CHAPTER 1

AMANDA'S POV

"Amanda!!!"

I heard my name being called by that ungrateful son of a bitch. The sound of his voice made my stomach churn with disgust, but I kept walking, my stiletto boots clicking sharply against the pavement. Each step sent a sting up my calves, and I mentally cursed myself for choosing these damn heels.

"God, I wish I was walking in sneakers right now. I fucking hate heels," I muttered under my breath, barely resisting the urge to rip them off and throw them in the gutter.

"You fucking bitch!" Marcus's voice rang out again, closer this time.

I felt his presence before he even reached me. My entire body tensed, my blood boiling. I spun around in one swift movement, my hand connecting with his face before I even had time to think. The slap was sharp, echoing through the nearly empty street. My breath came out in short puffs, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My stiletto artificial nail snapped right off.

"Great, now my finger hurts," I muttered to myself, shaking off the pain before glaring up at the pathetic excuse of a man standing in front of me. Marcus clutched his face, his fingers rubbing the red imprint my palm had left on his cheek.

"What the hell is your problem—" he started, but I cut him off with a pointed finger.

"What didn’t I do for you, Marcus? Huh?" My voice was shaking with anger, but I refused to back down.

"You didn’t give me the love I deserve," he said, finally looking me in the eye.

I blinked. Once. Twice. Then I let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"Wow, Marcus," I said, shaking my head in disbelief. "I didn’t love you, yet I got you groceries and food every week, paid part of your mortgage in a house I don’t even live in, handed you cash for every little thing you needed. I fucking worked my ass off for a year and got you a damn car!"

"Yeah," he scoffed, crossing his arms. "From sex work."

That was it. That was my breaking point.

I saw red.

"Oh, from sex working, huh?" I let out a bitter laugh. "But you didn’t mind taking money from a sex worker, huh? You didn’t mind fucking a sex worker, you ungrateful bastard!" My voice rose, my hands clenching into fists. "You got all that, and you still cheated on me with that bony bitch!" I could barely breathe, my heart hammering against my ribcage.

Marcus opened his mouth to speak, but I didn’t want to hear another word.

I turned on my heels and walked away.

*

My name is Amanda Miller. A small-town girl with absolutely nothing to her name. A sex worker and a gambling father who cares for no one but himself.

I’m already 27 years old, and I completely hate my life.

Life has been really hard since Mom died six years ago, back when I was still in college. And it didn’t even take a month before Dad squandered all the money she had saved up for my tuition.

I worked various part-time jobs to meet my school expenses, our house bills, and groceries. Well, until Dad gambled our house away barely six months after Mom passed.

I could no longer afford school. My grades slipped. I had to get an apartment with my best friend, Sophie. God bless her heart for being willing to move out of her parents’ house just for me.

I’ve been working as a sex worker for three years now after getting into trouble and signing a contract with my boss, Martin. He’s incredibly handsome—6’5, deep brown eyes, and a perfect body that makes every suit look good on him. But that man will never look my way. He’s made that clear to all the girls at the strip club.

And then there are all the stupid-ass guys I’ve been in relationships with.

"This is agonizing as fu—" My phone vibrating in my bag interrupted my thoughts.

"Shit," I muttered, digging through my bag to find my phone. It was Vanessa, one of the top girls at the club.

"Hello?"

"Andy, where the hell are you?!" she questioned.

"I’m on my way home," I replied.

"You better get your ass back to the club," she demanded.

"But I have a night off tonight," I almost whined. I needed a break from everything going on with me right now.

"Martin wants you to be an escort for someone tonight, and it has to be tonight," she said, completely dismissing whatever I had to say.

"Fine," I muttered before she hung up.

I turned back toward the road to hail a cab so I can head back to club Euphoria.

'I should have bought that car for myself instead of that bastard. Lizzy warned me about him, but I didn’t listen,' I thought bitterly as I sighed.

---

"I am not feeling this tonight," I grumbled as I walked into G.C. Hotel, one of the biggest hotels in the city.

I forced a smile at the receptionist as I made my way to the elevator. I had been here several times before, so I knew my way around.

Ding!

The elevator stopped at the fifth floor. I stepped out and headed to Room 505.

I was supposed to meet the client at the club, but since I hadn’t arrived in time, he asked me to meet him here instead.

"Get it together, Andy," I whispered to myself before knocking.

"Come in," a voice called from inside.

I stepped in and saw a man standing by the table, pouring himself a glass of liquor.

"Are you Andy from the club?" he asked without turning around.

"Yes, sir," I answered.

He took a sip and finally turned around, settling onto the couch next to the bed.

'This guy doesn’t even look like a ‘man’—he looks young. I don’t even feel comfortable calling him ‘sir.’ He’s about six feet tall, brown eyes, a full beard, and sharp, angled brows. He’s masculine but nothing special like Martin.'

He arched a brow at me as if signaling I had a job to do.

I moved closer and knelt right before him.

'He doesn’t look settled. He seems troubled. Not that I care, but I wish I could ask his name—maybe I could be his only call girl...'

My thoughts were cut off as his strong fingers suddenly grabbed my face.

"You look like a whore and smell like one too," he muttered, his honey-brown eyes locking onto mine as he leaned in. His breath reeked of alcohol.

He leaned back into the couch, took another sip, and sighed.

"What kind of girl did they set me up with this time?" he muttered to himself.

"Just give me a chance—"

"Get out!" he snapped.

"Please," I purred, my hand resting on his thigh and the other trailing toward his crotch.

I had felt nothing since I started this job three years ago. No desires. No cravings. Just numbness.

How had I done this for so long? Simple—pretense.

But why did I feel something when he grabbed my face just now? Maybe it was just anxiety.

Before he could stop me again, I loosened his belt and took his dick in my mouth.

"Ugh," he groaned, gripping my hair and guiding my movements.

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath, his voice deep and husky.

Ring ring…

He suddenly pushed me away, adjusting his pants as he grabbed his phone.

"Mum…"

I barely paid attention to his conversation, my eyes wandering down to his exposed length.

'Damn, it’s big.'

"...Yeah, alright," he said, ending the call.

He gulped down the rest of his liquor before looking at me.

"You can stay here for the night. It’s already late. Use the bed—no need for formalities," he muttered, heading toward the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, he was out with a white towel wrapped around his waist.

'Why is his chest smooth while his face is so bearded?' I wondered.

"Thank you" i mumbled as I made my way to the bathroom, I need a cold shower.

I was out in twenty minutes and I found him deep asleep on one part of the bed.

I walked over to the table and opened a bottle of whiskey.

I poured myself a drink, noticing his wallet on the table.

Curious, I opened it.

"Oh my God, he’s just 25? No wonder he looks so young," I whispered in a low tone, to avoid waking him.

I walked to the window, the weight of the night settling on my shoulders as I took a slow sip of whiskey. The burn trailed down my throat, warm but not comforting—just another distraction from the mess that was my life. The city lights flickered in the distance, a world that kept moving while I felt stuck in the same cycle. I exhaled, my breath fogging up the glass as I wondered, not for the first time, if this was all my life would ever be.

I finished my drink and crawled into bed beside him, laying down.