🔞🔞I secretly worked as a stripper to pay for my sister's surgery. After catching my boyfriend cheating, I spent the night with a mysterious VIP—only to discover the next morning that he was my company's new CEO.🔞🔞

Chapter one

Bianca 

The fluorescent lights in the hospital buzzed like angry wasps, and I wanted to smash every one of them. I sat on the hard plastic chair outside the ICU, Emma's medical file clutched in my trembling hands. The numbers on the estimate sheet blurred together, but I had them memorized anyway.

$10,000 for the deposit. Surgery is scheduled in three days. No deposit, no surgery.

"Miss?" The nurse's voice was gentle, "The doctor wanted me to remind you that without the deposit by Wednesday, we'll have to postpone Emma's procedure."

"I know," I said without looking up 

The nurse hesitated, her eyes softening with pity that made my skin crawl. I didn’t need pity, I needed money, I needed my parents to not be dead so they could help me figure out how to save their youngest daughter.

After the nurse left, I pulled out my phone and stared at the calculator app. $847 in my checking account. My credit cards were maxed out from the previous hospital bills.

The apartment Mom and Dad left us was only partially paid off, and I couldn’t sell it fast enough to help Emma now. My baby sister with her congenital heart defect, was running out of time while insurance companies found creative ways to deny coverage.

I had called everyone, my aunt in Boston had sent $200. My old college roommate had sent $150, along with a sweet message saying she wished she could do more. A few other friends had contributed what they could. Their kindness made me want to cry and scream at the same time because it wasn't even close to enough.

My thumb hovered over a contact I had sworn I would never call again. Fredrick, my old manager at Velvet Nights.

I walked away from that club eight months ago, promising myself I was done. Done with the leering eyes, the grabbing hands that security always seemed too slow to stop, the way I felt like I needed three showers after every shift just to feel clean again. I had gotten a job as a legal secretary, something respectable, something that wouldn't make Mom's voice echo in my head with disappointment even though she was gone.

But legal secretaries made $42,000 a year, and Emma's medical bills were drowning me faster than I could bail water.

My finger pressed the call button before I could talk myself out of it.

"Bianca," Fred’s voice answered on the third ring. He sounded amused, like he had been waiting for this call. "I thought you were too good for us now."

I swallowed my pride, "I need work, Fred. Just for a few weeks."

"A few weeks." He laughed, a rough sound like gravel in a blender. "You think you can just walk back in? I have ten girls who would kill for a permanent spot. Why would I give it to someone who quit on me?"

Because I made you a lot of money, I wanted to say, because you know exactly how good I was at this job I hated. "I was one of your best earners," I said instead, hating how desperate I sounded. "You know I was."

Silence on the other end, I could picture him in his office, leaning back in that ridiculous leather chair, weighing his options. Fred was a businessman first, always. He wouldn't hire me back out of kindness, but he might do it for profit.

"Come by tomorrow at six," he finally said. "I'll see if I remember you being as good as you think you were."

He hung up before I could thank him, well.. not that I wanted to thank him anyway.

I sat there for another minute, staring at Emma through the ICU window. She was asleep, her seventeen year old face peaceful despite the tubes and monitors. She looked so small in that hospital bed, so fragile. Her dark hair was spread across the pillow, and I could see the faint scar on her chest from her last surgery three years ago.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, though she couldn't hear me. "I'm so sorry, Em. I'll fix this. I promise."

I didn't sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Mom's disappointed face, and heard Dad's voice telling me to be strong.

The next evening, I stood outside Velvet Nights, my hands were shaking, so I shoved them in my jacket pockets. The club looked exactly the same. Red velvet ropes, a  golden sign and Mark the doorman built like a brick wall wearing an expensive suit.

Mark raised an eyebrow when he saw me. "Bianca. Heard you went legit."

"Yeah, well." I shrugged, trying to keep my voice steady. "Legit doesn't pay some bills."

He nodded slowly, and unhooked the rope for me. "Fred’s expecting you. Good luck."

I needed more than luck.

