Chapter 2

Eight years earlier

"Table seven needs another round, Val!" the manager shouted above the loud music.

Valerie nodded, balancing the tray of empty glasses as she walked through the crowded bar. Her feet ached in her high heels, which the manager had made compulsory, and her tight uniform felt so… well, tight, because it was designed to attract bigger tips rather than provide any actual comfort to the women wearing them.

She felt his eyes on her again. The grey-haired man in the expensive suit who'd been coming in every Friday for the past month, always requesting her section, always staying until closing hours. Dominic Calder. She'd learned his name from the bartender who handled his huge tabs and generous tips

.

"Another whiskey, Mr. Calder?" she asked meekly, as she approached his table.

"You remember my preference," he smiled, his eyes never leaving her face, though she knew he'd been staring at other parts of her body all night. "Smart girl."

As Valerie turned to leave, she felt his hand slide across her ass, spanking her shamelessly. She froze, her whole body tensing, but didn't turn around.

"Make it quick, darling," he whispered. "I don't like to be kept waiting."

She hurried away, her cheeks burning with humiliation. She'd learned early on that complaining about handsy customers got you nowhere in this business except maybe fired. She needed this job - needed every dollar she could scrape together.

By the time her shift ended at 2 AM, she was exhausted. She counted her tips in the back room, separating out the majority to take home. Her parents would be waiting, hands outstretched to take her money.

"Good night?" asked Tammy, another server, as she pulled on her coat.

"It's decent," Valerie shrugged. "That creep in the suit was back again."

"The old guy with the Rolex? He likes you," Tammy wiggled her eyebrows. "Could be worse. At least he tips well."

Valerie said nothing. Tammy wouldn't understand. She hadn't grown up like Valerie had, learning to make herself small, to disappear when voices raised and bottles flew.

When she arrived home, the lights were still on. Her heart sank. They were waiting up for her, which never meant anything good.

"There she is," her father, Gilbert, slurred drunkenly as she walked through the door. He was sprawled on the couch, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. "Our golden goose."

"How much?" her mother, Bertha, asked immediately, not bothering with a greeting. Bertha's fingers twitched, eyes darting nervously to the clock. The woman was probably in a hurry to gamble away her small earnings at the late-night casino.

“Not much tonight," Valerie lied, having already hidden most of her tips in her sock. "Slow night."

Gilbert's face darkened. "Bullshit. Friday nights are always good." He stood up, swaying slightly. "Empty your pockets."

"Dad, please..."

His hand struck her cheek before she could finish; it stung so much that she staggered back. "Don't lie to me in my own house."

Valerie's eyes watered, but she didn't cry. Crying only made it worse. "I need some of it for rent," she said quietly.

Bertha snorted. "We've told you countless times, you can't move out. Who will feed us when you leave? Plus, we're about to be evicted. Again. Your priorities lie here. Not some stupid apartment."

"I can't stay here anymore. Please." Valerie whispered, a tear dropping from her eyes. But she immediately regretted her words, because her father grabbed her purse, dumping the contents onto the floor. Lipstick, keys, and cash were scattered everywhere. He snatched up the money, counting it so quickly for someone so drunk.

"Fifty-three dollars? That's it?" he snarled.

"I told you it was slow," Valerie repeated, praying they would believe her lie.

Her mother was on her knees, rifling through Valerie's things, checking her jacket pockets. "Where's the rest of it? I know you're hiding it."

"There isn't any more," Valerie insisted, almost letting the dam of tears pour. But she held it back, knowing she’d only be mocked for being a crybaby.

The doorbell rang just then, startling all three of them. It was nearly 3 AM - too late for any normal visitor.

Her father frowned, stumbling toward the door. "Who the hell..."

Valerie's blood ran cold when she saw who stood in the doorway. Dominic Calder, still in his expensive suit from before. A chauffeur stood waiting by a white car behind him. What was he doing here?

"Good evening," he greeted. "I apologize for the late hour, but I have a business proposition that couldn't wait until morning."

Her father's demeanor changed instantly, replaced by the charms of a seasoned conman. "Not at all, Mr...?"

"Calder. Dominic Calder."

"Please, come in, Mr. Calder."

Valerie backed away, wishing she could disappear, as Dominic stepped inside. His eyes found her immediately, taking in her disheveled appearance, her cheeks now visibly red from the slap.

"Ah, Valerie," he smiled. "I thought I might find you here."

"You know our daughter?" her mother asked, suddenly very interested.

"She serves me at Crescents," Dominic explained. "She's really good at her job."

Her father's eyebrows rose. "Really? Well, she's always been a hard worker."

Dominic nodded, his eyes never leaving Valerie. "That's actually why I'm here. I'd like to discuss taking her off your hands."

