Chapter 79

Cindy's POV

The world seemed to tilt on its axis as I stared at the familiar face across the room. John. Alive. Breathing. Looking completely fine, as if the past year of hell I'd endured meant nothing. As if his promises to rescue me had been nothing but pretty lies whispered in the dark.

My heart hammered against my ribs, threatening to burst from my chest, but I forced my face into the perfect mask I'd perfected over these endless months. Sasha never showed weakness. Sasha was always in control.

"Good evening," I said, my voice steady despite the earthquake happening inside me.

Big Jim's cold smile widened as he leaned back in his leather chair. "Sasha, Sasha, Sasha... my greatest star." His voice dripped with satisfaction. "I just got a very interesting call from Kyle. He wants you to do a private performance for him on his yacht this weekend."

I kept my expression neutral, professional, even as my peripheral vision caught John shifting in his chair. Was he uncomfortable? Good. He should be.

"And guess how much he's paying for this exclusive performance?" Big Jim's eyes gleamed with greed. "One million dollars. Just for you, baby girl."

The number hit me like a physical blow. One million dollars. For one performance. The kind of money that could buy freedom, could buy a new life, could buy... anything. I forced a smile that felt like shattered glass.

"Thank you, Big Jim, for this opportunity," I said, my voice honey-sweet with just the right amount of gratitude.

Big Jim's laughter boomed through the office. "You know, if you had always been like this from the beginning, I would have made you my favorite star. You could have had the same opportunities as my number one star, Bianca." He paused, studying me like a predator examining prey. "Don't worry, with this deal, if you can come back from Kyle's place having sealed this arrangement, I'm going to move you into the penthouse. Your own mansion, your own maids, everything."

The words felt like poison honey. Sweet on the surface, deadly underneath. "You're most generous," I managed.

Fiona stepped forward, her perfect red lips curved in that cruel smile I'd learned to hate. "You see, if you had been this sweet from the beginning, I would have loved you so much and made you my own sister. Now you know your place, and I love that you're making use of that opportunity so well."

My skin crawled, but I kept smiling. "Thank you, ma'am Fiona, for giving me this opportunity."

Big Jim waved his hand dismissively. "That will be all. Go make more money today. I just got the detailed account of tonight's earnings, and it's indeed cause for celebration. This is why you're called my star. You're even starting to outrun Bianca." He leaned forward, his eyes glittering. "Bianca didn't make the kind of money you made tonight, not even in her first year. At this rate, in two years you'll be free. If you can double what you made this year, next year you get to go home. You get to see your parents again."

The word 'parents' should have meant something, but it felt hollow now. Home. Family. The people who had abandoned me without a fight, who had let me disappear into this nightmare. Why should I be eager to go back to them? I could just as well stay here after I was free, make some side money, and travel somewhere else entirely. My family wasn't something I craved anymore, they were strangers who had failed me when I needed them most. "You're so generous, Big Jim. Thank you." The words felt like paper dust in my mouth. "I would like to retire for the evening and get back to business."

Big Jim nodded approvingly. I smiled that practiced, empty smile and turned to leave. For just a moment, my eyes met John's. He looked…. I couldn't tell, and I didn't care anymore. I stopped briefly, letting him see the coldness in my gaze, then walked out without another word.

The door closed behind me with a soft click that sounded like the final nail in a coffin.

I made it exactly three steps toward the elevator before my carefully constructed facade began to crumble. My chest tightened, and my breathing became shallow and rapid. The hallway seemed to stretch endlessly, the walls closing in on me.

The elevator doors opened with a cheerful ding that mocked my misery. I stumbled inside, hitting the button for the main floor with trembling fingers. As soon as the doors closed, the dam burst.

I couldn't breathe. My chest felt like it was being crushed by an invisible weight. I clawed at my throat, gasping for air that wouldn't come. The elevator walls seemed to spin around me as the truth crashed down like a tidal wave.

John had been alive. All this time. All these months of hell, of degradation, of selling pieces of my soul one dollar bill at a time, and he'd been alive. He'd promised to come for me. He'd sworn he would rescue me, that he would find a way to bring me home.

It had all been lies.

Every whispered promise, every desperate plea for me to hold on, every declaration of love – all of it had been nothing but beautiful, empty words. He'd been free while I'd been trapped. He'd been living his life while I'd been dying inside, piece by piece, night after night.

"Bastard," I whispered, the word torn from my throat like a scream. "You bastard."

The tears came then, hot and angry and full of a pain so deep it felt like drowning. I pressed my back against the elevator wall and let them fall, let myself break apart for just these few seconds between floors.

But by the time the elevator reached the ground floor, I'd pulled myself together. I wiped my eyes, checked my reflection in the polished metal doors, and transformed back into Sasha. The show must go on.

The club hit me like a wall of sound and light and desperate male energy. The bass thumped through my bones, and the familiar scent of alcohol and desperation filled my nostrils. This was my kingdom now. This was where I ruled.

I walked straight to the bar, my heels clicking against the floor with deadly precision.

"Whiskey," I told Tony. "The whole bottle."

His eyebrows rose, but he slid the bottle across the bar without question. I poured myself a generous glass and downed it in one burning gulp. Then another. The alcohol hit my empty stomach like liquid fire, spreading through my veins and numbing the jagged edges of my pain.

"Sasha!" The voices started up again, a chorus of want and need and pathetic desperation. "Another performance! Give us another show!"

I looked out at the sea of faces, all of them hungry for me, all of them willing to pay whatever it took to possess even a small piece of me. These men were honest about what they wanted. They didn't make promises they couldn't keep. They didn't lie about loving me.

They were more honorable than John had ever been.