Inside, the club pulsed with bass-heavy music and dim purple lighting. It was early, so only a few customers were scattered around the main floor. The real crowd wouldn't arrive until after nine. I made my way past the bar, past the main stage and down the hallway to Fred’s office. I knocked twice.

"Come in."

Fred looked exactly the same. He was on the phone when I entered, speaking rapid Russian and he gestured for me to sit.

I sat in the chair across from his desk and waited, my heart hammering. I had learned a long time ago not to interrupt Fred's calls. 

He finished his conversation and set the phone down, studying me with an expression I couldn't understand. "You look terrible."

Heat flooded my cheeks. "Thank you."

"I'm serious. You have circles under your eyes. You're too thin. The clients here pay for fantasy, not reality. They don't want to see someone struggling."

"Give me one night. If I don't perform, you don't have to pay me."

He leaned back, steepling his fingers. "What happened to the secretary job?"

"I still have it. I need this on the side."

"How much do you need?"

I hesitated. Showing weakness to Fred was dangerous, but lying was worse. He could smell desperation like a shark smelling blood. "Ten thousand. Fast."

He whistled low. "That's a lot of dances, Bianca."

My throat tightened. "I know."

"What's it for?"

"Does it matter?"

Fred’s eyes narrowed, but he didn't push. That was the thing about him. He was ruthless in business, but he respected boundaries when it came to his girls' personal lives. As long as you showed up and made him money, he didn't care about the details.

"I don't have any open spots for now," he said finally. "Full roster right now. Girls are fighting for Friday and Saturday nights."

My heart sank straight through the floor. No, this couldn't be it. I stood up, blinking back the burning in my eyes because I refused to cry in front of him. "Right, okay. Thanks for seeing me."

I was halfway to the door, my vision blurring, when Fred's phone rang. He answered it, and something in his tone made me pause with my hand on the doorknob.

"What do you mean she called in sick?" Fred's voice was loud. "It's Tuesday. No one gets sick on Tuesday. We have the VIP room booked." He pushed to listen to the person at the other end, "I don't care if she has the plague. Find me someone else."

He looked up at me, and I saw the calculation in his eyes. "Wait," he said, holding up a finger.

I stood frozen by the door, my heart hammering so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. This was it. This was my chance.  “Oh God… Please.” 

Chapter two

Bianca

Fred finished his call and set the phone down carefully. "You still remember how to work the VIP rooms?"

I nodded slowly, not trusting my voice. The VIP rooms were different. Private. One on one performances for the club's wealthiest clients. The rules were strict, no touching, but the dances were more intimate, more personal. 

The tips were also significantly better. I had only worked VIP a handful of times before I quit, but I had been good at it. Really good.

"I have a client in thirty minutes. Very important client and a very generous tipper." Fred's gaze was steady, "You mess this up, you're out. You do well, we can talk about a temporary arrangement. A few weeks, like you said."

"I'll do it." The words came out stronger than I felt.

"The client requested our best. He's particular, doesn’t talk much, watches the whole time, never touches. I heard he tips a minimum of five hundred per session if you're good or even more if you follow the rules."

Five hundred dollars? My mind raced. If I could book this client multiple times, if I could pick up other VIP sessions, if I worked every single night, I might actually be able to make the deposit in time. I might be able to save Emma.

"I'll be exceptional," I said, and I meant it. I would be whatever I needed to be to get that money.

Fred smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Get ready. Jessica will show you which room. And Bianca? Don't make me regret this."

I nodded and left his office, my hands shaking as I walked toward the dressing room. I felt like I was floating outside my body, watching myself make choices I had promised I would never make again. But what choice did I have? Let Emma die to keep my pride intact?

The other girls were getting ready for the evening shift, and a few glanced at me with surprise. "Bianca's back," someone muttered. I ignored her.

Jessica, one of the senior dancers, waved me over. She was in her early thirties, beautiful in a sharp, untouchable way that I had always admired. "Heard Fred's putting you in VIP Room Three. That's the Iceman's room."

"The Iceman?" A chill ran down my spine.

