Good Girl Gone Bad

SAOIRSE.

“You're working in a fucking night club?”

Heaven knows there's nothing more I hate than the acrid stench of cigarettes and the sour bite of alcohol seeping into my bones, but who would have thought I'd end up here, in the heart of a notorious club, offering cigarettes to these drunken cigarette-addicted men.

To top everything off, like a punch to the gut, who would have thought I’d be standing in front of Lorenzo. My boyfriend of two years, brows furrowing in shock, sprawled in the room, a half-naked girl perched on his lap like a trophy. His arm draped possessively around her waist, fingers tracing lazy circles on her exposed skin.

My stomach twisted, a knot of ice forming deep inside. I froze, the tray trembling in my grip. 

“Saoirse. What the fuck?”

He shoved the girl aside roughly, her giggle turning into a pout as she slid off him. He stood, weaving slightly from the alcohol, his friends' chuckles rippling through the air like a wave.

“I said, what the hell are you doing here?” Lorenzo spat, his voice cutting through the club. He stalked toward me, the crowd parting instinctively. “You told me you work for a fucking company, Saoirse.”

My throat tightened, words lodging like stones. I wanted to scream. How about you? What are you doing here with another girl on your lap?

But the question died on my tongue. Tears pricked my eyes, hot and unwelcome. I bit my lip hard, as every eye in the room turned to me, to the cigarette girl caught in the spotlight.

“Fuck.” Lorenzo sneered, his breath reeking of whiskey.

He loomed over me, close enough that I could see the veins bulging in his neck. His hand shot out, yanking some cigars and a lighter, slamming them onto the nearest table with a clatter.

“It's–It’s not what you think,” I stammered, my voice barely whispering. My cheeks burned, as whispers erupted around us. Snickers from his friends, curious stares from strangers. “I'm just a…a—"

“A what?” He laughed, a harsh bark that echoed off the walls. “A cigarette girl? You hand out cigars to these drunks, and then what? Satisfy their lust too? Fuck, look at you, dressed like this, smiling at every asshole who looks your way.”

“No!” My hands shook, the tray rattling. I tried to pull away, but his grip tightened, his nails digging into my skin. “Lorenzo, please...I can explain. Can we talk? Just us. Alone?”

“Alone? Why? Are you embarrassed?” He glanced back at his friends, who grinned like wolves, one of them whistling low.

“Valerie, you come here.” He told the girl which she delightfully obeyed. His free hand cupped the girl's chin, tilting her face up for a kiss that lingered too long, right in front of me.

Lorenzo never took his eyes off me while sucking and slurping other girls' tongues and saliva in front of his girlfriend, and all I could do was watch.

The crowd murmured, some laughing openly now, their phones flickering as they captured the scene.

“You tricked me for two fucking years! Acting all saint and innocent, but secretly a fucking whore? You disgust me. How many of these guys have you fucked for tips? Or is it free for the right price?”

“L–Lorenzo, please...” I reached out with my free hand, desperate to touch him, to bridge the chasm.

But he yanked his arm away as if my fingers carried poison, then shoved me back a step, my heel catching on the floor. I stumbled, the tray slipping from my grasp and crashing to the ground, cigars scattering at my feet.

“Oh, fuck no! Don't you fucking touch me, you disgusting whore!” He spat the words.

“Don’t be too mean, look at her, crying like a little bitch.” The girl giggled again. “Pathetic. You think you're better than this? Working here, letting these pigs ogle you? Uegh, you're nothing but trash.”

I was trembling from embarrassment, humiliation, fear. All of my emotions are playing in my head, and the only thing I could do was to clench my fist and swallow them.

Because bills don't pay themselves, and the dreams I have for my little brother demanded sacrifices I never imagined.

“So, this is what happens when your parents die early, huh? The child becomes a whore—”

My hand flew before I could think, the slap echoing like a gunshot. My palm stung from the impact, but the pain was nothing compared to the fire in my chest.

Lorenzo's head snapped back, a red mark blooming on his cheek. The crowd gasped, then erupted in louder laughter, some cheering as if it were entertainment.

“I’m not what you think I am. My job here is decent. I only offer them cigarettes, nothing else.” I clapped back. “How dare that disgusting mouth of yours trample on my parents' name?!”

He scoffed, rubbing his jaw, his eyes darkening with rage. He grabbed my collar, pulling me close until our noses almost touched, his breath hot and foul on my face.

“That's why you probably can't get the justice you've been seeking for them because you're busy with your so-called job! Making these men all satisfied and happy!”

He shoved me again, harder this time, sending me sprawling onto the floor amid the scattered cigars. “Get up, you worthless slut. Or are you used to being on your knees?”

I scrambled to my feet, tears streaming now, my uniform stained and disheveled. The humiliation burned through me, every stare a brand, every laugh a lash. I clutched at my shirt, trying to cover myself, but it was futile. The crowd's eyes devoured me like vultures.

Before I could respond, Lorenzo’s fingers dug into my wrist, dragging me through the club. Whispers followed, eyes boring into my back.

“Since you like entertaining men so much.” He hissed in my ear, his breath hot and venomous, “You might as well have some real fun, right?”

