3.

The Hilltop Club.

Clementine stood outside a private room, hesitating.

The door wasn't fully closed. She looked up, and through the gap she saw everything with brutal clarity.

Damon lounged on a sofa, Cindy Pruitt beside him. The two of them held a slip of paper between their lips, mouths nearly touching, the air thick with suggestion.

The crowd around them was going wild. “Come on, Damon, make a move! Look how shy little Cindy is. You two are perfect together.”

“Seriously. Cindy, if he won't go first, you go. You're going to end up together anyway. Might as well get some practice in.”

Laughter erupted. Cindy blushed and reached for Damon's hand, all coy modesty.

Damon didn't react. He sat there, staring at nothing, lost in some thought.

Clementine stood rooted in place, watching all of it. Her eyes burned.

So this was Damon's world.

His world was full of adoring girls and admiration. Full of love. He wanted for nothing.

She and he had never belonged to the same world.

Even though Clementine had technically grown up in these circles, she had never once been accepted.

Her peers spoke of her with open contempt. “The Pruitts' little stray. Can't even afford a handbag.”

Clementine was unwanted at home. She had known since childhood that the only person she could count on was herself.

In this world, only she and money would never betray her.

Eventually she earned a nickname: “the gold-digging opportunist.”

Someone in the room spoke up. “Damon, word is you slept with her sister for Cindy's sake. So, how was the eldest Miss Pruitt?”

Damon's lips twitched. His voice was low and rough. “Tacky and money-obsessed. But in bed? Absolutely worth the trouble.”

Clementine's heartbeat stuttered. She pulled her gaze back with a bitter smile.

If Damon wanted to humiliate her, did he have to do it like this?

The jeering grew louder. Damon seemed irritated. He spat out the paper slip and leaned back on the sofa.

He glanced up and caught sight of Clementine standing in the doorway.

His brow furrowed. “What's she doing here?”

Cindy followed his gaze, her voice dripping with scorn. “Oh, Damon, did you know my dear sister has a nickname? They call her “the gold-digging opportunist.” Money is all she cares about. She's probably broke and out looking for a new sugar daddy.”

Damon's expression shifted. He remembered Clementine telling him she had dropped all her side jobs. Clementine was someone who panicked without work. She would never stop earning unless she already had enough money.

The thought darkened his face.

He turned and gave an order. “Bring her in.”

One of the young men nodded, walked out, and hauled Clementine inside.

She found herself standing in the center of the room. Her pulse hammered. Her palms were slick.

Fury churned in Damon's eyes. His lips pressed into a hard line, his voice cutting. “Clementine, you love money that much? You're that desperate? Can't wait even one second?”

“Fine. Then strip, right here in front of everyone. Let them all see what you really are.”

“For every piece you take off, I'll give you ten million.”

His words hit like a slap across her face. Her eyes turned red instantly. “Damon, I'm not here for that. I came to cover a shift for a friend.”

Just as Clementine spoke, Cindy knocked a bottle off the table. The crash of shattering glass drowned out every word.

Damon scoffed. “No? Then I'll have someone help you.”

Before the words had settled, several men with hungry eyes closed in on Clementine. A sharp ripping sound ——

Her jacket tore open, exposing the camisole underneath.

As they pulled at her, Damon's expression grew darker with each passing second.

Clementine clutched her arms across her chest. In the middle of the scuffle, Damon's voice cut through.

“Enough. Let her go. Get her out of here. Now.”

He flicked a bank card at her. It struck her face. Clementine flinched, eyes shutting on reflex, the sting shooting straight to the bridge of her nose. She held the tears back by sheer force.

The men looked disappointed but said nothing more.

Clementine walked out of the room, her body rigid, her eyes rimmed red.

The next second, a towel clamped over her mouth. She was wrenched backward and dragged away.

She thrashed wildly, but the drug seeping through the cloth pulled her under.

4.

A noise came from the doorway. Damon frowned and looked up, but saw nothing.

Cindy caught his glance. Her heart slammed against her ribs. Her palms went damp.

