Isabella exhaled shakily, her heart pounding in her chest. She'd failed—her inexperience had shown, and she had lost the deal. But as she stood there, watching the car disappear, the woman next to her smiled.
"Don't worry," the woman said, her voice softer now. "You'll get the hang of it. But you're not a red-light whore."
Isabella frowned at the insult. The women she just spoken to earlier in the red-light district had been helpful, even kind in their own way. She knew what this woman meant, though. The game here was different. Prestige was everything.
The woman flicked her eyes toward another man stepping out of a luxury car. "Watch me," she muttered, smoothing her dress, her posture shifting instantly into one of controlled grace.
The man approached, and without a word, the woman locked eyes with him. Her lips curved into a small, teasing smile. Not eager, but amused, like she knew something he didn't. The man hesitated, but his interest was clear. He tilted his head, his fingers brushing over the expensive watch on his wrist.
"How much?" he asked.
The woman didn't answer. Instead, she glanced him up and down with a lazy smile, sizing him up like he was the one being judged. There was a long pause until he finally spoke again, his tone more cautious. "I asked how much?"
She smirked. "If you have to ask," she purred, her voice dripping with confidence, "you can't afford it."
The man blinked, taken aback by her audacity. But instead of walking away, his interest deepened. He stepped closer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I've got money."
She tilted her head, her smile widening just a fraction. "Show me, then."
There was a flicker of something in the man's eyes—pride, maybe, or curiosity—but he didn't hesitate. He pulled out a thick stack of cash from his pocket, waving it in front of her with a grin. "Enough?"
The woman didn't even glance at the money. Her eyes stayed locked on his, her expression unreadable. "Money's easy," she said, her voice low. "What else you got?"
The man faltered for a moment, clearly caught off guard. He stammered something about his car, his job, trying to prove himself, but the woman just chuckled softly, shaking her head. "You think I care about that? You're still missing the point."
With that, she turned on her heel, leaving the man standing there, dumbfounded. Isabella watched as he stared after her, clearly unsure of what had just happened. But the lesson was clear.
The woman returned to Isabella's side, her lips curling into a knowing smile. "See? It's not about the money. It's about making them work for it. You're the one in control, not them."
Isabella swallowed hard, nodding slowly. "But what if they don't... bite?"
"Then they weren't worth your time," the woman said simply, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're not here to chase anyone. They chase you."
Isabella stood there, letting the woman's words sink in. It wasn't just about the transaction, or the price. It was about value—knowing hers, and making others see it too. She thought back to the moment she'd fumbled, blurting out a number too soon, too desperate. The man hadn't respected her because she hadn't respected herself.
Dick watched from the car, observing the subtle shift in her demeanor. She'd been rattled at first, but now? Now she was thinking, processing what it meant to actually hold control. Her posture straightened slightly as she took a slow breath, glancing toward the other women, then back at herself.
Isabella turned, walking back toward the sleek entrance of the building. This time, she carried herself differently—less hesitantly, more confidently. The heavy makeup on her face no longer felt like a mask to hide behind. Instead, it was armor, a part of the persona she was beginning to understand. Confidence wasn't in the act of selling herself short—it was in making them come to her.
A man approached, his shoes clicking against the pavement, dressed in a tailored suit. He looked her up and down, eyes narrowing slightly, trying to gauge if she was worth his time.
"How much?" he asked, his tone clipped, businesslike.
Isabella didn't flinch this time. She looked him over, taking her time, her gaze slow. She didn't need to answer right away, didn't need to give him what he wanted just because he asked. Her lips curved into a faint smile, a flicker of something more than amusement. "Depends on what you're looking for," she replied smoothly, her voice steady, casual.
The man hesitated, thrown off by the lack of an immediate number. "You tell me."
Isabella's eyes lingered on his watch, his shoes, then back to his face. "You're the one asking," she said, a hint of challenge in her tone. "But you already know what you're willing to pay."
His lips twitched, the faintest hint of a grin appearing as he reached into his coat pocket, pulling out a slim, black wallet. "Name your price."
She tilted her head slightly, making sure to hold his gaze. "If you have to ask," she said, echoing the words she'd just learned, "maybe I'm out of your league."
The man blinked, and for a moment, his expression hardened. "Are you a fucking cop or what, bitch? I got money, want it or not?"
Isabella's stomach twisted, but she didn't let it show. She frowned, narrowing her eyes. "Fuck off," she said, her voice sharper than before. He scoffed, mumbling something under his breath before turning away, clearly irritated.
