"Why did you let Liraine into Room 429, Sir?" asked Nikhael, Severin's right-hand man, as Severin slipped on his gloves, ready to head out.
"Even if I'd forbidden her, she would've forced her way in and caused a scene. I let her in on purpose. I wanted her to see what she's done. Sometimes, our selfish desire to keep someone alive ends up dragging them straight into hell. I want Liraine to understand that keeping that woman alive will lead to nothing but ruin. That woman is not Renata, and she will never be Renata." Severin added one last thing before walking away, leaving Nikhael behind.
"Liraine will help her clean up. Once she's done, you'll tell that woman what she needs to do to stay alive here. She's not a guest. She needs to be useful. Everyone in this place exists for my benefit, including her. Starting today, she works. Put her name on the list of paid women. Someone might want to rent her tonight. Her body's nothing special, but I'm sure one or two men will be curious enough to fuck her."
Nikhael lowered his head slightly, acknowledging the command. He watched Severin's broad back disappear down the corridor.
Liraine wasn't going to like this—knowing that the woman who resembled Renata would be turned into a whore, by Severin's own orders.
.
.
.
Liraine was tending to cuts and bruises on the corner of Isolde's lips and neck when the door to Room 429 opened. Nikhael stepped in, making Isolde's body stiffen instantly.
Aside from Severin, Nikhael was the one she feared most. Whether it was a blind loyalty to his Boss or a personal grudge, Nikhael had always looked like he was just waiting for the chance to kill her.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Liraine snapped, still furious with Nikhael for being Severin's loyal mutt, always following orders without question.
"I'm here on Lord Severin's orders," Nikhael replied coldly.
Of course. The answer was expected. Nikhael never moved without Severin's say-so. Everyone called him "The Shadow" because he was always behind Severin, like a loyal ghost.
"What now? Did Severin send you to drag me back to my room and lock me up again like last night?" Liraine shouted, raising her voice. Nikhael ignored her completely. His eyes locked onto Isolde instead.
"You're coming with me, Isolde. There's a lot you need to learn before you start your job here—as a whore." Liraine's brows shot up in disbelief. Had she heard that right?
"What did you just say? A whore?"
"Stay out of it, Liraine," Nikhael growled. "You might be Lord Severin's sister, but you have no authority here—especially not to question his orders."
He stepped forward and shoved Liraine aside roughly when she tried to block him. Nikhael grabbed Isolde's arm and dragged her out of Room 429 like she was nothing but a stray dog.
Liraine's screams followed them, sharp with rage and desperation. She hurled every insult she could think of, but Nikhael didn't even flinch. He didn't look back, didn't slow down.
Turned out that Nikhael had dragged Isolde into the entertainment lounge. The same place had been packed with drunk customers the night before, drinking and watching strippers perform on stage.
Nikhael hauled her toward a group of women, lounging around, counting stacks of cash and smoking like they owned the place.
"Teach her properly. She's working tonight," he said flatly, shoving Isolde forward. His grip on her arm was rough, and when he let go, it was like he was throwing away something useless.
Isolde stood there awkwardly, confused and out of place, as the women looked up from their money.
Nikhael didn't stick around. Before leaving, he grabbed Liraine—who had followed them—and threw her over his shoulder like she was a sack of flour.
"Put me down, you asshole!" Liraine screamed, pounding her fists on his back. But Nikhael didn't even flinch. His face stayed blank, unreadable, as he carried her off—far enough that Isolde could no longer hear Liraine's shouting or see their silhouettes disappear down the hallway.
"So, you're the bitch Malric was talking about," said one of the women, her voice low and gritty. Her hair was a mess, and her neck was littered with dark purple love bites. She stared at Isolde like she was inspecting livestock.
"I'm pretty new myself, so I never saw what Lord Severin's dead lover looked like… but they say you're the spitting image." She offered her hand lazily for Isolde to shake, then tilted her head, signalling for her to sit.