"That's what we call him. Comes in maybe twice a month. Never smiles, never talks, just watches like he's made of stone. Tips like crazy though." Jessica handed me a key to a locker. "Your stuff's still here, by the way. Fred kept it. He was so confident you'd be back eventually."

I didn't know if that made me want to laugh or cry. Maybe both.

I opened the locker and found my old outfits, my makeup kit, everything exactly as I had left it, like the past eight months of trying to be someone different had never happened. 

I pulled out a black lace set and started getting ready, my hands moving through the familiar routine even as my stomach churned. Foundation, contour, dramatic eyes and red lips.

In the mirror, I watched myself transform from exhausted older sister into Scarlett, my stage name. The name I had chosen because it sounded like money and confidence and someone who had her life together. 

Twenty minutes later, Jessica knocked on the dressing room door. "He's here. Room Three. You're up."

I took a deep breath, checked my reflection one last time, and walked down the hallway. My heels clicked against the marble floor. The music from the main stage faded as I reached the VIP section. 

Room Three's door was heavy with gold handles. I pressed my palm against it, feeling the cool metal, and sent up a silent prayer to parents who couldn't hear me anymore. Please let me be good enough. Please let this work.

I pushed it open.

The room was dimly lit, all deep reds and blacks, designed to feel intimate and expensive. A leather chair sat against the far wall, and in it sat a man who made my breath catch in my throat.

He was young. Maybe early thirties. Dark hair styled perfectly, strong jaw, and the kind of face that belonged on magazine covers or billboards. He wore a suit that probably cost more than my life at this point, and when his eyes met mine, I understood instantly why they called him the Iceman.

Those eyes were beautiful and completely empty. Cold. Like looking into winter itself.

He didn't smile or move, he just watched me with an expression that made me feel both invisible and completely exposed at the same time.

I had thirty minutes to make this man feel entertained, thirty minutes to earn five hundred dollars. 

I stepped inside and let the door close behind me with a soft click that sounded like a cell door locking.

"Hi," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I'm Scarlett."

He said nothing, just kept watching me with those frozen eyes.

This was going to be harder than I thought.

I closed my eyes for a brief second, centering myself, then moved to the center of the room. The music system was controlled by a panel near the door. I selected a slow, heavy beat that pulsed through the speakers.

When I turned back to face him, he hadn't moved. Still watching

I started slowly, rolling my hips to the rhythm, letting my hands trace up my sides. I arched my back, ran my fingers through my hair, let the music guide my body. The Iceman's expression didn't change, not even a flicker.

I tried harder. I dropped lower, my movements becoming more serious. I turned and looked at him over my shoulder. Nothing. He sat there like a statue, his face completely blank.

Five hundred dollars, I reminded myself. Emma needs five hundred dollars.

I was halfway through the second song when he moved for the first time. He reached up slowly and began unbuttoning his suit jacket. He shrugged it off and draped it carefully over the arm of the chair, never once taking his eyes off me. He rolled up his sleeves, exposing strong forearms.

Something about the gesture felt intimate in a way I wasn't prepared for.

I kept dancing, adding more energy to my movements. Then he reached for something on the small table beside his chair. A crystal glass filled with liquid. He lifted it to his lips and took a slow sip, his eyes never leaving me.

I danced harder, pouring everything I had into the performance.By the third song, my muscles were burning, but I couldn’t show weakness.

Suddenly, the soft chime that meant the thirty minutes came up and I stopped dancing immediately, my chest heaving as I tried to catch my breath.

"Thank you," I managed to say. "I hope you enjoyed it."

I turned toward the door.

"Continue."

The word stopped me mid-step. It was the first time I had heard his voice. Deep, smooth, completely devoid of emotion.

I turned back to face him. "The time is up already."

"I want more time." He didn't ask. He stated it as a fact.

My heart started racing. More time meant more money. "That will cost extra."

He reached down beside his chair and pulled out a small leather bag I hadn't noticed before. He opened it and pulled out several thick bundles of cash, placing them on the table beside his glass.

My eyes widened, it  looked like five thousand dollars or maybe more.