I poured another whiskey and knocked it back. The room tilted slightly, and I felt that familiar surge of liquid courage flooding through me. If they wanted a show, I'd give them a show they'd never forget.

"You want Sasha?" I called out, my voice carrying over the music. "Then let's see how much you really want her!"

The crowd erupted in cheers and applause. Money started flying before I even reached the stage. I walked to the dressing room, swaying slightly from the alcohol, and changed into the most revealing bikini I owned – a tiny scrap of black lace that barely qualified as clothing.

When I emerged, the crowd went wild. I could see Kyle at his usual table, his eyes wide with hunger and something that might have been love. Poor, stupid Kyle. At least he was honest about his obsession.

I climbed onto the stage, and the music started – something dark and pulsing that matched the rhythm of my wounded heart. I moved like I was possessed, like the music was controlling my body instead of the other way around. Every beat was a memory of John's lies, every note was another broken promise.

The pole became my partner, cold and reliable and honest in its indifference. I spun around it, my body moving in ways that made the crowd scream my name. Money rained down like green snow, covering the stage in a carpet of bills.

But I wasn't done yet.

I walked down into the audience, directly to Kyle's table. His face lit up like Christmas morning as I approached. Without warning, I sat down on his lap, my legs straddling his thighs. He gasped, his hands immediately going to my waist.

"Sasha," he breathed, his voice thick with desire and disbelief.

I leaned in close, my lips almost touching his ear. "Pour it on me," I whispered.

"What?" He sounded confused, drunk on my proximity.

I grabbed the bottle of expensive champagne from his table and pressed it into his hands. "Pour it on me," I repeated, my voice husky with alcohol and pain and reckless abandon.

Kyle's eyes widened, but he didn't hesitate. He tilted the bottle, and the golden liquid cascaded over my shoulders, running down my chest and back in rivulets that caught the stage lights. The crowd went absolutely insane.

The champagne was cold against my heated skin, but I barely felt it. All I could think about was John's face in that office, the way he'd looked at me like I was a stranger. The way he'd sat there so calmly while Big Jim talked about selling me like a piece of property.

I ground against Kyle's lap, and he groaned, his grip on my waist tightening. More champagne splashed over us both, and I threw my head back, letting it run down my throat. The bubbles mixed with the whiskey in my stomach, creating a potent cocktail of liquid numbness.

"More," I demanded, and Kyle eagerly complied. Another bottle appeared, then another. The alcohol flowed over my skin and down my throat, and I felt myself floating away from the pain, away from the betrayal, away from everything that hurt.

The crowd was on their feet now, screaming my name, throwing money that I couldn't even see through the haze of alcohol and rage and heartbreak. I was their goddess, their fantasy, their everything , and it was all a lie. Just like John's love had been a lie.

I danced like I was trying to exorcise demons, like I could somehow dance away the past year of hell. Every movement was a scream, every touch was a tear, every smile was a mask over the gaping wound in my chest.

The night blurred together in a kaleidoscope of lights and music and desperate faces. I moved from table to table, collecting money and promises and lies. Men professed their love, their devotion, their willingness to give me everything they owned.

At least they were honest about their dishonesty.

Hours passed, or maybe minutes, time had lost all meaning in my alcohol-soaked haze. The club began to empty, the crowd thinning as the night wore on. My legs felt unsteady, my vision slightly blurred. The whiskey and champagne had done their job, numbing the worst of the pain but leaving me feeling hollow and fragile.

I stumbled toward the dressing room, my heels catching on the carpet. The walls seemed to shift and sway around me, and I had to put my hand out to steady myself. The familiar scent of perfume and makeup and the lingering smoke from the club filled my nostrils.

Inside the dressing room, I collapsed into a chair and stared at myself in the mirror. My makeup was smeared, my hair disheveled, my eyes glassy with alcohol and unshed tears. I looked exactly like what I was, a broken girl playing dress-up in a woman's body.

"John," I whispered to my reflection, and the name felt like swallowing glass. "You promised."

The room spun gently around me, and I closed my eyes, trying to make it stop. But behind my eyelids, I could see his face again, the way he'd looked in Big Jim's office, healthy and whole and alive. Free.

While I'd been trapped in this nightmare, he'd been living his life. While I'd been selling my soul one dollar at a time, he'd been... what? Forgetting about me? Moving on? Finding someone else to make promises to?

The thought made my stomach lurch, and I bent forward, pressing my forehead against the cool surface of the vanity. The alcohol was catching up with me now, making my head pound and my vision blur. I felt sick, not just from the drinking but from the bone-deep realization that everything I'd been fighting for, everything I'd been holding onto, had been built on lies.

"I believed you," I said to the empty room, my voice cracking. "I believed every word you said, you bastard."

But even as I said it, I knew the truth. I wasn't naive anymore. I hadn't been naive for a long time. I'd chosen to believe because the alternative, accepting that I was truly alone in this hell, had been too painful to bear.

Now I knew better.

The room tilted dangerously, and I gripped the edge of the vanity to keep from falling. My legs felt like water, my head like it was full of cotton. The combination of alcohol and emotional exhaustion was pulling me under like a riptide.

I tried to stand, to make it to the small couch in the corner of the dressing room, but my legs gave out. I crashed to the floor, the impact jarring but somehow distant, like it was happening to someone else.

The ceiling spun above me in lazy circles, and I could hear the last of the club's music fading as the lights went down. The building was closing, the night finally ending. But for me, it felt like something else was ending too.

My eyes drifted closed as the alcohol finally claimed me, pulling me down into merciful unconsciousness. My last coherent thought was a promise to myself, a promise that was the exact opposite of every lie John had ever told me.

I would never trust him again. I would never believe in rescue again. I would never be naive again.

From now on, I was truly and completely alone.

And maybe that was exactly what I deserved.