Chapter 3 The Price of a Night

Sofia tried once more to reach for Elena, her face a mask of sheer panic.

"Elijah, you don’t understand! I can't let her go with a stranger, especially not like this!"

But Elena shoved Sofia’s hand away with startling force. She looked up, glaring at Elijah with eyes that were bloodshot and glistening with tears. Suddenly, her grief curdled into an explosion of rage.

"You... You think you can just leave like that, huh?!" Elena screamed, raining blows upon Elijah’s broad chest with her small fists. In her alcohol-shattered mind, Elijah’s sharp features morphed into the face of Morgan, her treacherous husband.

"Stop hitting me, Miss," Elijah said calmly, though his hands gripped her wrists with unyielding strength.

"Why are you back, Morgan? Just go! Go be with your mistress!" Elena spat, her voice raw and raspy. "You said I wasn't your priority, right? You said I was just a burden? You’re the most pathetic bastard I’ve ever known!"

Elena laughed hysterically through her sobs, then grabbed Elijah’s shirt collar, pulling his face until they were only inches apart.

"Don't touch me with hands that just touched her! You stink, Morgan! You smell like betrayal!"

Sofia watched, nearly in tears from pure horror. "Elena, snap out of it! He’s not Morgan! Elijah, please forgive her, she has no idea what she’s saying."

Elijah didn't look offended in the slightest. On the contrary, the glint in his eyes grew darker. He stared at Elena’s trembling lips as she continued to curse him.

"You have the wrong man, Miss," Elijah whispered in a deep baritone directly against her lips, "but if you want to pretend I'm your husband tonight, I don't mind playing the part."

Elijah then threw a lethal glance at Sofia that froze the girl in her tracks.

"She needs a release, it seems, and I am the perfect place for it. Go home before I lose my patience."

Ignoring Elena’s struggles, which were now weakening from emotional exhaustion, Elijah swept her up into his arms and carried her toward the private elevator in the corner of the bar. An elevator that led to only one place: his opulent penthouse on the top floor.

The elevator doors chimed open, revealing a sprawling penthouse with a breathtaking view of the city lights shimmering behind glass walls. Elijah laid Elena down carefully on a large, black velvet sofa.

Elena winced, her head spinning violently. She tried to focus her gaze on the man before her, who was now shedding his expensive suit jacket, leaving only a white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone.

Elena let out a small laugh—a sound that was both miserable and provocative. She sat back, eyeing Elijah from head to toe.

"Sofia... she really gets me," Elena murmured hoarsely. "She knew I needed some entertainment tonight."

Elijah stopped moving. He looked at her with one eyebrow arched. "What are you talking about?"

Elena reached out, trailing her trembling fingers along Elijah’s sharp jawline.

"You... you’re the most handsome gigolo I’ve ever seen, sweetheart. What’s the price for one night with you? Your face, this muscular body... it must be very expensive."

Elijah went still, his gaze sharpening. Never in his life had he been mistaken for a man-for-hire. However, he let her keep talking, curious to see just how far she would go.

"Listen, young man," Elena continued as she fumbled with her pocketless dress. Her face suddenly twisted with anxiety; she had only brought a small clutch which she had just tossed aside carelessly. "Hey, what’s your fee? I... I didn't bring much money tonight. My ATM cards are back at that godforsaken house! That bastard’s house!"

Elijah slowly crawled closer, pinning Elena between his powerful arms. The scent of alcohol on her breath mingled with his cologne, creating a suffocating tension.

"You want to pay me?" Elijah whispered, his voice sounding dangerous yet utterly seductive. "I don't accept cash or credit cards, Elena."

Elena frowned in confusion, then innocently asked while touching her neck, "Then... then what do you want to be paid with? I have a gold necklace, but it was a gift from my grandmother."

Elijah leaned closer to her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

"I only accept payment in the form of you. All of you. Tonight, you must take responsibility for being brave enough to hire me," he answered nonchalantly.

Elena gave a playful, drunken laugh that invited danger. Her slender fingers began to crawl from Elijah’s chest to his neck, toyed with the strands of his hair. She pulled the back of his neck to bring their faces even closer, until the tips of their noses touched.

"Only me? How cheap," Elena whispered teasingly. She grew bold enough to brush Elijah’s lower lip with her thumb, while her other hand naughtily began to undo another button on his shirt. "In that case, do your job well, young man. Make me forget that scoundrel."

Elijah’s body tensed. Elena’s clumsy yet daring touch was truly testing his self-control. When she suddenly lunged forward and landed a soft, messy kiss on his lips, Elijah nearly lost it. The kiss tasted of sweetness mixed with the bitterness of alcohol, yet it was fueled by a frantic desperation.

Elijah immediately pulled away, his breath coming in short bursts. As a man who prided himself on cleanliness and order, he couldn't let this continue while they were sweaty and smelled of bar smoke.

"Wait here, Miss," Elijah said in a low voice, struggling to suppress his urges. He held Elena by the shoulders and pressed her back into the sofa. "I need to shower first. I don't like my body being dirty when I'm 'at work' serving a guest."

Elena crinkled her nose, looking disappointed. She reclined on the sofa in a highly provocative pose, challenging him with glazed eyes.

"Hurry up, or I’ll fall asleep," she huffed peevishly.

Elijah only gave a faint smirk before heading toward the bathroom, leaving Elena to laugh to herself in the gloom.

Inside the vast, luxurious bathroom, warm steam began to fill the room. Elijah stood before a large mirror, staring at his reflection. Slowly, he stripped off his white shirt, now disheveled from Elena’s antics.

He paused for a moment, then a low laugh—almost one of disbelief—escaped his lips. He touched his own mouth, the place where Elena’s messy kiss had landed.

"A gigolo?" he muttered softly, followed by a small laugh that sounded both amused and dangerous.

Elijah turned on the shower, letting the cold water drench his athletic frame to dampen the stirrings that shouldn't be there. Originally, his intentions had been pure. He had seen a broken woman at his bar, and as the owner, he simply wanted to save her from a bad situation—to give her a proper bed to rest until she was sober.

But now?

The plan was a total wreck.

Elena’s bold touch and the way she looked at him had provoked a side of his masculinity he usually kept neatly tucked away behind expensive suits.

"You really have no idea who you're challenging, Elena," he whispered amidst the splashing water.

Elijah smirked. If Elena wanted to play the role where he was a man-for-hire, he didn't mind providing the best service she would ever experience in her life. His perfectionist streak flared up; if he had to work tonight, he would do it with total commitment. He would be the best gigolo Elena ever had.