I didn't think at all, my feet moved on their own, carrying me back to the center of the room. I started dancing again, my movements more intimate. This was more money than I had expected to make in a week.

I danced through two more songs, pushing myself harder than before. My muscles screamed in protest, but I ignored them.

Then he spoke again. "Move closer."

I stopped dancing, my breathing ragged. "That’s against the rules,," I said. "I can't get too close to clients."

He didn't argue, he just reached into the bag again and pulled out more bundles. He placed them on the table with the others. There had to be at least ten thousand dollars sitting there now.

Ten freaking thousand dollars.

My mind raced, the rules were clear, no physical contact and maintain distance. But Fred had said this client was important. And ten thousand dollars would cover more than half of Emma's deposit.

I looked at the money, then at the Iceman. His face was still blank, but there was something in his eyes now. Something hungry that hadn't been there before.

My hands were shaking as I took one step forward. Then another. The space between us shrank until I was standing close enough to smell his cologne, expensive and oudy, mixing with the whiskey on his breath.

"How close?" My voice came out as barely a whisper.

Chapter three

Bianca

He didn't answer. Instead, he leaned back slightly in the chair, his legs spreading just enough to create space. It was an invitation, and I knew what he wanted. A lap dance. 

The most intimate kind of performance, the kind that required me to touch him without actually breaking the no contact rule. I had done it before, but never for someone who looked at me like this or for someone who made me feel like prey.

The music was still playing, the beat matching my racing heartbeat. I moved between his legs, slowly, my body swaying to the rhythm. I turned so my back was to him and lowered myself, not quite sitting on his lap but hovering just above it. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from his body.

I rolled my hips in slow circles, my hands on my own thighs, keeping everything controlled and professional. This was still a performance. Still a job.

But then I felt it, the slightest shift in his breathing. The way his body tensed beneath me, even though he stayed perfectly still. For the first time since I walked into this room, I had affected him.

Something shifted in me too. Maybe it was adrenaline, exhaustion, or the desperation for that money. I leaned back slightly, my head brushing close to his shoulder. My movements slowed, and now becoming real.

I could feel the smooth fabric of his shirt against my bare back. Could feel the rise and fall of his chest. I turned my head slightly and caught his reflection in the mirrored wall across from us. 

His eyes were half closed now, his jaw tight. His hands gripped the arms of the chair so hard his knuckles were white. He was fighting to maintain control, and that look sent a strange thrill through me.

I shifted again, this time facing him, straddling his lap without actually sitting on it. I froze for a heartbeat. This isn’t what I planned… but Emma…

Without thinking, I pressed my knees into the leather on either side of his thighs. My hands rested on his shoulders for balance, breaking the no touching rule completely, but neither of us seemed to care anymore.

His face was inches from mine now, I could see the faint stubble along his jaw, the small scar above his left eyebrow, the way his pupils had dilated until his eyes looked almost black instead of that cold blue.

The music faded into background noise. All I could hear was our breathing, heavy and uneven. All I could feel was the heat between us, the magnetic pull that made no sense but felt inevitable.

I moved my hips in a slow figure eight, my body brushing against his in ways that definitely violated every rule Fred had ever given me. His hands twitched like he wanted to reach for me but was stopping himself.

My own hands slid from his shoulders to his chest. I could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was racing just as fast as mine.

We were so close now that our lips were almost touching. His breath ghosted across my mouth, smelling of whiskey and something minty. My eyes fluttered closed, just a little closer and...

I stopped.

Reality crashed back into me, what was I doing? This wasn't me. I was here for Emma, for the money, not to lose myself in some dangerous stranger's lap.

I pulled back quickly, my breathing ragged. He let me go without protest, his hands still gripping the chair arms, his expression returning to that blank mask even though I could see the struggle behind it.

I stood on shaky legs, my body still trembling from whatever had just happened between us. I needed to get out of here. 

I walked to the table where the money sat in neat stacks. My hands were still shaking as I reached for the bundles. Before I could touch them, I heard the rustle of leather and turned to see him reaching into that expensive bag one more time.

