Chapter 80

Cindy's POV

The first thing that hit me was the pain. My head felt like someone was hammering nails into my skull, and my mouth tasted like I'd been chewing on cotton soaked in poison. I groaned and tried to open my eyes, but even the dim light in the room felt like knives stabbing into my brain.

Where am I?

This wasn't right. This wasn't my room. I forced my eyes open wider, ignoring the throbbing in my head, and looked around slowly. The ceiling was too high, painted white with expensive-looking crown molding. The bed I was lying on was massive, covered in silk sheets that probably cost more than most people made in a month.

Where am I? Where the hell am I?

I sat up slowly, my head spinning like a carnival ride. The room swayed around me, and I had to grip the edge of the mattress to keep from falling over. That's when I noticed what I was wearing, an oversized polo shirt that definitely wasn't mine, and loose cotton pants that hung on my small frame.

The last thing I remembered was... the dressing room. I had been in the dressing room at the club, and everything had been spinning, and I had collapsed on the floor. Maria and Sarah must have found me and brought me upstairs to one of the lodge rooms above the club.

But this place didn't look like any lodge room I'd ever seen.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up on shaky legs. The room was enormous, with floor-to-ceiling windows that showed a view of the city I didn't recognize. There was expensive artwork on the walls, furniture that looked like it belonged in a magazine, and everything was pristine and perfect.

This definitely wasn't the club.

Panic started to rise in my chest. Had one of the clients taken me? Had Kyle finally gotten what he wanted while I was passed out drunk? The thought made my stomach turn, and I rushed toward what I hoped was the door.

I stumbled out of the bedroom and into a living room that took my breath away. It was like something out of a movie - a bachelor pad in what was clearly a penthouse. Floor-to-ceiling windows wrapped around the entire space, showing a panoramic view of the city below. The furniture was all sleek lines and expensive leather, and everything screamed money and power.

"Oh my God," I whispered, my voice hoarse and cracked. "Where am I?"

That's when I saw her - a woman I'd never seen before, dressed in a crisp black uniform. She looked like a maid or housekeeper, and she was arranging fresh flowers in a crystal vase on the coffee table.

I rushed toward her, my bare feet silent on the polished hardwood floors. "Excuse me," I said, my voice panicked. "I'm sorry, but why am I here? Who brought me here?"

The woman looked up at me with kind eyes and a gentle smile. "Oh, you're awake. How are you feeling, dear?"

"I don't understand," I said, my voice rising with panic. "I need to know who brought me here. Was it Kyle? Did Kyle bring me here? Because if he did, I need to leave right now before-"

"Hangover tea and meal coming right up," a familiar voice said from behind me.

I froze. Every muscle in my body went rigid as that voice washed over me like ice water. I knew that voice. I had heard it in my dreams, in my nightmares, in every quiet moment for the past year.

I turned around slowly, and there he was.

John.

He was standing in the doorway to what looked like a kitchen, holding a tray with a cup of tea and what smelled like breakfast. He looked exactly the same as he had in Big Jim's office - healthy, clean, alive. Too alive for someone who was supposed to have saved me.

I stared at him, my mouth hanging open in shock. This was too much. Seeing him in Big Jim's office had been bad enough, but this? Being alone with him, in his apartment, wearing his clothes?

"What am I doing here?" I whispered, my voice barely audible.

John set the tray down on the coffee table and looked at me with those eyes I used to love. "I found you passed out in the dressing room. I decided to bring you to my apartment."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "Why?" I screamed, my voice cracking with rage and disbelief. "Why would you do that? Why do you keep putting me in trouble? Who am I to you? You're just a stranger now! You decided to bring a stranger to your apartment? Do you want to ruin my life just when I'm starting to make money?"

John took a step toward me, his hands raised like he was trying to calm a wild animal. "Calm down-"

"I'm not going to calm down!" I shouted, backing away from him. "I need to get out of here right now before anybody finds us together! Don't put me in trouble!"

"Nobody is going to get in trouble," John said, his voice steady and infuriating calm.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed when he took another step closer. "Don't you dare touch me! What the hell is wrong with you? This is my life now, so you don't get to tell me what I'm supposed to do and what I'm not supposed to do!"

My chest was heaving, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst. A year of pain and rage and betrayal was pouring out of me like poison from a wound.

