1 The party at the reunion was in full swing when Liam, the former king of our high school, suddenly smashed his wine glass at my feet. Red wine, splattered with glass shards, stained my white dress, looking just like blood. “Willow Reid, I hear you’re exclusively servicing rich old men these days?” He loosened his tie, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. “How much for a night? For old times’ sake, I’ll take you for a month.” The private room fell silent. Every eye was a dagger aimed at me. Slowly, I knelt, picking up the broken glass piece by piece, not stopping even when my palm was sliced open. Then I looked up, a smile on my face. “Alright, Mr. Blackwood. But my rates have gone up. It’s by the minute now. Are you sure you can afford it?” His expression froze. I wiped the blood from my hand, adding, “After all, your fiancée approached me last month about a surrogacy, offering three million, and I turned her down.” It was eleven o’clock at night when I pushed open the door to VIP888 at The Velvet Lounge. The air was thick with smoke, cigar fumes mingling with women’s perfume, making my head spin. “Here she is! Our star has arrived!” Someone whistled. I was wearing the club’s standard black slip dress, the fabric barely covering what it needed to. The manager had said tonight’s client was special; this outfit was mandatory. “Willow Reid, it really is you!” a woman with a perm exclaimed. “Haven’t seen you since high school graduation. What are you doing working here?” I recognized her. Phoebe, my little shadow back then, always trailing after me, calling me “Willow Queen.” Now, the diamond on her finger was big enough to blind a lesser mortal. “Work requirements.” My smile was perfectly standard, eight teeth, no more, no less. “Requirements that lead you to a place like this?” Liam Blackwood’s voice drifted from the darkest corner of the room. He sat at the head of the table, long legs crossed, the cigarette clutched between his fingers glowing intermittently. Seven years. He was still impossibly handsome. But his eyes—the eyes that once sparkled with starlight as he watched me recite poetry—now held only ice. “Mr. Blackwood is too kind,” I said, bowing slightly. "Sorry, I'm a client manager here, responsible for VIP reception." “Client manager?” Liam scoffed. “A client manager dressed like that?” Low laughter rippled through the room. Phoebe leaned in, her perfume so strong it made my nose itch. “Willow, don’t be shy. We’re old classmates, we all know each other, don’t we? I heard after your father went bankrupt, you…” She deliberately left the sentence unfinished, leaving plenty of room for scandalous speculation. I maintained my smile. “Ms. Miller, what kind of wine would you prefer? We’ve just received a few bottles of exceptional Burgundy, excellent vintage.” “Cut the act!” interjected a man in wire-rimmed glasses. “Willow, remember how glorious you were back then? Class president, straight-A student, guys lined up from the main hall to the campus gates just to ask you out. And now?” He leered at me, his gaze vulgar. “It’s true what they say about women, always needing a man to get by.” Liam hadn’t spoken a word. He just watched me, his gaze like a scalpel, peeling back my layers. I remembered that rainy night seven years ago. He stood outside my family’s mansion, soaked to the bone, clutching a savings passbook. “Willow, I borrowed the money—twenty thousand. You can use it for now…” I stood at the second-story window, looking down at his stubborn silhouette. My father’s roar came from behind me. “Don’t you dare go down there! What is Liam Blackwood? A penniless student? What can he do for you? Mr. Sullivan’s son has already agreed to help, if you’ll just marry him!” “But Dad, I love Liam…” “Love? Can love buy food? The company’s bankrupt, eighty million in debt! The Sullivans have resources and connections, they can save us! What can Liam give you? Love? How much is love worth?” That night, I never went downstairs. The next day, I met Liam on the school rooftop. “Let’s break up,” I said. He was stunned. “What did you say?” “I said, we’re breaking up.