He pulled out two additional bundles of cash, and placed them deliberately on top of the existing pile. My eyes widened. I couldn't help it. Twelve thousand dollars. Twelve thousand dollars for one night's work. For breaking rules I had promised myself I would never break again.

I looked up at him, my lips parting in shock. No words came out, so I just mouthed a silent "thank you," my voice completely stolen by what was happening.

His expression didn't change. He just nodded once, barely a movement at all, and settled back into his chair like a king on his throne.

I turned back to the money, gathering the bundles with trembling fingers and stuffing them into my small bag. As I bent to collect the last few bundles, my gaze accidentally dropped lower, and I caught sight of something I wasn't supposed to see.

The evidence of his arousal was visible through his expensive trousers, unmistakable despite his otherwise perfect composure. The fabric strained slightly, and I realized with a jolt that the Iceman wasn't quite as frozen as he pretended to be.

A small smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. At least I knew I had affected him. I straightened up, clutching my bag full of money, and forced myself to meet his eyes one more time. He was watching me with that same cold, assessing stare, but now I could see something hungry lurking beneath it. 

I forced myself to slip back into Scarlett instead of Bianca, to put on the professional mask even though it felt paper thin now. "See you next time," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Hope you enjoyed it."

I walked to the door, my heels clicking against the floor, the sound seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. My hand was on the handle,  "What's your real name?" he asked.

I froze, no client had ever asked me that before. It was an unspoken rule, we used stage names for a reason. To keep distance, keep things professional and most importantly to keep ourselves safe.

I should have lied, should have told him Scarlett was all he needed to know or even walk out without answering.

But when I turned and looked into those winter eyes, "Bianca." My mouth moved before I could control them.

Immediately, I pushed the door opened and it clicked shut behind me, but I could still feel his eyes on me through the wood. 

As I walked back to the changing room. I had the terrible feeling that I had just made a mistake I couldn't take back.

Chapter four

Bianca 

By the time I got back to the changing room, my hands were still shaking. I locked the door behind me and dumped my bag on the counter, staring at myself in the mirror. My makeup was smudged at the corners of my eyes. My lips were swollen like I had been biting them too hard. 

I took a deep breath and started peeling off the costume, replacing it with my regular clothes. Jeans, a plain black t-shirt, my old sneakers. The transformation from Scarlett back to Bianca should have felt like relief, but tonight it felt wrong. Like I had left something of myself in that VIP room that I couldn't get back.

I sat down on the bench and pulled out all the money from my bag. My fingers moved mechanically, counting each bill twice to make sure I wasn't imagining things. One hundred, two hundred, five hundred, a thousand. The numbers climbed higher and higher until I reached the final count.

Thirteen thousand dollars.

I stared at the neat stacks in front of me, my heart pounding. He had given me an extra thousand on top of everything else. Why? Was it guilt? A tip for breaking my own rules? Or was it something else, like he enjoyed the session?

It didn't matter, what mattered was that I had enough. More than enough, ten thousand for Emma's surgery deposit, and some left over to keep Fred happy.

I separated the bills carefully, ten thousand went into one pile, three thousand into another. My hands hesitated over the ten thousand, Fred would expect to see all of it. 

The cameras in the general rooms caught everything, but the VIP area was different, no cameras, no witnesses, just me and that stranger and whatever had happened between us.

Fred would never know.

The thought made my stomach twist with guilt and excitement. I had never stolen from the club before. Never even thought about it, but this was different, this is for Emma. And it’s my tip in the first place 

I stuffed the ten thousand into my jacket pocket, zipping it carefully. The remaining three thousand went back into my bag. I stood up, checked my reflection one more time, and walked out of the changing room with my head held high.

The hallway back to Fred's office felt longer than usual. What if he knew? What if the Iceman said something?

No. The stranger didn't seem like the type to talk to anyone about anything, especially not Fred.

I knocked on Fred's office door twice. His voice barked from inside. "Come in."

