Chapter Three - Hannah
The bass from the club’s speakers thrums through the air, vibrating beneath my feet as I maneuver through the crowded floor of the Ember House. It’s a Friday night, and the place is packed, every corner buzzing with energy.
Drinks clink against tabletops, laughter and shouts rise above the music, and the faint haze of smoke mingles with the scent of expensive cologne.
I balance a tray of cocktails on one hand, weaving through the press of bodies in my short black skirt and white blouse. My feet ache in my heels, but I’ve gotten used to that. The tips are worth it.
I glance at the VIP section as I approach, the faces there shadowed under the low, warm light. It’s the kind of place where people come to flaunt money and power, though I try not to think too much about who they are or what they do when they’re not here.
When I set the drinks down on a polished table, a sharp memory hits me like a slap, and my breath hitches.
The VIP section. A month ago. Him.
My tray feels heavier as the image flashes through my mind: a man with piercing blue eyes, a suit that screamed power, and a voice that made my knees weak. He’d looked at me like I was the only thing in the room, his gaze stripping away every layer of my defenses.
I can still feel the heat of his hands on my skin, the commanding way he’d spoken, the fire that burned through me when I let myself follow him upstairs.
It was reckless. Stupid. Yet, I haven’t stopped thinking about him since.
I rack my brain, trying to remember his name, but it slips through my fingers like water. Mark? No. Makar? Maybe. I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter. He wasn’t there when I woke up, and I haven’t seen him since.
“Earth to Hannah!”
I blink, snapping out of my thoughts.
Julie’s grinning face appears in front of me, her blonde ponytail bouncing as she waves a hand in front of my face. “Where’d you go just now? You looked like you were a million miles away.”
“Sorry,” I say, forcing a smile as I shift the tray under my arm. “I’m just… distracted.”
Julie cocks an eyebrow, her bright blue eyes narrowing playfully. “Distracted, huh? Does it have anything to do with a guy?”
I feel my cheeks flush, and Julie’s grin widens. She always knows how to get under my skin.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, turning away to set down another drink.
“Oh, please,” she says, following me like a puppy. “You think I don’t notice when you get all moony-eyed? Who is he?”
I glance over my shoulder, lowering my voice. “Julie, you’re going to get me in trouble. Shouldn’t you be with your friends?”
She waves a dismissive hand. “They’re fine. I came over when I saw you. I mean, what are the odds? You never told me you work here!”
“It’s just a job,” I say simply, though her excitement is contagious. Julie has that kind of energy—the kind that makes you feel like everything is an adventure.
“Here I thought you were busy studying art all the time,” she teases. “You’re so mysterious, Hannah Fox. Working in a fancy club by night, going to classes by day… what’s next, secret spy missions?”
I laugh despite myself, shaking my head. “You watch too many movies.”
“Maybe,” she says, leaning against a nearby table. “Seriously, this place is incredible. You must see some crazy stuff here.”
“Crazy is one word for it,” I admit, thinking again about the man from that night.
Julie doesn’t notice my shift in mood. “Well, if you see anyone important, let me know. I’ll wave and pretend I’m one of the cool kids.”
“Noted.” I glance toward the manager’s office and sigh. “I have to get back to work. It was good seeing you, though.”
Julie pouts but nods. “Okay, fine. Text me later, okay? We need to catch up.”
“Deal.”
As Julie disappears back into the crowd, I take a moment to steady myself. She has no idea what kind of people actually frequent this place, and it’s better that way.
The buzz of my earpiece startles me, and my manager’s voice crackles through. “Hannah, VIP table five. Now.”
“On it,” I reply, turning and heading toward the bar to pick up the next round.
The VIPs tonight seem more demanding than usual, and I can’t shake the feeling that something is in the air. Still, I push through, keeping my smile in place as I serve table after table.
No matter how busy the night gets, I can’t seem to shake the memory of those blue eyes, or the way he made me feel. Real. Alive. For one night, I’d let myself lose control.
The dim glow of the hallway lights flickers as I approach Kris’s office, my pulse quickening with every step. I’ve never liked him. Something about the way he stares a second too long or the way his smiles feel slimy, like they’re hiding something.
When I knock on the door, his voice calls out immediately. “Come in.”
I push the door open to find him sitting behind his desk, a smirk already tugging at the corners of his mouth. The room smells faintly of smoke and cologne, and the air feels heavy, oppressive. Kris leans back in his chair, his blond hair slicked back, his shirt unbuttoned just enough to show a hint of gold chain.
“Hannah,” he drawls, gesturing for me to step inside. “Close the door.”
I hesitate but do as he says, the soft click of the door shutting making the room feel smaller.
