Chapter 3

• Mey's POV
• "You're up, Mey."
• Amy announced once it was my turn to dance. For the past three months, she had become my hype person, always getting me all pumped up before I hit the stage. "Go show them what you've got."
• The crowd erupted into cheers and applause as I stepped on the stage, the spotlight's warm glow enveloping me. My hips swayed seductively and my arms undulated as I lost myself in the music.
• These past few months without Justin had been a whirlwind of transformation. Escaping with nothing but myself, I had no money or anything to call my own. But now, I had a job that paid the bills, an apartment, even if it wasn't so cozy, and most precious of all, Amy who has been supportive.
• My movements were stiff at first, and my body tensed with nervousness. But as time passed, the music took hold, I let go of my inhibitions and allowed the rhythm to take control.
• Closing my eyes, I let it sink into me, moving me like wind to ocean waves. I gripped the pole and imagined I was dancing for Justin, not for a room full of strangers. Once I found my rhythm, I slid down the pole and let my hair fall loose as I swayed slowly, rolling my hips with the beat.
• In no time, I was lost in the music, forgetting about the crowd, forgetting about Justin, and forgetting my fears. I felt free.
• As they continued cheering, I felt a sense of joy and liberation. But then, my gaze drifted towards the VVVIP section, and my eyes locked on a figure that made my heart skip a beat. The mysterious man sat with an air of confidence and poise, his piercing eyes fixed intently on me.
• There was something about him that seemed out of place among the rowdy crowd, something that drew me in and made me feel like I was the only person in the room. As our eyes held, I felt a shiver run down my spine, and for a moment, everything else faded into the background as he set down his cigarette.
• He was even more handsome than Justin and wasn’t watching me like I was some kind of performance. He wasn’t judging, rating my moves, or waiting to deduct points for what I did wrong. He was looking at me like I was the only thing worth looking at in the room.
• Something about it made me bold.
• My hands glided up my sides, arms stretching above my head as I moved with the beat. I felt the heat of his gaze on me, and I swayed, lost in the moment as my heart raced, not just from the adrenaline but from something else—something electric.
• I lost myself in every move, arching my back, twisting, reaching, until there was only the music and the rush flooding through me.
• When the song reached its climax, I spun around the pole as my long hair flew around me like a whirlwind. The sound of heavy clapping and cheers snapped me back to reality and I shrieked.
• Happily, I hurried backstage where Amy was waiting. “Did you see the handsome man looking at me from the VVVIP section?’’
• “Who?’’ she asked, still buzzing from my performance. I pull her close, drawing the curtains just enough to show him the man. Once she saw him, I felt her stiffening beside me.
• “Mey… that’s the Mafia King.’’ She blurted out in terror. "You shouldn't look as well as breathe in his direction."
• “What?’’
• “That’s Lucas DeLuca. The owner and most ruthless Mafia King.” She explained, but still, I didn't understand. "He doesn’t usually come out here, let alone look at anyone. He’s dangerous, Mey.”
• Before I could respond, one of the bouncers approached and we stiffened. "The boss, Mr DeLuca, requests your presence.”
• My throat went dry and all I could do was turn to Amy. Her words about Lucas rang in my ears. Mafia king. Dangerous. What did I just walk into? I should say no. I should just walk out, decline, and leave. But something in me, a pull I can't explain, takes over and I find myself following the bouncer toward the luxury VIP room upstairs.
• As we walked, all I could think about was how he looked at me. How he watched me like I was the only thing that mattered in the room.
• Like I was worth it.
• ***
• The room was massive, and luxurious, exactly how I’d imagined a Mafia King’s lair. He was seated in a large armchair in the corner. Legs parted Like I could be comfortable right on his lap, a glass of whiskey balanced in his hand.
• He was incredibly handsome, the kind of man women fought over, the kind of man who should be in magazines and movies. Why would a man like him want a lap dance from me?
• He looked up from his phone, his eyes locking on me instantly. Dark. Piercing. Powerful. I froze, suddenly hyper-aware of how small I felt in his presence.
• “Angel,” he said, setting his glass down and standing. His voice was deep and calm, but there was an edge to it that made my breath hitch. “You’re not what I expected.”
• He started walking toward me, every step making the room feel smaller. As he got closer, I noticed more details—the tattoo that curved over his neck and disappeared under his shirt, the sharp line of his jaw, the scent of his cologne. He must've noticed how I kept staring at him and smirked. The little action caught my eyes and I couldn't help but wonder how good his lips would feel on mine.
• Stopping just a foot away, he towered over me. “You were breathtaking on the dance floor,”
• “Thank you,” I whispered, my throat tight.
• “I wanted to see it up close. Dance for me.”
• I nodded as I couldn't find my voice, but he wasn’t satisfied. “Use your words, Angel.”
• God, there it was. That voice of his again, almost soaking my panties. I couldn't even remember the last time I felt this way. Must've been years ago when I first got married to Justin and was blinded by his charms.
• “Yes,” I said quickly, almost too softly. “Yes, sir.”
• “Good girl. Now, shut the door,” He said and I did as told with trembling hands.
• Pulling out the small device Amy had given to me, I shuffled through my playlist with trembling hands. He was watching me—I didn’t need to look to feel his eyes on me.
• When I found the song I wanted, I looked at him one more time. He had returned to his seat and was now leaning back, watching me in a way that was far from casual. It was intense like he was already stripping me bare with his gaze.
• I shuddered and closed my eyes, trying to center myself. I thought of how this used to feel—how natural it was to dance for Justin. But now, it is different.
• As the song started, the rhythm slowly took over. I let it carry me, moving to the beat as I arched my back and met his gaze. Something shifted. The fear I felt moments ago began to dissolve, replaced by a strange confidence that came from the way he looked at me.
• I rolled my body, swaying from side to side, then paused to arch my back again. This wasn’t a dance I could have done on stage. It was more intimate, designed to pull a man in and drive him wild.
• When I reached him, I crawled up between his legs, bringing my face just inches from his. His breath hitched. I leaned down, biting his shirt between my teeth, locking eyes with him as if daring him to let me rip it off. I slid lower, my tongue teasingly close to touching him, but not quite. I wanted him to feel the frustration, to be on edge.
• I moved toward his crotch, hesitating for only a second before doing something I never imagined myself capable of. I planted a kiss right on his hardness, the boldness of it sending a shock through us both. My heart raced—I was scaring myself—but his eyes told me I had his full attention.
• I rose, turned my back to him, and began to move again, every sway of my hips a slow, deliberate invitation. I heard him groan, low and guttural. The sound of it sent a jolt through me.
• “You have no idea what kind of games you’re playing, Angel,” he muttered, his voice low and strained.
• I turned to face him, positioning my legs on either side of his hips. He didn’t touch me. It was as if he was holding back, afraid he’d lose control if he did.
• Tentatively, I took one of his hands and placed it on my waist.
• “Then teach me,” I whispered.
• Immediately, his grip tightened.