Chapter 8: Seeking Sexy Male Escorts
Nora's POV
I lay in bed, staring at the damn ceiling, my fingers still burning from Alexander’s shitty little power trip earlier. That smug bastard’s face made me wanna scream into my fucking pillow. But something else gnawed at me—something didn’t add up.
Seven job interviews. Seven fucking rejections. From companies that should’ve been begging for me. My Skynova formula changed the goddamn industry. My resume? Pure gold. Yet, I kept slamming into brick walls. This ain’t random. This reeks of Alexander’s meddling.
Then there’s Sam. His shock at seeing me, that job offer… and the confusion when I brought up the nightclub. Something’s off. “What the hell happened that night?” I muttered, my memory a blurry mess—snippets of a dark room, then waking up alone. Sam acted clueless, which means he’s either a damn good liar or… someone else fucked me over.
I grabbed my phone and shot Sam a text: “Tomorrow, 3 PM, Velour & Vine. Gotta ask you something.” His reply pinged instantly: “I’ll be there.” I tossed the phone aside, shutting my eyes. Tomorrow, I’d get some goddamn answers.
I got to Velour & Vine early, snagging a corner table with a clear view of the door. My stomach churned as I ordered a black coffee, mentally rehearsing my questions. Why’d you vanish that night? Who was in the VIP room?
The door swung open, and I sat up, expecting Sam’s lanky frame. Instead, a polished woman strutted in, scanning the room until her icy gaze locked on mine. Her smile was sharp, calculated, as she marched straight to my table.
“Excuse me,” I snapped as she sat down uninvited. “I’m waiting for someone.”
Her smile widened, manicured nails tapping the table. “Nora Frost. You should know who I am.” She flashed a massive diamond ring like a fucking trophy.
My gut sank. “You’re Emily Hamilton. Sam’s wife.”
“Correct,” she purred, smug as hell. “And Sam won’t be joining us.”
“What the actual fuck?” I hissed. “Did you intercept my message?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “We share everything. That’s marriage, darling.” The way she sneered ‘marriage’ made my skin crawl.
I stood to leave. “I’ve got nothing to say to you.”
“Oh, but I’ve got plenty for you,” she leaned in, voice low and venomous. “Like how you loved being fucked senseless at Vibe. Quite the slutty little show.”
I froze, blood draining from my face. “What the hell did you just say?”
Her eyes glinted with malice. “It was my little arrangement, sweetheart. Watching you squirm now? Fucking priceless.”
I sank back into my chair, mind spinning. “What arrangement? What are you talking about?”
“The VIP room, the man…” She shrugged like it was nothing. “Just a male model from the club. Paid him well to… entertain you.”
“Why?” My voice cracked, barely a whisper. “Why the fuck would you do that?”
“Because I like Sam, and I don’t appreciate desperate little bitches clawing at my husband,” she spat, dropping her prim facade. “You needed a lesson.”
It hit me like a goddamn freight train. “It was you. All of it.”
Rage boiled in my veins. This psycho orchestrated my humiliation, my violation. I wasn’t just pissed—I was fucking livid.
“You psychotic bitch,” I growled, loud enough for nearby tables to turn.
Something snapped. I shot up, knocking my chair back, and slapped her hard across the face. The crack echoed through the dead-silent café.
“I don’t give a shit about Sam,” I declared, voice cutting through the room. “He’s trash to me. Whoever wants him can fucking have him. We’re done—forever!”
Emily gasped, clutching her reddening cheek as whispers rippled through the crowd. Her face twisted with humiliation, and I relished every second.
“You’ll regret this,” she hissed.
“No,” I shot back, ice-cold. “The only regret I’ve got is ever caring about Sam Norton. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got better shit to do than waste another second on either of you.”
I stormed out, head high, but the moment I hit the sidewalk, my hands started shaking. That fucking bitch set me up. But I still didn’t know who the man was—and I needed answers.
Two hours later, I was in the manager’s office at Vibe, the hellhole where this nightmare started. I’d dropped five grand just for this damn meeting.
“You want me to what?” Tony, the slick-haired manager, stared at me like I’d lost my mind.
“I need to see every male model who worked here last week,” I repeated, jaw tight. “Especially anyone in VIP room seven.”
Tony shrugged. “Lady, I’ve got twenty-something guys. Half are part-timers who come and go.”
I slapped another five grand on the desk. “Try fucking harder.”
Thirty minutes later, I eyed a lineup of pretty boys in the empty club, scanning each face. “Any of you work VIP room seven last week? Tall guy…”
One by one, they shook their heads. No recognition. Nothing.
“Sorry,” Tony said, not looking sorry at all. “Might’ve been a temp. We get tons of those.”
I dismissed them with a frustrated sigh, heading for the exit. Then I spotted her at the bar—Daisy. Drunk off her ass, slumping as two creeps pawed at her. One’s hand crept up her thigh, the other whispered in her ear.
Alexander’s side piece. Not my damn problem. I turned to leave, taking a few steps before guilt clawed at me. I know what it’s like to be used. No one deserves that shit.
“Fuck,” I muttered under my breath, spinning back. Whatever Daisy was to Alexander, she was a woman in trouble. I couldn’t just walk away.
“Hey!” I barked, storming over. “Get your filthy hands off her!”