The Billionaire's Asset: Cashing Out Freedom

The private room was soundproofed. The roar of the club was muffled to a dull throb, like a heartbeat under floorboards.

The lighting was low, a hazy pink.

Three male models walked in. They smelled of coconut oil and desperation.

Zoe cheered. She pulled a stack of bills from her purse.

Model A walked up to Dylan. He locked eyes with her.

Dylan felt her stomach turn. It wasn't excitement. It was nausea.

Model B flexed his biceps.

Too stiff, Dylan thought. No power, just show.

Model C picked up a strawberry from the fruit platter. He moved to feed it to her.

Dylan turned her head sharply.

"Put it down," she said. Her voice was ice. "I have hands."

The model froze. He looked confused. He was used to women who wanted to be fed.

Zoe nudged her. "What is wrong with you? These are prime cuts."

"They are performing sexy," Dylan said, picking up her glass. "They aren't sexy."

She realized, with a sinking horror, that she had been ruined. Claudius was a monster, but he was a monster with presence. When he walked into a room, the air pressure changed. These men were just... furniture.

"Stop dancing," Dylan ordered. "Just... drink."

The models looked relieved. They sat down. They started talking.

It was worse.

They talked about protein shakes. They talked about their Instagram followers. They talked about leg day.

Dylan felt a void opening up inside her. It was a boredom so profound it felt like physical pain.

"I need air," she said.

She stood up and walked out of the room.

"Don't fall in love!" Zoe called out.

The hallway was empty. The air conditioning was blasting. Dylan leaned against the wall. She dug into her purse and pulled out a pack of Virginia Slims.

Claudius hated smoking. He said it was a "liability to longevity."

She lit one. The smoke filled her lungs, acrid and sharp.

Her phone vibrated.

It was a text from an unknown number.

A second later, the phone rang.

Jensen.

Dylan stared at the name. He must have used a network tracer to find her burner's location. She declined the call.

It rang again immediately.

Claudius Snyder.

The name pulsed on the screen.

Dylan held the cigarette between her fingers. Her hand shook, just once. She stared at the red button.

She took a drag. She pressed accept.

She didn't speak. She just breathed into the receiver.

"Where are you?" Claudius's voice was low. Dangerous.

Dylan blew a smoke ring into the air.

"Off-market," she rasped. "Looking for a new investment."