“You wanted to see me?” I ask, keeping my tone professional.
He motions to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit.”
I lower myself into the seat, balancing the tray of empty glasses on my lap. Kris’s eyes sweep over me, and I resist the urge to squirm under his gaze.
“You’ve been doing a good job around here,” he begins, his tone casual. “The VIPs like you. That’s important.”
“Thank you,” I say, wary. Compliments from Kris always come with strings attached.
He leans forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “You know, you’ve been working here for a while now, but I never pegged you as the… adventurous type.”
I blink, unsure where this is going. “Excuse me?”
Kris’s smirk deepens. “I remember you leaving the club on the arm of a certain gentleman a while back.”
My stomach drops, and my grip on the tray tightens. Heat rushes to my cheeks as I realize what he’s talking about.
“Relax,” Kris says, holding up a hand like he’s doing me a favor. “It’s none of my business what you do in your free time. I’m just curious. Do you even know who you slept with?”
My mouth goes dry. I’d spent weeks trying not to think about that night, and now he’s dragging it back to the surface like it’s some kind of joke.
“No,” I admit, my voice quieter than I’d like. “I don’t.”
Kris chuckles, the sound grating. “Figures. Let me enlighten you, sweetheart. The man you spread your legs for is none other than Makar Sharov.”
The name hits me like a freight train. My head snaps up, and I stare at Kris, trying to make sense of the words.
“Makar Sharov?” I repeat, disbelief thick in my voice.
Kris nods, clearly enjoying my reaction. “The owner of this club, and a whole lot more, if you catch my drift.”
My mind reels. Makar. Of course. That’s why his presence had felt so commanding, so impossible to ignore. He wasn’t just some rich guy blowing through town. He owns the Ember House, and who knows what else.
Kris watches me with a smug expression, like he’s just dropped the world’s most shocking gossip.
“Didn’t take you for the type to go for someone like him,” he says, leaning back in his chair. “I guess everyone has their price.”
My jaw tightens, and I glare at him. “I didn’t—”
He cuts me off with a wave of his hand. “Hey, no judgment here. In fact….” His tone shifts, turning oily. “If you’re into that sort of thing, I could help you out. I’ve got some VIPs who’d pay good money for a pretty little thing like you.”
I stare at him, my stomach twisting in disgust. “What are you talking about?”
Kris shrugs, like he hasn’t just crossed every possible line. “I’m just saying, you’ve got options. One-night stands are fun, sure, but why not make a little extra while you’re at it?” He winks, the gesture making my skin crawl.
It takes me a moment to process what he’s implying, but when it hits me, the tray slips from my hands, the glasses clattering onto the desk.
“You think I’m—?” I can’t even finish the sentence.
Kris grins, unbothered by my reaction. “Hey, no need to get all worked up. It’s just an idea. You’d be surprised how much some of these guys are willing to pay.”
I push myself to my feet, my hands shaking with anger and humiliation. “I’m not interested,” I snap, my voice louder than I intended.
He raises his hands in mock surrender, still smirking. “Suit yourself. If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
I don’t bother responding. I storm out of his office, slamming the door behind me. My heart pounds in my chest as I make my way back to the bar, the lights and music suddenly too loud, too bright.
The nerve of him. The sheer audacity to look at me and assume that because I gave in to my desires one time, it meant I was willing to sell myself.
I feel dirty, exposed, like every step I take is being scrutinized. My face burns with embarrassment, but beneath it all, there’s a simmering rage.
How dare he?
I’ve made mistakes, sure, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to treat me like I’m nothing more than a commodity.
I take a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the bar to steady myself. My thoughts spiral, images of Makar’s intense blue eyes flashing through my mind. If Kris was telling the truth, if that man was really Makar Sharov….
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
I force myself back onto the floor, tray in hand, trying to shove the encounter with Kris out of my head. Even so, his words stick, coiling around my thoughts like barbed wire.
Makar Sharov. The owner of this club.
The bass-heavy music is relentless, drowning out my racing thoughts as I approach a table near the VIP section. A man in a tailored suit raises his hand to flag me down, his date draped across his arm, her laughter sharp and shrill.
“Another round,” he says, not bothering to look at me.
“Right away,” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside me.
As I turn toward the bar, one of the waitresses, Tina, sidles up to me, balancing her own tray. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she says with a grin.
“Just a long night,” I reply, trying to sound casual.
She raises an eyebrow. “You’ve been in Kris’s office, huh? He’s the worst. You okay?”
“Yeah,” I lie, plastering on a tight smile. “I’m fine.”
I’m not. Every time I hear the name Makar Sharov in my head, my chest tightens. What am I supposed to do now, knowing I’ve been working under his roof this whole time?