"I'm Morrin. That's Thalia, and the one with the scowl is Eira. You?"
"Isolde," she replied quietly.
"Okay, Isolde," Morrin said, lighting another cigarette.
"No offence, but you look like shit. You're too skinny, and your hair—did you cut it yourself?" she asked, reaching out to touch the uneven strands. Isolde nodded.
"You're not pretty. Your body's a mess. Your tits are barely there. You look like bones wrapped in skin. Some clients prefer the petite look, but not this skinny. You look more like... a fucking corpse," Eira chimed in, her tone sharp as knives as she gave Isolde a once-over. She definitely expressed disapproval with a click of her tongue and a shake of her head.
"So, The Boss fucked you last night, right? I honestly can't understand it. What the hell did he find in you that made him get rid of Tiffara?"
Isolde was wounded by those words. Eira's harsh words were like a slap to her face. Still, she forced herself to swallow the anger. She needed these women on her side—this wasn't prison, where she could punch anyone who pissed her off. No. Here, she had to think.
"Who's Tiffara?" Isolde asked, keeping her voice neutral, though the name felt oddly familiar. Thalia crossed her arms, her tone dry and laced with judgment.
"Tiffara's Boss's favourite. Ever since Renata died, he hasn't touched another whore besides her. But last night? Instead of spending the night with Tiffara, he fucked you. In Room 429—right next to 430, the room he always uses for Tiffara."
Eira let out a short, scornful laugh. "Tiffara was pissed last night. She was all over The Boss, practically drooling on his lap like a damn puppy, and he ditched her to screw someone else." She shot Isolde a mocking glance and shook her head. "You're fucked. Tiffara's gonna come for you sooner or later."
A flash of memory hit Isolde. Was Tiffara that half-naked woman with her head on Severin's lap last night? The one he stroked gently while his eyes locked coldly onto Isolde before ordering his men to send her to Room 429?
"You need to watch your back," Morrin said, flicking ash from her cigarette.
"Tiffara's a jealous bitch. Most of Boss's men side with her because she's his favourite fucktoy. Usually, any outsider who sneaks into this place ends up dead. But you? You're still breathing. That alone is a fucking miracle." She paused, exhaling smoke.
"That's why Tiffara sees you as a threat. You look like Renata—his dead lover. And you were sent here by one of Boss's enemies. That should've been a death sentence. But he let you live. That's gonna drive her insane."
The other two women nodded in agreement. Isolde could understand why Tiffara would feel threatened. Even if all Severin had done was torture her, that didn't matter. The fact she was still alive did.
"Oh, right. About the job—it's simple," Morrin continued.
"There are two roles here: strippers and whores. Most whores strip too, but not all strippers fuck clients. You'll dance. Look pretty. Lure someone into wanting to fuck you. But—" She raised a finger, pointing it right at Isolde's face, her tone darkening.
"Don't try too hard. Don't stand out. Unless you're suicidal. Tiffara's the golden girl around here—Boss's favourite on stage and in bed. Every time she feels someone's stealing her spotlight, she tears them to pieces. Literally. And Severin? He looks the other way."
Ah. Now Isolde remembered. Tiffara—the woman everyone kept warning her about—was the same name that the dancer in the dressing room whispered to her yesterday. The same warning: Stay out of her way if you want to live.
Mary, that was the stripper's name. She'd been absent last night, and Isolde had stepped in as her replacement. Now it made sense—Mary wasn't "sick." She'd been taken out—most likely thanks to Tiffara. Screw Tiffara. Isolde had other things on her mind.
"Did Severin force you to work as whores too?" she asked, voice low but cutting.
The three women's faces went stone-cold. They stared at her with unreadable expressions. Finally, Thalia spoke, voice icy.
"You don't need to know," she said sharply. "And one more thing—don't throw The Boss's name around like he's your fucking buddy. He's not." Morrin and Eira nodded silently in agreement.
…