Beauty and the Devil

chapter 12

Samantha’s POV

The next morning, I walked into the dining room half-expecting silence, maybe a coffee machine and a folded newspaper at most. Instead, I found a breakfast spread that looked like it had been catered by a five-star hotel. Fresh pastries, scrambled eggs, smoked salmon, avocado slices, a full plate of tropical fruit, and even three types of juice lined the long table like a buffet for one.

Clyde was already sitting at the head, scrolling through his phone with one hand, a perfectly poured espresso in the other.

He looked up. “You’re late.”

I glanced at the clock. “It’s eight thirty.”

“For me, that’s mid-morning.”

I sat down without commenting. The silverware was too clean to touch.

He set his phone aside. “Hungry?”

“I’m... not used to all this.”

“You’re not in your apartment anymore. Eat.”

I picked up a piece of melon. “Do you usually do breakfast after throwing men out by the throat?”

He smirked. “Only on Thursdays.”

There was a pause, the kind that came when neither person wanted to start something they couldn't finish.

“How do you like working in the club?” he asked, pouring himself a coffee.

“‘Like’ is a complicated word,” I said, reaching for the orange juice. “I try not to think about the crowd. I just picture myself dancing alone.”

He nodded slightly. “That’s good. Detachment helps.”

“And,” I added, “it helps that you keep the real creeps away.”

His gaze shifted, focused now.

“I’ll always protect you,” he said.

The words landed harder than I expected. I blinked, stunned by how real it sounded.

Then he followed it with, “I protect all my girls.”

Of course.

“It’s a harsh business,” he went on. “But my mother taught me young—every girl deserves a safe place. Especially in this world.”

I studied him carefully, but his face gave away nothing. It was a business statement. A mission statement.

“You keep your tips and private dance money,” he added, casually. “That’s not negotiable.”

“I noticed,” I said. “I made ten thousand last month. That’s… more than I thought possible.”

“You work twice a week. Imagine if you took it seriously.”

It was half a compliment, half a reminder.

He stood, checking his phone.

“I won’t be at the club today,” he said. “Other business. But Aaron will be there.”

“You trust him that much?”

He didn’t look up. “I trust him more than I trust myself.”

The drive to the club was quieter than usual.

Aaron was behind the wheel this time, his left hand resting loosely at the top, thumb tapping the leather like he was counting down time. I glanced sideways. His curls were a little messy, but not in a lazy way. His jaw was clean-shaven. His arms looked like they belonged on someone who moved furniture for fun.

“How’s it feel, being chauffeured by royalty?” he asked, glancing at me.

“Like I should’ve dressed better.”

“You’re always overdressed for the trash we deal with.”

The corner of my mouth lifted. The silence between us was finally starting to feel like comfort instead of tension.

***

After my second set, Claire found me backstage, arms folded.

“Hey. Aaron just bought a private with you.”

My brows lifted. “He what?”

“Twenty thousand euros.”

I stared.

Claire leaned in. “Be careful. Clyde’s not going to like this.”

I hesitated. “He’s not here.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’ll still know.”

But twenty thousand was too much to ignore. Rent. Groceries. A future. My brother.

So I walked.

The room was already familiar—the same low lights, same mirrored walls, same velvet chair in the center. But this time, Aaron wasn’t watching from a distance. He was sitting, elbows on knees, hands clasped.

He looked up when I entered. “You don’t need to dance.”

I paused. “You paid.”

He stood. “I wanted the time.”

I didn’t know what to do with that. I crossed my arms. “So what is this?”

Aaron stepped forward. Not close enough to make me step back—but close enough that I could hear his voice soften.

“I liked you from the moment I saw you,” he said. “Not for the way you dance. Or dress. Or pretend.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know you didn’t want this life,” he said. “And I know what it’s like to be stuck inside something you didn’t choose.”

I stayed silent.

“I want out,” he continued. “I want to take Clyde down. His assets. His operation. Everything. And I can do it.”

My stomach dropped.

“What are you talking about?”

He took out a flash drive. Held it between two fingers.

“I’ve been tracking everything—his accounts, his real holdings, his safehouses. All of it.”

I stared at it, then at him.

“What does this have to do with me?”

“If you help me, I’ll give you back your brother. Your life. No more club. No more debt. Nothing. You disappear clean.”

“And in return?”

“I take control. Of the club. The empire. You get freedom. I get everything else.”

It sounded like betrayal dressed up as a rescue.

“Why me?” I asked.

He looked straight at me. “Because you make me want to do the right thing. For once.”