The office was exactly as disgusting as always. Stale cigarette smoke hung in the air, mixing with the smell of cheap cologne and something vaguely resembling fast food. Fred sat behind his desk, his belly pressing against the edge, a half-eaten burger in one hand.

"Well?" He looked up at me with greedy eyes. "How much did the Ice King give you?"

I reached into my bag and pulled out the three thousand, placing it on his desk in neat stacks. His eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Three grand?" He whistled low, reaching for the money and counting it quickly with practiced fingers. "Not bad, sweetheart. Not bad at all."

My heart hammered against my ribs. Say something, notice something. Ask why it's only three thousand for a VIP room that usually brings in more.

But Fred was already shoving the money into his desk drawer, his attention already moving on to whatever other shady business he had going. He pulled out a few bills from the stack and tossed them across the desk at me.

"Your cut. Five hundred." He grinned, showing yellowed teeth. "You did good tonight, Scarlett. Real good. I'll send them a message at the front desk to get your regular pay ready too."

I picked up the five hundred and stuffed it into my pocket without counting it. "Thanks, Fred."

"That guy booked you again, you know." Fred leaned back in his chair, said he wants you again tomorrow. Same time, same room."

My stomach dropped. "He did?"

"Yep. Whatever you did there, he liked it." Fred's grin widened into something that made my skin crawl. "Keep him happy, sweetheart. Clients like that are worth their weight in gold."

I forced myself to nod, "I will."

"Good girl. Now get out of here, you look like hell."

I didn't need to be told twice. I turned and walked out of his office, my legs feeling like jelly beneath me. The hallway seemed to spin slightly as I made my way to the front desk.

Rita was there, sorting through envelopes with the bored expression of someone who had seen too much and cared too little. She looked up when I approached and slid an envelope across the counter without a word.

"Thanks." I took it and I walked out of the club into the cool night air. The streets were emptier now, I flagged down a cab and climbed into the back seat, giving the driver the hospital's address.

The ride felt both too long and too short. I kept my hand pressed against my jacket pocket, feeling the bulk of the money there. Ten thousand dollars. Emma's surgery. Her chance.

When we pulled up to the hospital, I paid the driver and practically ran through the sliding doors. I found the billing office and knocked, even though the light was on and I could see someone moving inside.

A tired-looking woman in scrubs opened the door. "Can I help you?"

"I need to make a deposit. For Emma, She's scheduled for surgery."

The woman nodded and gestured for me to come in. I sat down across from her desk and pulled out the money, my hands steadier now that I was so close to finishing this.

She counted it carefully, running each bill through a machine that checked for counterfeits. My heart jumped every time the machine beeped, but they all came back clean. Of course they did. Whatever else the Iceman was, he wasn't the type to deal in fake money.

"Ten thousand dollars," the woman confirmed, typing something into her computer. "The deposit has been paid in full. Emma will be moved to pre-op in the morning to prepare for surgery."

I was very relieved, I almost started crying right there in the billing office. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, honey." The woman's expression softened slightly. "Your sister is lucky to have you."

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. I took the receipt she handed me and walked out of the office.

I made my way to her room, just to see her one more time before I went home. She was asleep, her face peaceful in the dim light from the monitors. I stood in the doorway for a long moment, watching her chest rise and fall.

"I did it, Em," I whispered. "You're going to be okay."

A nurse approached and gently told me that visiting hours were over, that I would have to come back tomorrow. I nodded and walked out tiredly.

The cab ride home was fast, I kept thinking about everything that had happened tonight. The stranger's hands gripping the chair. His eyes watching me like I was something he wanted to devour. The way I had broken every rule I had set for myself.

And Fred. Sweet, stupid Fred who had no idea I had just stolen ten thousand dollars right under his nose.

I would pay it back eventually. Somehow. Maybe I could take extra shifts, save up my cuts. Maybe the Iceman would request me again and I could skim a little each time until the debt was covered.

The cab dropped me off in front of my apartment building. I climbed the stairs slowly, all I wanted was to collapse into bed and sleep for about a hundred years.

I unlocked the apartment door and pushed it open, already pulling off my jacket.