“What is it, Damon?”

He shook his head, trying to push down the strange unease coiling in his chest.

“Nothing.”

Clementine was dragged into a lavish private suite.

A bottle of ice-cold liquor poured over her head. She jolted awake, found herself on a sofa, a greasy, bloated man straddling her.

Cold crawled up her spine. Every drop of blood in her body seemed to freeze, locking her in place.

The man's eyes oozed over her, top to bottom, before he patted her cheek with a lewd grin.

“Now that's a real prize. Once I'm done, the rest of you can have a turn!”

The middle-aged men around the room burst into laughter.

Clementine's pupils contracted. She fought back wildly, and the man struck her across the face.

“Fight me again and I'll sell you to a brothel.”

The blow knocked her head to one side. Her throat locked. Terror coiled around her neck like a snake.

He started tearing at her clothes, his grotesque, lust-crazed face making her stomach heave.

“Be a good girl. Young Mr. Sheridan himself sent you to us. You know who that is in this city?”

The words hit Clementine like a bucket of ice water. Her body went rigid. Her voice shook. “Da...mon?”

The man blinked, then laughed. “Well, well. You actually know him.”

From that moment on, Clementine couldn't hear the man's voice anymore. Only one thought remained.

Damon had handed her over to other men like an object.

Her heart felt as though it were being ripped in two. The pain was instant, sharp, all-consuming. Her vision went black.

The man had her pinned. Something inside her gave way. She stopped fighting.

A single tear slid from the corner of her eye. Her voice tore out of her. “Damon Sheridan, I hate you.”

Out in the hallway, a flushed Damon steadied himself against the wall. His expression changed.

“I just heard Clementine's voice.”

Cindy, trailing behind, stiffened. She tried to redirect him. “You're hearing things, Damon. Why would Clementine be here? Let's just go. You've had too much to drink.”

Inside the room, Clementine heard Damon's voice. She shoved the man off with everything she had and ran for the door.

She ran and screamed. “Damon, help me!”

The door swung open. The man behind her tackled her to the ground.

Clementine's face was streaked with tears. She looked up at the man standing in the doorway, her eyes full of terror, her voice trembling and begging.

“Damon, please. Save me.”

Her clothes were already in shreds. She lay on the floor, hair tangled, the heavy, sweating man pinning her down. The scene could have been mistaken for something else entirely.

One look was all Damon needed. His jaw locked.

He lifted his gaze, his tone flat, barely stirring.

“Isn't this what you wanted? Find yourself a rich man to latch onto.”

“Clementine, you make me sick.”

He didn't spare her another glance. He took Cindy's hand and walked away.

Clementine saw the smug satisfaction on Cindy's face, and the last ember of hope in her eyes died.

She opened her mouth but no sound came out. Her fingers curled into fists so tight the knuckles went white, but it did nothing to stop the suffocating pressure in her chest.

Damon had abandoned her. Again.

The man on top of her pressed down, his wet, nauseating laugh against her neck, his breath reeking.

Clementine closed her eyes in despair and let out a hollow laugh.

Clementine, this is what your life is.

A bang. The door flew open.

Everyone in the room froze and turned toward the entrance.

A girl burst in, face wild with panic. She shoved the man off Clementine, seized her hand, and ran.

Clementine hadn't processed what was happening before a roar erupted behind them. “Get those two back here!”

The girl pulled Clementine into a storage closet, wrapped her arms around her, and broke down. “I'm sorry, Clem. This is all my fault.”

Clementine let out a long breath and wiped the tears from Debbie Abbott's face.

“It's not your fault. I'm the one who misjudged people.”

5.

They held each other, sharing what warmth they had.

Footsteps kept passing outside. Men shouting.

“Where the hell did those two go?!”

Debbie ground her teeth. “I should've quit this garbage job. Every last one of them is scum!”

When the coast was clear, Debbie grabbed Clementine's hand and they slipped out of the club.

She called a car and sent Clementine home.