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. “My father arranged a marriage for me, with Mr. Sullivan’s son. We… aren’t right for each other.” “Not right for each other?” Liam grabbed my wrist. “Willow Reid, you promised you’d wait for me. Wait for me to graduate, to start my own business, to give you the best life!” “I can’t wait anymore,” I said, yanking my hand away. “My father’s sick, the company’s collapsed. I need money, a lot of it. And you can’t give it to me.” I pulled out the diamond necklace Austin Sullivan had given me, dangling it before his eyes. “See this? This necklace alone is worth half a million. Liam Blackwood, you’ll never earn that much in your entire life.” His eyes shifted from shock to despair, finally settling into a dead calm. “So, you chose money.” “Yes, I chose money.” I turned to leave, each step feeling like I was treading on knife blades. “Don’t ever come looking for me again.” That was the last time I saw him. Later, I heard he dropped out of school and disappeared. Then, word came that he’d made it big down south, his company listed, a billionaire. And my family… My father ultimately couldn’t cope. The day before the bank sealed off our mansion, he jumped from the eighteenth floor. My mother, unable to bear the shock, had a mental breakdown. She’s now in a care facility, costing twenty thousand a month. And Austin? Once he was bored, he threw a divorce agreement at me with a fifty thousand settlement, not even enough to cover the interest on our debts. I went from a pampered heiress to a divorced woman drowning in debt. Such is life. 2 “Willow, what are you daydreaming about?” Liam’s voice pulled me back to reality. He had stood up and was now standing before me. Seven years had sharpened him, honed him into an even more formidable presence. His impeccably tailored suit, the million-dollar watch on his wrist, and that aura of power that only those at the top possess. “I hear you’re exclusively servicing rich old men these days?” he suddenly asked, his voice low, but loud enough for everyone to hear. The private room instantly quieted. I looked up, meeting his gaze. “Where did Mr. Blackwood hear that?” “Does it matter?” Liam loosened his tie, a cruel smile on his face. “Working in a place like this, dressed like that—what else would you call it but openly advertising your services?” Phoebe giggled behind her hand. “Liam, don’t say that. Willow is just doing what she has to for a living…” “Doing what she has to for a living?” Liam took a step closer, almost pressing against me. “Willow Reid, how much for a night? For old times’ sake, I’ll take you for a month.” His breath, smelling of whiskey, ghosted across my face. Everyone’s eyes were daggers, stabbing at me. Slowly, I knelt. The wine glass he’d thrown earlier lay shattered on the floor, red wine mixed with glass shards, splattering my white dress—the club required us to wear a white blazer over our uniform. Now, crimson spots bloomed across it like blood. I picked up the broken glass piece by piece. The sharp edges cut into my palm, blood beads surfacing, mingling with the spilled wine. But I didn’t stop. One piece, two pieces, three pieces… The entire room was eerily silent, broken only by the crisp tinkling of glass. Finally, I had gathered all the larger fragments, clutching them in my hand. Then I stood up, looking up at Liam with a smile. “Alright, Mr. Blackwood.” His expression stiffened slightly. I continued, “But my rates have gone up. It’s by the minute now. Five thousand for one minute. Are you sure you can afford it?” Someone gasped. Liam’s eyes narrowed. I wiped the blood from my hand, adding slowly and deliberately, “After all, your fiancée approached me last month about a surrogacy, offering three million, and I turned her down.” A ripple of shock, then a sudden burst of chatter. “Fiancée? Mr. Blackwood has a fiancée?” “Who? I haven’t heard anything!” “Surrogacy? My God…” Liam’s face darkened. His fiancée, Charlotte Evans, the heiress of the Evans Corporation, had indeed come to see me secretly last month. In a coffee shop, wearing sunglasses, she handed me a check. “Ms. Reid, I know you need money. Three million to carry my child. Liam has never forgotten you, and if the child has half your genes, he might just love it.” I had thrown my coffee in her face then. “Ms. Evans, doing too many despicable things will come back to haunt you.” Now, it seemed the karma was swift. Liam grabbed my wrist, his grip so powerful it felt like my bones would shatter. “Say that again.” I winced in pain, but my