Prologue

POV Tatyana

One month before

I place my feet on the sidewalk and glance at my wristwatch, which reads exactly 5 p.m. The sky is overcast and gray, the light drizzle seems to fall in slow motion as rays of sunlight illuminate the tiny droplets of water, sparkling like crystals. The November rains have begun, and I feel the cold wind touch my face, sending a shiver through my body. I quicken my pace, covering my head with my fuchsia-colored coat. I spot a notice posted on the glass door of Moscow's largest nightclub: "Waitress Wanted – Night Shift."

The rumors are that Russian mobsters love to frequent this place, but in my current situation, I don’t have many choices. I can't afford to be afraid or dwell on this misfortune.

I walk through the door and step into the London Night. A man stands behind the bar, his back turned, arranging endless bottles of whiskey on the shelves. His shoulders are broad, his arms strong, and he’s dressed in a sophisticated navy-blue suit. I admire the environment, dazzled by the neon lights that perfectly match the black furniture and the drink shelves. The bar spans an entire wall and offers an infinite selection of drinks and flavors.

Twenty-four hours ago, I had the second-worst day of my life. The first was when I lost my mother in a car accident a few years ago; the second was when Olavo, my father, confessed that he had lost a bet at the Luxury casino. He’s 69 years old, a real estate broker, and had been my greatest strength after the tragic loss of my mother. However, he has a cursed addiction—he makes high-stakes bets that, over the years, have cost us everything and brought me to this nightclub, facing this unknown man. The debt is incalculable, and I decided to set aside my own struggles and immerse myself in his problems.

The man leans forward, noticing my presence, and promptly turns to address me. His eyes fall on me, and the first thing he observes is my cleavage. He’s a tall, white man with brownish hair and greenish-blue eyes.

"Are you here for the waitress position?" he asks, smiling ironically while tapping his fingers on the glass counter.

"Yes, I’d like to know how much you’re paying."

"I pay 20,000 rubles, and one more thing—I need a strong-willed girl. The clients here can be a bit difficult." The owner looks me up and down, clearly doubting my capability.

"I am strong-willed!" I emphasize, smugly.

"The main question is, why should I hire you? There’s no shortage of girls wanting this position," he concludes, pouring himself a glass of whiskey.

I clear my throat, already impatient and ready to respond.

"Because, unlike the girls who want the job just to meet the top Russian magnates, I need to save my father. That money, that pittance you call a salary, will help me pay off a massive debt at the Luxury casino. I don’t mind showing off my body. Since I walked in here, you haven’t taken your eyes off my cleavage. I think I have everything you need." Upon hearing my reasoning, I notice his expression changes drastically.

"You’re hired! But here, you’ll deal with some idiots, and you’ll also have to serve a few mobsters. Something tells me your defiant attitude will cause some conflicts—keep it in check."

"What’s your name?" he asks, intrigued.

"Tatyana..." Boldly, to live up to his comment, I grab the whiskey glass and down it in one go.

"Let no mobster mess with me. I may be just a waitress, but I’m tough as nails." Impressed by my attitude, the man runs his right hand through his hair, slightly intimidated.

"I’m Adam Orlov. I’ll go get your uniform!"

I study this man before me, and instantly my body seems to react. He’s handsome, with an attractive smile, and the scent of his cologne is intoxicating. Beyond my father’s addiction, I also carry an obsession—I suffer from hypersexuality. An immense desire dominates a large part of my thoughts, leaving me at the mercy of futility!

Daily, I’m influenced by uncontrollable sexual impulses and behaviors. When I stepped into this place, I never imagined I would suffer so much and be marked so deeply.