a section meant for a great caliber of men of the city of New York.

He led me further to where the grey-eyed man from a while ago was seated. Looking closer at him, I realize I'm standing in the presence of Carlos Russo, the well-known billionaire, and heir to the Russo empire.

"Fuck Victoria, this is a big catch!"I screamed in my head but was still composed on the outside.

"Greetings, sir," I did a slight bow to pay my respect; Carlos was no ordinary man—rumor says he is a secret mafia lord due to his immense wealth at a young age, but I don't believe it; the mafia thing looks too exaggerated to me.

"Welcome, Bunnie," His golden teeth glistened at me, and I passed a polite smile.

"You look so beautiful and charming," I rolled my eyes at him with a soft chuckle. If it was the old, naive me, I would have fallen for his words, but not the present me. Men are good at buying women with their words because they know we are emotional beings who crave affection and have a weakness for sweet words.

"What do you want from me, Mr Russo?" I cut straight to business, not having the luxury of time—time is money; I believe men of his caliber should know that.

"Oh, so business-minded." He nodded rhythmically. "I love that," he added, his gaze scanning every inch of my body, eyes holding a lustrous desire.

"How about a lap dance for a start?" He suggested. I wanted to scoff or roll my eyes at me, but I held myself; any ounce of disrespect would result in my head being cut off. Carlos was known for his ruthless nature, a rich, spoilt brat.

"A lap dance will cost you $200, sir," I made known, blowing my gum while playing with the strand of my hair. I was starting to get nervous—I needed some form of distraction.

"Nope, that's too cheap." He declined.

"How about you suck my dick for $10,000?" My mouth opened in awe.

"Don't worry, we wouldn't do more than that. I don't have sex with women." He shrugged.

"Huh! What does he mean by that? Is he gay?" I gasped. Wait, could the rumors be true? Carlos hasn't been spotted with any woman, which has made the public conclude that he is gay; besides, I heard that the issue is also threatening his inheritance.

"Are you doing it or not?" His cold, deep tone snapped me out of my thoughts; I flinched back a bit before recomposing myself.

I need money, and his offer is a thirst quencher; it might even get me a comfortable apartment, but I just can't. I'm not a hooker; I will not stain my character more because of money. Nah... "Sorry sir, I can't do that, lap dance or nothing else."His eyes darkened at my response, his bald head bulging with green veins. "You dare decline my offer?" His tone came out cold, but he looked surprised as well.

"Yes," I breathed out, looked away.

No one spoke; silence and awkwardness swirled in the atmosphere.

"If that's all, I beg you to take your leave." I informed politely and attempted to resume my steps, but I realized I made a huge mistake.

"Bang! The sound of a bullet erupted in the atmosphere.