smile remained unchanged. “Mr. Blackwood’s fiancée, Ms. Charlotte Evans, approached me last month for a surrogacy, offering three million. Would you like me to play the recording for everyone?” His pupils contracted sharply. I seized the opportunity to yank my hand free, stepping back two paces. “It seems Mr. Blackwood was unaware. Well, Ms. Evans did say it was entirely her idea. She planned to tell you once she was pregnant, as a ‘surprise’.” I scanned the room, looking at the faces, some surprised, some gloating. “Ladies and gentlemen, do you still want drinks? If not, I’ll be clocking out. After all…” I looked at Liam. “If it’s by the minute, Mr. Blackwood just wasted three of my minutes. Fifteen thousand. Shall I add it to your tab?” With that, without waiting for a reply, I turned and pulled open the door. The cold air of the hallway rushed over me. 3 I leaned against the wall, my palm burning. Looking down, I saw glass shards still embedded in my flesh. “Willow.” Liam had followed me out. I didn’t turn around. “Anything else, Mr. Blackwood? If you want to book me for a month, please settle the paperwork at the front desk.” He blocked my path, his gaze complex. “What you said just now, was it true?” “The recording’s on my phone. Would Mr. Blackwood like to hear it?” I pulled out my phone. “But after you listen, please settle the fifteen thousand. It’s a small business; no credit.” Liam stared at me for a long time, then suddenly laughed. But there was no warmth in that laugh. “Willow Reid, you’ve changed.” “People change.” I put my phone away. “Hasn’t Mr. Blackwood changed too? You used to be too stingy to buy a bottle of mineral water; now you’re smashing wine glasses. Money’s good, isn’t it?” He was silent. I walked around him, heading for the employee exit. “I heard about your father,” he said from behind me. “If only back then…” “There are no ‘if onlys’,” I cut him off. “Liam Blackwood, let the past be the past. You’re Mr. Blackwood now, and I’m a client manager at The Velvet Lounge. We’re even.” “Even?” His voice turned cold. “What you owe me, how can we be even?” I turned around, facing him. “What do I owe you? My youth? My love? Liam Blackwood, don’t be childish. I broke up with you back then, and I own it. But now, I don’t owe you anything.” “Then why are you working in a place like this?” he demanded. “With your ability, you could clearly…” “Could clearly what?” I laughed. “Go work at your company? Mr. Blackwood, don’t be ridiculous. We’re not from the same world. We weren’t then, and we certainly aren’t now.” I gestured to my clothes. “See this? This is the path I chose. I chose wrong, I own it. But you don’t need to humiliate me, especially since…” I leaned closer to him, lowering my voice. “Your fiancée was far more humble when she asked me for a surrogacy. At least I’ve never knelt and begged anyone.” Liam’s face turned completely black. I turned away, satisfied. This time, he didn’t stop me. The next day, the entire club was buzzing with gossip about last night. The manager called me into his office, looking serious. “Willow, do you know who Liam Blackwood is?” “I do,” I said, lowering my eyes. “CEO of Blackwood Industries, a billionaire. Our club’s biggest potential client.” “Then how dare you offend him?” “He insulted me first.” The manager sighed. “I know you have pride, but pride doesn’t pay the bills. Mr. Blackwood called this morning, specifically requesting you to serve him tonight.” I looked up. “I won’t go.” “Won’t go?” The manager pushed a check across the desk to me. “This is Mr. Blackwood’s advance—one hundred thousand. If you go tonight, this money is yours. And he said if you go, he’ll consider signing the club’s annual VIP contract, with a three-million-dollar annual fee.” I stared at the check. One hundred thousand. That was exactly what my mother’s care facility fees would be next month. “Willow, I know your mother’s illness needs money,” the manager’s voice softened. “Sometimes, a person has to learn to bow their head.” I stared at the check for a long time. Finally, I reached out and picked it up. “What time?” “Eight PM, the usual spot.” At eight PM, I pushed open the door to VIP888 once more. This time, only Liam was inside. He sat on the sofa, a bottle of Romanée-Conti on the table before him.
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