Wha… what? What did he mean by that? Valerie shivered so bad she nearly peed her pants.

A confused silence filled the room before her mother laughed nervously. "I don't understand."

"It's quite simple," Dominic said, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a checkbook. "I want to marry your daughter. I'm prepared to make it worth your while."

Valerie felt the room start to spin. This couldn't be happening.

"Mr. Calder," her father began, his tone business-like now, "while we're certainly flattered by your interest, Valerie is our first child…"

"Fifty thousand dollars," Dominic interrupted, writing out the check. "That should cover any... emotional distress."

Her parents stared at the check, their eyes wide with disbelief and naked greed.

"Plus, of course, I'll settle all your outstanding debts," Dominic continued. "I understand there are quite a few of them."

"Now wait just a minute," her father said, but his protest sounded fake and hollow even to Valerie's ears. "We can't just…"

"One hundred thousand," Dominic amended, tearing up the first check and writing a new one. "Final offer."

There wasn't even a moment of hesitation.

"Done," her father said, reaching for the check.

"Dad!" Valerie cried, finding her voice at last. "You can't…"

"Shut up," her mother hissed. "This is the best thing that could happen to any of us. We need to send your sister to college too."

Dominic smiled, like a predator who had finally cornered his prey. "I'll have my lawyer draw up the papers immediately. The wedding will be next week."

"Next week?" Valerie whispered, feeling the walls closing in around her. She could hardly breathe. What in the world was going on? How could she marry this old, terrifying man?

Dominic finally turned to address her directly. "Don't worry, my dear. I'll buy you everything you could ever want. All you have to do is be a good wife."

The way he said "good wife" made her skin crawl.

"I won't do it," she said, her voice shaking. "You can't make me."

Her father's face contorted with rage, as he raised his hands to slap her again, "You ungrateful little…"

Back to the present…

"Ms. Valerie? Ms. Valerie? Ms. Valerie…."

Valerie jerked upright in her chair, the awful memory disappearing, as Melissa's voice pierced through her consciousness. For a moment, she was disoriented, the lingering feeling of Dominic's hand still crawling across her skin.

"Are you alright?" Melissa asked, her voice filled with concern, "You look pale."

"I'm fine," Valerie snapped, smoothing her hair back into place.

“Here are the documents you asked for." Melissa placed a brown folder on the desk in front of her. "Everything we could find on Rick Cameron."

Valerie opened the folder, grateful for the distraction from her past memories. She was ‘The Duchess’ now. And Dominic Calder was six feet under. She shouldn’t be thinking about that life anymore.

She looked through the folder. In it was the photograph of the man who had dismissed her so coldly last weekend. As she studied his arrogantly handsome face, the fury she had felt that night resurfaced. She will deal with him accordingly, and by the time she is done, he will bow to her when next he sees her. No one treats the Duchess that way and gets away with it.

"He is Ex-military," Melissa said, pointing to the first page of information. "Army Special Forces. Served three tours in Afghanistan before being honorably discharged last year."

Valerie didn’t care. He could be the God of war, or Hercules himself, but he’ll still pay dearly for his insolence.

"He owns a mechanic shop somewhere on Elm Street," Melissa continued. "Specializes in custom motorcycles and cars. His business is quite successful."

"Criminal record?" Valerie asked, flipping through the pages. She needed to know if she was dealing with a criminal.

"Clean. Unless you count a few parking tickets."

"Family?"

"Parents deceased. No siblings on record. Never married. No children."

Valerie nodded slowly, absorbing the information. A loner. That makes it even better. No one will care to look for him when she buries his lifeless body in his backyard.

"What about financials?" Valerie didn’t know why she asked, but the jerk had turned down her money, and she wanted to know why.

"Stable," Melissa replied. "The shop turns a decent profit, enough for him to live comfortably. He owns the building outright - bought it with his military pay. No significant debt."

Valerie closed the folder, tapping her fingernails against it thoughtfully. "So he's not desperate for money."

"Doesn't appear to be, no." Melissa hesitated before asking, "May I ask why you're interested in this man?"

Valerie shot her a cold look. "You may not."

Melissa nodded, properly chastised. "Of course. Should I add him to your weekend... options?"

"No," Valerie said sharply, surprising herself with the quickness of her response. "That won't be necessary."

She stood up, straightening her designer skirt. "Clear my afternoon schedule. I have an errand to run."

"But your meeting with the board…"

"Reschedule it," Valerie said, her tone brooking no argument. She picked up the folder, sliding it into her bag. "And have my car brought around."

"Of course," Melissa replied, tapping on her tablet. "Where should I tell the driver you're going?"

Valerie smiled, the same cold, devilish smile she had worn at her late husband's funeral.

"Elm street,” she said simply. “I’m about to give someone a nightmare on Elm Street."