The sound hit me first, a rhythmic creaking. Followed by a woman's voice, breathy and high-pitched. And then Max’s  voice, low and rough in a suspicious way.

My feet moved on autopilot, carrying me down the turning to the bedroom. The door was half open, I should have turned around, should have left or have done anything except push that door wider but I did and I saw them.

Max, my boyfriend of two years, naked and moving above a woman whose face I recognized immediately.

His "sister." The one he had introduced me to three months ago. The one who had smiled sweetly and hugged me and called me family.

They didn't notice me at first, too caught up in each other to see me standing frozen in the doorway.

The envelope of money slipped from my fingers and hit the floor.

Chapter five

Bianca

They stopped moving, Max's head whipped around, his eyes widening when he saw me standing there. The woman beneath him scrambled to cover herself with the sheets, her face flushing red.

"Bianca." Max's voice came out strangled. "Wait, I can explain."

I couldn't move, I couldn’t breathe well. My brain was trying to process what my eyes were seeing, but it felt like looking at a stranger. This couldn't be Max, not the man who was always promising to love me forever.

"Get off her," I said quietly.

Max climbed off the bed quickly, grabbing his boxers from the floor and pulling them on. His hands were shaking. "Bianca, please, just listen to me."

"Get out." My voice was still quiet, too quiet.

"This means nothing. I swear. It was just one time." He took a step toward me, one hand reaching out like he wanted to touch me, to comfort me.

Something inside me snapped as my hand connected with his face before I even realized I had moved. The slap echoed through the room, his head jerked to the side, a red mark already blooming on his cheek.

"Bianca!" He stumbled back, his hand going to his face. "What the hell?"

"One time?" I laughed, but it sounded wrong, "You expect me to believe it was just one time?"

The woman on the bed, his so called sister, finally found her voice. "I should go."

"Yes," I said, not looking at her. "You really should."

She grabbed her clothes and rushed past me, not bothering to dress properly. She just clutched everything to her chest and ran. The apartment door slammed behind her a moment later.

Max took another step toward me. "Baby, please. Let me explain. It's not what you think."

I slapped him again, harder this time. My palm stung from the impact, but I didn't care. "Don't call me that. Don't you dare call me that."

"Bianca, stop!" He backed away, his hands up in surrender. "Just listen to me for one second."

"Listen to what?" My voice was rising now, "Listen to more lies? Listen to you tell me how much you love me while you screw your fake sister in my bed?"

"She's not my sister! Okay? I lied about that. But it was just physical. It didn't mean anything."

"Just physical." I repeated the words slowly, tasting how disgusting they were. "In my bed. In the apartment I pay for. While I was out working myself to death for money to feed us and to save my sister."

He had the decency to look ashamed. "I know. I know it was wrong. But you've been so distant lately. So focused on Emma and work. I felt lonely."

"You felt lonely." I stared at him like he was speaking a foreign language. "You felt lonely, so you decided to sleep with someone else?"

"I'm sorry." He moved toward me again desperately, "I'm sorry, Bianca. I made a mistake. Please, just give me a chance to make this right."

"Don't touch me," I said when he tried to reach for me again. "Don't ever touch me again."

I turned and walked to the closet, throwing the doors open so hard they banged against the walls. His clothes were mixed with mine, his shoes on the floor next to my heels. Two years of living together, two years of building a life, and this is what it came to.

I grabbed his duffel bag from the top shelf and started shoving his clothes inside. Shirts, jeans, everything I could reach. I wasn't being careful. Some things fell on the floor, but I didn't care.

"Bianca, stop. Please stop." Max's voice was right behind me now. "We can work through this. We can go to counseling or something."

I whirled around, the bag clutched in my hands. "Counseling? You think I want to work through this?"

"I love you." His eyes were red now, actually crying. "I know I messed up, but I love you. We can fix this."

"No." I shoved the bag into his chest, hard enough to make him stumble backward. "We can't."

I went back to the closet and started grabbing more of his things. His jacket, his stupid collection of baseball caps he never wore, the expensive watch I had bought him for his last birthday. Everything went into another bag.