"Listen to me," John said, his voice pleading. "Just hear me out-"

"I don't want to hear you out!" I snarled, my hands shaking with fury. "You're a stranger to me now!"

"Cindy-"

"My name is Sasha!" I screamed, the words tearing from my throat like broken glass. "Don't call me Cindy! Don't you ever call me Cindy! You've lost the right to call me that name! That Cindy you knew is dead! I am Sasha, the star of the strip club, and that is my life now!"

John's face crumpled like I had slapped him. "Is that what you call a life? Is that what your parents wanted for you? How would your father feel if he saw you like this?"

"Shut up!" I screamed, my voice echoing off the expensive walls. "Shut up! My parents, my father, my sister - those people are nothing to me now! They don't care about me! If they cared about me, they wouldn't have let me rot in that place for a year without even trying to find me!"

"What is wrong with you?" John asked, and I could hear the desperation in his voice. "Why have you changed so much?"

I laughed, but it sounded more like a sob. "A lot of things have made me change, John. You wouldn't understand the hell I've been through, so you don't get to tell me what should or shouldn't change me!"

The rage was consuming me now, burning through my veins like acid. I wanted to hurt him the way he had hurt me. I wanted him to feel even a fraction of the pain I had carried for the past year.

"I'm not staying in this house another second," I said, my voice deadly quiet now. "If you don't want me to scream, if you don't want me to break everything in this place, take me back to where I belong right now. Open that door and let me leave."

"You're not going anywhere until you hear me out," John said, and there was steel in his voice now.

Something inside me snapped.

I grabbed the crystal vase the maid had been arranging and hurled it across the room. It shattered against the wall in an explosion of glass and water and flowers. "Let me out!" I screamed.

John didn't move. He just stood there, watching me destroy his perfect apartment with those sad, guilty eyes.

I grabbed another vase, then a picture frame, throwing them against the walls and watching them explode into pieces. The sound was satisfying, like I was finally able to release some of the violence that had been building inside me for months.

"Stop," John said, but I could hear the uncertainty in his voice now.

"No!" I snarled, grabbing a heavy glass sculpture from a side table. "You want to keep me here like a prisoner? Then watch me destroy everything you own!"

That's when I saw it - a knife on the breakfast tray John had brought me. A small, sharp knife meant for cutting fruit.

I dove for it before John could react, my fingers closing around the handle. The metal was cold and solid in my palm, and for the first time since I'd woken up, I felt like I had some power.

"I'm leaving," I said, holding the knife up so he could see it. "And if you try to stop me, I'll use this."

John's eyes widened. "Put that down. You don't want to hurt me."

"You're right," I said, my voice eerily calm now. "I don't want to hurt you."

Then I turned the blade toward myself and pressed it against my wrist.

"But I'll hurt myself if you don't let me go."

John went completely white. "Don't do that. Please don't do that."

"Open the door," I said, pressing the knife harder against my skin. I could feel the sharp edge biting into my flesh, but I didn't care. "Let me leave, or I swear I'll do it."

"You're being crazy," John said, but I could hear the fear in his voice now. "This isn't you. This isn't the Cindy I know."

"I told you," I whispered, and I pressed the knife down until I felt the first drop of blood. "Cindy is dead."

John watched in horror as the thin line of red appeared on my wrist. "Stop," he begged. "Please stop."

I drew the knife across my skin, just deep enough to hurt, just deep enough to prove I was serious. The pain was sharp and immediate, but it felt good. It felt like control.

"I'll do it deeper," I said, my voice steady despite the blood dripping onto his expensive floor. "I'll do it until you can't save me. Is that what you want?"

"Okay!" John shouted, his hands shaking as he reached for his keys. "Okay, okay! Stop hurting yourself! I'll take you back! I'll take you wherever you want to go!"

I smiled then, a cold, empty smile that had nothing to do with happiness. "Just open the door," I said, not moving the knife away from my wrist. "I can find my own way back."

John stared at me for a long moment, and I could see the recognition in his eyes. He was finally seeing what I had become. He was finally understanding that the girl he thought he knew was gone forever.

"Please," he whispered one last time.

But I was already walking toward the door, the knife still pressed against my bleeding wrist, my bare feet leaving tiny drops of blood on his perfect floor.

I had finally found my power again.

And I was never going to let anyone take it away from me.