Chapter One: Desperate Times 

Daphne's POV 

The aroma of fresh dough and yeast clung to my skin like secondhand smoke. My back ached from standing at the mixer since dawn, and the sweat beneath my hairnet itched like hell.

I reached for the next tray, the dough warm under my fingers, when my phone vibrated for the third time in the pocket of my apron.

I never picked calls during work hours but this particular caller was persistent.

I wiped my hands hastily on my apron as I picked up the phone.

I answered the call, breath caught in my throat.

“Miss Daphne?” a man’s voice asked.

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Raymond from Greystone County Hospital. Your mother—Mrs. Agnes—was brought in an hour ago. She collapsed in her garden. Her condition is critical.”

I gripped the wall, my mind spiraling, “I'm coming right away”

The bread factory where I worked, buzzed with clanks and chatter, but to me, it was background noise

I rushed back into the factory to grab my things. I had to see my mother. Let them fire me—none of it mattered now.

****

I boarded a cab wishing it would drive at the speed of light. Getting to the hospital and walking past the receptionist, I was directed to the doctor's office.

“She’s unconscious. We need to operate immediately. There’s internal bleeding—likely her liver. But the surgery is…quite costly.” He began

“How much?” I asked, my voice shaking.

There was a pause.

“Twenty-five thousand dollars.”

My heart skipped a beat for a minute, “I don’t… I mean, I don’t have that kind of money.”

“I understand,” he said, gently. “But the sooner we begin, the better her chances. I’m sorry.”

I stood frozen, my mind spiraling. Twenty-five thousand. I made eight-fifty a month, barely enough to cover food, my mother's medicine, and Jonah’s drinking. The most I had in my savings was thirty-two dollars and a pile of coins in a jar labeled “Someday.”

Today wasn’t someday.

“Can I see her at least?” I asked

“Sure. Of course.”

The hospital reeked of antiseptic and too many tragedies. I found my mother in the ICU, tubes in her arms, machines beeping steadily around her frail body. She looked smaller somehow, like life had already started slipping away.

“Mum,” I whispered, sitting at the bedside and clutching her cool hand. “Don’t leave me, please.”

All I could do was cry quietly, wishing I'd been born into a different life—one where I didn’t have to suffer and try to survive every single day.

---

When I returned to the factory that afternoon, my eyes were bloodshot and my hands shook from holding back tears.

Charlotte, my friend and coworker, noticed immediately.

“Hey,” she said, pulling me aside near the back entrance. “What happened? Why did you leave like that? And you look like hell.”

I told her everything—my mother’s condition, the cost of surgery, how Jonah, my deadbeat husband would never help. 

My voice cracked as I said, “I’m going to lose her, Charlotte. I can’t lose her.”

Charlotte was quiet for a moment, biting her lip like she was debating something dangerous.

“There’s... a way, it's kinda like the only way I can assist you ” she said slowly. “But you’re not gonna like it.”

I looked at her, eyes hollow. “I’ll do anything.”

“There’s this bar downtown—The Black Mist. Rich guys go there. Businessmen, heirs, billionaires even. One of them—he comes in often, very discreet, always alone. My cousin works there. He’s looking for… company. One night, that’s it.”

I brows pulled together. “Charlotte—what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” Charlotte said carefully, “if you go with me tonight… you might walk out with enough money to save your mother. It might not be up to the exact amount, but it will go a long way.”

I stared at her. “You think I should sell myself?”

“I think you should save the woman who gave you everything,” Charlotte said, gently but firmly. “Just one night. No strings. No names. He’s the type who pays to keep it quiet.”

I looked away, shame burning through me like acid. Every fiber of my being rebelled at the idea—but then my mind flashed back to my mother in that hospital bed, hooked up to machines, her breathing shallow. 

Then to Jonah, passed out drunk in our kitchen last night after smashing my last ceramic plate and stealing the cash I had tucked in my bra.

I could either suffer for the rest of my life with my pride intact, or throw it away to buy my mother a chance at living.

I wiped a tear off my cheek and nodded once.

“I’ll go.”

---

That night, I didn’t go home.

I couldn’t face Jonah. He’d ask where I was going, probably accuse me of cheating again and demand that I hand over the few crumpled bills in my purse.

Instead, I showered at Charlotte's cramped apartment above a convenience store. She lent me a dress—black, satin, low-cut, completely unlike anything I owned. I slipped it on with shaking fingers, heart thundering.

“You look hot,” Charlotte said, handing her a pair of heels. “Rich men love a little innocence. Just don’t talk too much, and let him lead.”

I stared at herself in the mirror.

I barely recognized the girl looking back at me. Gone were the flour-covered clothes, the tired eyes, the messy braid. In my place stood a woman with glossy lips, smoky eyes, and a dress that clung to my every curve.

---

The Black Mist was nothing like the bars in the village.

It was sleek, dark, with gold lighting and crystal glassware. A jazz band played softly in the corner. Everything smelled like money and sin.

Charlotte led me to the private lounge.

“You’ll meet him in Room 807,” she whispered, passing a glass of whiskey to me. 

“Thanks but you know I don't drink.” I objected.

“Gulp it all down. It'll help your body get ready. In no time, it'll be over.” She said and I obeyed.

I took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. Let's just get this over with.