Flora’s POV
Before I could respond—not that I knew the words that were going to leave my lips—my phone buzzed loudly from somewhere nearby, shattering the tense moment.
The man’s dark eyes flicked to the noise, his irritation evident. “Answer it,” he ordered sharply, releasing me with a rough shove.
I scrambled to sit up, my body trembling from the aftershocks of his intensity. Reaching for the phone on the nightstand, I saw an unfamiliar name flash across the screen: Trina.
I hesitated, unsure of how to handle this. The man shot me a warning look. He was waiting for me. With a shaky breath, I swiped to answer.
“Dahlia,” the voice on the other end said, sharp and businesslike. “You’re late. You should’ve been here ten minutes ago. Another customer is waiting,”
I froze, the realization sinking in like a stone. Dahlia’s a social sex worker. This was the new life I had to live.
The weight of it was suffocating. Selene hadn’t given me any time to prepare for this—no knowledge of the life I’d just stepped into, no memories of the people I was supposed to know, no idea how to navigate this twisted reality.
“I…” I started, but the voice cut me off.
“Don’t play games with me, Dahlia,” Trina snapped. “You know how this works. If you screw this up, there’s no going back. Get your act together.”
The call ended abruptly, leaving me holding the phone with trembling hands.
“What is it?” the man demanded, his tone sharp as he threw on a robe.
I looked up at him, my mind blank. “Just… work,” I mumbled, the words foreign on my tongue.
He smirked darkly, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Work,” he echoed, his voice dripping with disdain. “You’re not leaving until I’m done with you.”
The air in the room grew heavier, oppressive. I could feel the tension radiating off him, his movements predatory as he approached me again.
Instinctively, I backed up, my heart racing. “Wait,” I blurted, desperate to buy time, to think of something. “I—I need a moment.”
He paused, his eyes narrowing. “A moment?”
I nodded quickly, my throat dry. “Just… to freshen up.”
He studied me for a long, agonizing moment before stepping back with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Five minutes,” he said coldly. “Don’t make me come looking for you, Dahlia.”
“You won’t. I assure you,” I said, grazing his cock with the tip of my index finger.
He grunted and turned away and the instant he did, I bolted to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. My hands gripped the sink as I stared into the mirror, hoping for answers that wouldn’t come.
The reflection staring back wasn’t mine.
Dark, sultry eyes framed by thick lashes. Full lips painted a deep crimson. Flawless skin glowing under the dim light. Dahlia was beautiful, but her eyes carried a haunted look, one I knew all too well.
My fingers brushed the necklace around my neck, its faint glow a reminder of the deal I’d made. I still didn’t understand how this worked. Selene had said I’d have to collect life energy, but she hadn’t explained how—or why I’d been thrust into this specific life.
I turned on the tap, splashing cold water on my face to ground myself. Focus, Flora. Or Dahlia. Whoever you are now.
The sound of a knock at the door jolted me.
“Time’s up,” the man called his tone brooking no argument.
Panic surged through me, but I took a deep breath, steeling myself. If I was going to survive this, I needed to figure out who he was, what he wanted—and how to keep Dahlia’s life intact without losing myself in the process.
For now, I would have to play the role I’d been thrown into. But deep down, I vowed to find out the truth behind this world, this body, and the mysterious necklace that now linked me to it all.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes pinned me in place, sharp and unrelenting.
“Let’s finish this,” he said darkly, his voice leaving no room for argument.
And so, I stepped back into the room, the lion’s den, unsure if I was the predator—or the prey.
He pushed me back onto the bed and immediately jumped on me. It was clear I was the prey.
He left shortly after dawn, his departure as abrupt as his presence was commanding. A brief kiss on my forehead, a murmur of something unintelligible, and then he was gone. I didn’t question it. Dahlia’s instincts told me this was normal, even if my curiosity itched for answers.
I spent the morning exploring her—no, my—apartment. It was stark and minimalist, nothing like the lavish life I’d once imagined for myself. Still, there were pieces of Dahlia scattered about—books with dog-eared pages, a silk robe draped over a chair, and a chipped coffee mug on the counter. Everything felt both foreign and familiar, a paradox I couldn’t quite unravel.
And then, him. Lucian.
He was a constant thread in her life, always appearing when she least expected it. He was Dahlia’s protector, her tormentor, her anchor. She feared him as much as she craved him. There was also something familiar about him, something I couldn’t quite place. His voice, his touch, his eyes—they stirred something deep within me, echoing a memory that wasn’t mine.
The thought nagged at me all afternoon, growing stronger with each passing hour. By the time night fell, I couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Lucian than I’d initially thought.
It was during my restless pacing that the door slammed open, startling me. Lucian strode in, his presence filling the room instantly. He didn’t say a word, just walked over to the small table and poured himself a drink.
“Rough day?” I asked, my voice lighter than I felt.
He looked at me then, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my breath catch.
“You could say that,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. He leaned against the table, studying me. “You’ve been quiet. Thinking about leaving?”
The question threw me off guard. “Why would you think that?”
He smirked, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “Women like you always think they can run. Trust me, there’s nowhere to go.”
The tension was growing, but I refused to let him intimidate me. “Maybe I don’t want to leave,” I said, meeting his gaze.
His smirk faded, replaced by something unreadable. He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. “Good,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Because I’m not letting you go. At least not again.”
Again? That word caught me.
“Who are you?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
His smile deepened, his eyes glinting with something I couldn’t decipher. “Don’t you recognize me?” he said, his voice achingly familiar….