Chapter 3

Later that night, Delilah lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.

Every time she closed her eyes, the memories of her parents’ death resurfaced—flashes of their lifeless bodies, the sound of their voices silenced forever.

She clenched her fists, trying to push the thoughts away, but they only grew louder in the silence of the night.

Finally, she couldn’t take it anymore.

She slid out of bed, grabbed her handbag, and made her way quietly toward the door.

Delilah knew she had to be careful.

Her aunt, Mary, was usually a light sleeper, but tonight, Delilah hoped she’d be resting deeply in her room.

As she tiptoed through the hall, she paused when she saw the faint light coming from the living room.

Heart racing, she peeked around the corner and saw Mary on the couch, snoring softly.

"Close call," she muttered to herself, quickly ducking into a nearby corner to stay out of sight.

Delilah waited, holding her breath as Mary shifted slightly in her sleep.

Once she was sure her aunt was in a deep slumber, Delilah made her move.

Slowly, she edged toward the front door, careful not to make a sound.

After what felt like an eternity, she slipped outside, the cool night air hitting her face as she quietly shut the door behind her.

She walked quickly down the dimly lit streets, her destination clear.

The club was a place where she could forget, if only for a few hours. It was her escape from the trauma that haunted her daily—the memories that refused to let go.

The club, Eclipse, was tucked away in a part of the city where privacy was the norm, and nobody asked questions.

The bouncer at the door gave her a familiar nod, and she returned it with a small smile.

Inside, the air was thick with the scent of alcohol and the pulse of music.

The atmosphere was electric, filled with people dancing, drinking, and letting loose.

As Delilah walked through the crowded space, she exchanged a brief greeting with the club manager, a man she had known for years.

He gave her a knowing look but didn’t say much, as always respecting her privacy.

"I’ll be in the dressing room," Delilah said in passing, her voice calm.

In the dressing room, Delilah changed into her pole dancing outfit—a slinky, shimmering piece that clung to her curves and moved with her body.

She added the final touch: a mask that hid her identity.

At night, she became someone else entirely—someone confident and bold.

By day, she was the owner of a small café and a skilled hit woman. By night, she was the sexy pole dancer who steals the spotlight.

Once dressed, she stepped onto the stage, the lights dimmed just enough to create the perfect atmosphere.

The music began, and Delilah moved with grace, her body swaying effortlessly around the pole.

Men in the club were mesmerized, as always, unable to take their lustful gaze off her.

Her movements were a distraction from the pain she carried, from the memories that plagued her.

Among the crowd, a new presence entered—Marco Donato and his right-hand man, Gino.

Marco had returned to the city early, lying to his family that he wouldn’t be back until the next day.

He wanted one last night of fun before facing his responsibilities, and Eclipse was the perfect place for that.

As Marco’s gaze landed on Delilah, his interest was immediately piqued.

She moved with a confidence that caught his attention, her beauty and skill undeniable.

Leaning back in his seat, Marco smirked and signaled to Gino, who approached him without hesitation.

"I want her for a private lap dance," Marco whispered, his eyes still locked on Delilah.

Gino nodded and made his way over to the club manager.

It didn’t take long for the message to be delivered—Marco Donato was a VIP, and no one in the club would dare refuse him.

The manager quickly agreed, knowing full well what Marco was capable of if he didn’t get what he wanted.

Delilah, unaware of the exchange, finished her performance and made her way back to the dressing room to change.

She planned to slip out and return home before Mary noticed she was gone, just like she always did.

But before she could leave, the club manager approached her.

"Delilah," he began, his voice a mix of urgency and hesitation, "I need a favor."

She arched an eyebrow, already sensing where this was going. "Not tonight, I’m heading home."

"It’s important. This client… he’s a VIP. If we don’t keep him happy, he could bring the club down. Please."

Delilah sighed, crossing her arms over her chest. "I’m not interested in doing lap dances tonight. You know that."

"I know, but this is different," he pleaded. "It’s someone important. You understand what that means, right? Just one lap dance. That’s all he’s asking for."

She narrowed her eyes, weighing her options.

The club had been good to her, and she didn’t want to cause trouble, but she also didn’t like the idea of being pushed into something she wasn’t in the mood for.

After a few moments of silence, she let out a long breath.

"Fine. One lap dance," Delilah finally agreed. "But that’s it."

The manager breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I owe you one."

Delilah returned to the dressing room and changed into her lap dance outfit—a sleek, form-fitting number that highlighted her every curve.

Once ready, she followed the manager to the private room where Marco waited.

As she entered, her confidence remained firm.

She had done this before, and she would do it again.

This was just another dance, another night where she could forget the past—even if just for a moment.

Then, the door clicked shut behind her, sealing her inside with Marco.

The room was dimly lit, bathed in a soft, seductive glow.

Marco sat comfortably on a plush leather chair, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. His gaze shifted from her masked face to the outfit that clung to her like a second skin.

Delilah’s lap dance outfit was designed to turn heads—sleek and daring, made of black lace and leather.

A plunging neckline revealed just enough to leave a man wanting more, while the corseted waist cinched her figure, emphasizing her hourglass silhouette.

The fabric hugged her hips before giving way to thigh-high stockings held by garter straps, leaving her legs exposed, toned, and ready for the performance.

The look was completed with high heels that clicked softly as she approached Marco, her mask hiding the emotions beneath her confident exterior.

Marco’s eyes darkened with interest as he took in every detail.

He had seen many women dance before, but something about this masked woman felt different—there was an air of mystery about her, a seductive presence that drew him in.