"This is all you have here," I said, my voice shaking. "Two bags of clothes and lies. That's it."

"That's not fair." He was following me around the room now, like a lost puppy. "I've been here for you. I stayed with you when your parents died. I helped you with Emma."

I stopped moving and turned to look at him, really look at him. "You helped me? You helped me?"

"Yes! I did. I was there for you."

"Where? Where were you, Max? Because I don't remember you helping pay the rent, I don't remember you helping with the medical bills. I don't remember you doing anything except sitting on my couch, eating my food, and apparently screwing other women in my bed."

"I gave you emotional support."

"Emotional support." I laughed again, that same broken sound. "Is that what you call it? Because it felt a lot like I was supporting you, feeding you, giving you a place to live while you 'figured things out' with your art career that's going nowhere."

His face hardened. "Don't do this. Don't be cruel."

"I'm being cruel?" My voice rose to a shout. "I'm being cruel? You cheated on me! In my bed! And now you want to talk about cruelty?"

I grabbed both bags and threw them out of the bedroom door. They landed in the hallway with a heavy thud. "Get out. Get out of my house."

"You're going to regret this." His voice changed, becoming cold. "You're going to regret treating me like this, after everything I have done for you"

"Everything you've done for me?" I was screaming now, past the point of caring if the neighbors heard. "You've done nothing! Nothing but take and take and take. You're a leech, Max. A pathetic, cheating leech."

He took a step toward me, his finger pointing at my face. "You're being ungrateful. I could have walked away when things got hard. But I stayed."

"You stayed because you had nowhere else to go!" I shoved him hard, and he stumbled back. "You stayed because I was stupid enough to let you. Because I felt sorry for you. Because I thought you actually loved me."

"I do love you!"

"Liar!" I shoved him again, harder this time. He stumbled out of the bedroom into the hallway. "You don't love anyone but yourself."

He straightened up, his face twisted with anger now. The fake tears were gone. This was the real Max, the one I had been too blind to see. "Fine. You want me gone? I'm gone. But don't come crying to me when you realize what a mistake you made."

"The only mistake I made was wasting two years on you."

I walked to the front door and yanked it open. The cool night air rushed in, making me shiver. "Get out."

He picked up his bags slowly, deliberately, like he was giving me time to change my mind. When I didn't, he walked toward the door. He stopped right in front of me, so close I could smell her perfume still on his skin.

"You're going to regret this," he said quietly. "You'll see. You need me more than you think."

"I don't need you at all."

He opened his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off. "Leave. Now. Before I call the police and tell them you're trespassing."

"This is insane. You're being insane."

"Get out!" I screamed it so loud my throat hurt.

He finally stepped through the doorway, but he turned back one more time. "I put up with your mood swings and your obsession with Emma. I stayed through all of it, you ingrate."

"Then you should have left a long time ago," I said, and slammed the door in his face.

I heard him on the other side, shouting through the wood. "You'll come crawling back! You won’t last a month without me!"

I locked the door and leaned against it, my whole body shaking. His voice continued for another minute, saying things I didn't bother to listen to. Threats. Insults. Promises that I would regret this.

Then finally, silence.

I heard his footsteps retreating down the hallway. The sound of the building's front door opening and closing. And then nothing.

I slid down the door until I was sitting on the floor, my back against the wood. The apartment was so quiet now. Too quiet. I could hear the clock ticking in the kitchen, the hum of the refrigerator, my own ragged breathing.

And then I started crying, not gentle tears. Not the kind you could wipe away and pretend didn't happen. These were ugly, violent sobs that shook my whole body. I cried for the two years I had wasted, for the person I thought he was. For my parents who weren't here to tell me it would be okay.

When the tears finally stopped, I just sat there on the floor, staring at nothing. The envelope of money was still where I had dropped it, lying a few feet away near the bedroom door.

Five hundred dollars, just as I was about to reach for it, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out with shaking hands.

A text from Fred.

"Tomorrow night. Same time. Same room. Don't be late."