He took another tray of cigars and gold-plated lighters, he aggressively put the strap around my neck as he pulled me out of the room. The tray grew heavier with every step I took, the polished metal cool and slick against my palms as I wove through the swirling haze.

Men sprawled in booths, their laughter booming like distant thunder, eyes glazed from too much whiskey. I hated this. The way my uniform clung tightly to my curves, accentuating every movement, the way the stench seeped into my fabric.

I hate this place. All of it.

The bass from the club below throbbed through the walls, but up here, everything was muted and contained. The VIP floor was a sanctuary of sin and silence, carved in shadows and smoke.

We stumbled down a dim hallway, the bass from the dance floor vibrating through the walls. At the end stood a massive black door, engraved with black snakes coiling in eternal struggle. Above it, red letters spelled the word: “TROJAN.”

“N—No! Stop! Please, Lorenzo! Let me go!”

Lorenzo shoved me forward, the door swinging open with eerie ease, as if it had been waiting.

“Have fun with the devil, you fucking whore,” he growled, slamming it shut behind me. The lock clicked, sealing me in.

The room swallowed me whole. The club's throb faded into a complete silence, replaced by the hiss of a fireplace and the faint crackle of flames. Shadows danced on black marble floors, the air heavy with cigar ash, whiskey, and something primal I couldn't name.

I hesitated at the door, clutching the tray of cigars and gold-plated lighters against my chest.

There was a rumor circulating in this town, it was said that this floor, these rooms are owned by the highest level of the VIPs: The Outstand. A forbidden place and was off-limits unless summoned, that the exclusive members who owned it didn’t like uninvited company.

As I walked towards the fireplace, my feet became heavy with every step. And as I held my gaze up, just like that my feet froze in their place. A pair of eyes looking straight right at me.

There it is.

A figure sat in a leather armchair by the huge window, city lights framing him like a king in his throne. One leg crossed over the other, his hands relaxed on the armrests.

The darkness was too harsh, it was too dark and the lack of light failed to reveal his face, only his commanding eyes glinting in the subtle dark.

But that alone, the sharp shadow of his posture spoke volumes.

Power. Control. Precision.

The faint flicker of the fireplace revealed the glint of a ring, the edge of a cufflink, the line of a smirk.

He didn’t speak right away. Just watched.

His gaze followed my every step as I crossed the room. It was steady and sharp but it was enough to make my pulse stumble.

There is no doubt that this is the man who ruled the underground from thrones and luxury. The one whose name was spoken in whispers and whose gaze could dismantle you before he even spoke.

His gaze pinned me, steady and piercing, as I approached. Smoke trailed from his fingers, curling upward in lazy spirals. He tilted his head, exhaling slowly, the plume catching the light before vanishing.

“D—Do you smoke, sir?” The words tumbled out, stupid and obvious, but I couldn't stop them.

He leaned back, the cigar's end glowing faintly. Smoke wove through the air, thick with clove and danger. He crushed the ember with his bare hand against the table without flinching.

The scent of singed skin mingled with his cologne, smoke, whiskey, and something dangerously clean.

I approached, my heart beating out my chest and my shoes clicking as if it was a countdown. When I stopped across the table from him, his veiny hand reached out for the tray.

“Light it.” He commanded as he placed the cigar between his lips, leaning a little forward.

My fingers fumbled with the lighter, the flame flickering to life. It illuminated his face for a split second: sharp jaw, his eyes now that were illuminated with light weren’t just brown, they were like honey, glowing when light touched them.

A beauty that promised ruin. He was beautiful in the way a weapon was cold, precise, and meant to destroy.

I touched the flame to the cigar, my hand shaking. He inhaled, exhaling a stream of smoke that wrapped around me like a caress.

The door burst open then, shattering the silence. I flinched from all the tension my body endured until now, scooping up my tray and hugging it tight, but I immediately stopped on my tracks when I saw who came in.

Good heavens. Great. Just great.

A man. A petite young man wearing a ridiculously sexy bunny lace outfit welcomed my sight, who was as shocked as I am.

“Oh dear...” he awkwardly mumbled.

I slightly lowered my head and hurried to the door but could still feel the man's gaze in the back of my nape, following me like a shadow.

I didn't want any part of this, to whatever storm was brewing.

—࿐—

Once the door clicked shut, sealing the man back in his domain, the newcomer turned to the figure in the armchair, a smirk playing on his lips.

“What a…surprise. I thought you hated those cigarette girls invading your territory?”

The man exhaled a slow plume of smoke, his eyes narrowing to slits, the city lights glinting off the ring on his finger, a serpent coiled in eternal vigilance. He puffed again, savoring the burn.

“Name.”

“Pardon?” The newcomer blinked, a flicker of reluctance crossing his features. “Oh, well, I can't quite discuss such private matters with you. Especially with my employee—”

“I said the name.”

“Right.” The newcomer said, sighing, yielding under the weight of that gaze. “Her name's Saoirse. Saoirse Vincenzo.”

“A Vincenzo?” The man's brow arched upon hearing it. “Fate sure has a cruel sense of humor, don't you think?”

The man laughed to himself, his mind already spinning webs of intrigue. “Saoirse…”

His eyes narrowed further, his voice savoring the name. He leaned forward, the city lights glinting off his ring, a faint smirk playing on his lips. “Pretty name.”