Before she left, Debbie held Clementine tight, her voice thick. “Clem, I owe you for this.”

Clementine's chest ached. She hugged Debbie back just as hard.

After Debbie left, Clementine packed her things, ready to go back to the Pruitt residence.

She had just finished when Cindy's number lit up her screen.

A familiar scream came through the speaker.

Clementine's face drained of color. She gripped the phone until her knuckles went white.

It was Debbie.

“Cindy, don't hurt her. Whatever you want, I'll give it to you.”

Cindy let out a mocking hum, her tone unreadable. “You really do have a good friend. She actually tried to shut down the Hilltop Club for you.”

“You have thirty minutes. If you're not at the club by then, don't blame me for what happens to her.”

Debbie lay on the floor, bruises covering her body. She glared at Cindy and screamed.

“Clementine, don't come!”

Clementine's tears fell instantly, her voice choked. “I'm coming. Just don't hurt her.”

When Clementine arrived at the Hilltop Club, the first thing she saw was Debbie crumpled in the center of the lobby, covered in bruises and open cuts.

Her eyes stung. She knelt and gathered Debbie into her arms. “Deb. Debbie, are you okay?”

Cindy's stiletto heel slammed into Clementine's shoulder. Clementine went down. Her skull cracked against the marble, and pain split through her head.

Cindy sneered. “Worried about her? Maybe worry about yourself first.”

Clementine pushed herself up and shielded Debbie. “What do you want, Cindy? What will it take for you to let us go?”

Cindy considered for a moment, then her red lips curved. Her voice slithered out.

“Text Damon right now. Tell him your first meeting, everything that came after, was all your scheme. Tell him you did it for a payout, and that his rivals can use it against him.”

Clementine stared at Cindy, stunned.

“I... won't say that.”

Cindy shrugged. “Then I guess I have no choice. I recorded a video of your little friend just now. The kind where her clothes come off.”

Clementine felt Debbie tremble in her arms. An invisible fist clamped around her chest until she couldn't breathe.

She looked up at Cindy, her eyes red, her voice shaking. “Fine. I'll send it.”

After the message went out, Cindy deleted the video.

Minutes later, the door to the club was kicked open.

Damon stood there, face black with rage, his eyes boring into Clementine. He crossed the room in long, hard strides.

His hand shot out and closed around her throat. His teeth were clenched. “You'll do anything for money, won't you, Clementine? Anything at all?”

Her face flushed dark. She coughed again and again, tears streaming down.

Damon looked at those tears. Something conflicted moved behind his eyes.

He let go.

Clementine hit the floor hard, gasping for air.

Damon scoffed. “Your feelings are as cheap and disgusting as your tears, Clementine.”

He took Cindy's hand and walked out.

Clementine sat on the floor. Her heart throbbed in waves.

Damon had barely stepped outside when he saw a black stretch Lincoln parked at the entrance.

A bodyguard pulled the door open. A man emerged, one long leg stepping down first, the air around him distant and commanding.

The club manager recognized his face and nearly tripped over himself rushing forward.

“Mr. Sheridan, what an honor! To what do we owe the pleasure? Please, right this way.”

Vincent Sheridan glanced at Damon, a faint curve touching his lips.

[[SYM0265_U201C]]Damon. It's been years. You've forgotten your uncle already?”

Damon's face changed. “Uncle Vincent.”

Cindy's pupils contracted. Disbelief flooded her eyes.

This man was Vincent Sheridan, the legendary heir to the Sheridan fortune.

The Sheridan family's influence spanned a century, and Vincent had seized sole control with an iron hand. Both legitimate business and the underworld deferred to him. His reach ran deep beyond measure.

He ruled the Sheridan family. Even Damon had to address him with respect.

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “I hear my fiancée was mistreated here. I came to set things right.

Damon looked blank. “What... fiancée?”

He had never heard of Vincent having a fiancée.

Vincent's lips curved. “Clementine Pruitt is my fiancée.”

The words landed. Damon's pupils shrank to pinpoints, and he whipped his head toward Vincent.