Stella led me back to the bar, her grip firm on my wrist like I might disappear if she let go. Once we reached the counter, she leaned against it and smirked at me.
"I'm buying you a drink."
I shook my head instantly. "I don't drink."
She raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Seriously? You're working in a nightclub, dealing with all kinds of people, and you don't drink?"
I shrugged. "It's just not my thing."
Stella let out a short laugh, shaking her head in amusement. "Wow. A naive little girl, working in a club, no fight instincts, and now you can't even hold up to alcohol? You're fascinating, Rose."
I rolled my eyes at the 'naive little girl' part but didn't argue. I could tell she wasn't saying it to insult me—she genuinely seemed intrigued.
Her eyes flickered with curiosity. "So why are you working here?"
I wasn't about to spill my life story, so I gave her the simplest answer possible.
"Condition."
That was all. No further explanation.
Stella tilted her head, studying me as if trying to piece together the puzzle I refused to give her. She had that look again—the one that made me feel like I had met her before. But I pushed the thought aside.
I took the chance to really look at her again. She still had that effortlessly bossy, badass aura. The black leather jacket, the dark jeans, the confident way she carried herself—it all screamed control. Power. Like she belonged in this chaotic world more than I ever would.
I leaned on the counter. "What about you? What brings you here?"
She took a sip from her glass before answering. "I'm here with some friends. I come here when I feel like visiting a club."
I nodded, not pushing for details. But before our conversation could go any further, something—or rather, someone—interrupted us.
"Rose!"
I turned just in time to see the club owner hurrying toward me.
Her usually confident demeanor was slightly shaken, and before I could react, she grabbed my arm.
"You'll be attending to a special VIP guest tonight," she blurted out, dragging me away from Stella.
I barely had time to process what was happening. Stella, still leaning against the bar, watched the scene unfold with mild curiosity but didn't interfere.
As I was practically pulled across the club, the owner leaned in close and lowered her voice.
"Listen to me carefully," she said. Her tone was different now—serious, almost desperate. "This guest… he's not like the others."
I swallowed. "What do you mean?"
"The rest of the workers are scared of him. Some refused to serve him, and a few who did… didn't survive the night."
I stopped walking. "What?"
She yanked me forward again. "You're my only hope, Rose. If he keeps coming here, my club stays on top. But if I don't have someone to serve him, I lose him. And I can't afford that."
I felt my stomach twist. "You want me to do it?"
She nodded. "Just don't touch him. Don't show fear. Keep it professional. No matter what happens, do not react."
I couldn't respond. My body felt cold, but my feet kept moving.
We reached the door to the VIP section.
The owner stopped and faced me one last time, her expression unreadable.
"Good luck," she murmured, then pushed open the door.