As she watched him walk off, a realization hit her like a punch in the gut. Just copying the lines the other woman had used wasn't going to cut it. It wasn't about repeating the words, it was about owning them. She had to mean it. The problem wasn't the act—it was her hesitation, the doubt lurking behind her eyes. People could smell that kind of weakness a mile away.
Taking a slow breath, she straightened her back. Another man was already heading her way—this one older, graying around the edges but still carrying himself with the confidence of someone used to getting what he wanted.
"How much for a good time, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice low, almost bored.
Isabella didn't flinch this time. She held his gaze. "Depends on what you're worth."
The man chuckled, clearly intrigued, but she could see the calculation in his eyes. He wasn't looking for a challenge—he wanted easy, something quick. "A good time shouldn't come with a riddle," he said, smirking.
Isabella stepped forward, closing the distance between them. "Then maybe you're not ready for what I offer," she said, her voice soft, but the edge unmistakable.
He blinked. For a second, his smirk faltered, but then he laughed, shaking his head. "You've got balls, I'll give you that." He reached into his pocket, pulling out a roll of cash. "Let's cut the bullshit. What's it gonna take?"
Isabella glanced at the cash. She could feel her pulse quicken, but she kept her voice even. "More than you're carrying."
He stared at her for a moment, clearly weighing his options. Then, with a slight shrug, he turned and walked away without another word.
As the sound of his footsteps faded, Isabella let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. She hadn't closed the deal, but something felt different. There was no shame gnawing at her, no lingering sense of defeat.
Isabella sighed as she walked toward Dick, who leaned casually against the car, arms crossed and eyes gleaming with the satisfaction of having watched her struggle. She hadn't closed a deal, hadn't really proven anything to herself or him.
She wasn't here to sell her body, that much was clear. This wasn't about becoming one of the women she'd spoken to tonight. It was about learning how to present herself, how to make others see her value without having to shout it from the rooftops.
He watched her in silence, the smirk playing on his lips growing wider as she stopped a few feet away. "Well?" he finally asked, his voice low but teasing. "Learn anything?"
Isabella frowned, shifting on her feet. "It's not as easy as just throwing out some confident one-liner and expecting them to fall at my feet," she admitted, her tone a bit sharper than she intended. "I mean, I knew that… but it's different when you're in the middle of it."
Dick chuckled, pushing off the car and walking toward her. "So you realized it's not just about the words. It's about owning the moment."
She nodded, her eyes flicking to his, frustration simmering under the surface. "Yeah, I got that."
"And?" he pressed, stepping even closer, his gaze boring into her. "What else?"
Isabella swallowed, forcing herself to hold his gaze despite the heat rising in her chest. "I've been trying to imitate confidence instead of actually feeling it," she said quietly. "Just repeating lines without really believing in them. They could see right through me."
Dick smirked, pleased with her realization. "Exactly. Confidence isn't something you fake—it's something you build. From the ground up. And that's what we're doing here. This is your foundation."
His eyes flicked to the dark makeup on her face. "The mask you're wearing? It's not the source of your confidence. It shouldn't be. It's just a tool you use to enhance it."
Isabella stared at him. She wanted to ask more, to push for some kind of answer that made sense, but there wasn't one. It wasn't about some magic formula or scripted lines; she knew that now. It was about learning to hold power in every moment, no matter how small.
Dick stepped closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "You don't get there by pretending. The moment you rely on an act, on some exterior bullshit, you've already lost."
Isabella swallowed, her mouth dry as she watched him. He wasn't looking at her like the men had looked at her earlier. He wasn't trying to gauge her worth by the price she'd put on herself. His eyes were cold, calculating, like he was dissecting her from the inside out. But somehow, in that scrutiny, there was something else—a challenge.
"I'm not pretending," she said, though the tremble in her voice gave her away.
Dick smirked, stepping even closer until he could feel the heat radiating off her skin. "Aren't you?" His fingers brushed her cheek, smearing a little of the heavy eyeliner. "This? It's not you. Not really. But that's fine. Confidence doesn't come overnight."
Her pulse quickened at the proximity, her body reacting instinctively to the intensity of his presence. She wanted to step back, to get away from the heat of him, but she stayed rooted in place. Part of her knew that if she moved, if she broke that moment, she'd lose something more than just the illusion of power she was trying to create.
"I know that," she muttered, though she wasn't sure she believed it.
He chuckled, a low, almost mocking sound. "Do you? Then show me. Don't talk about it—don't tell me what you think you've learned. Prove it."
Isabella stared at him, her mind racing. She was back on the edge, like when she'd been talking to those men earlier, unsure if she was going to crash and burn or pull herself out of the spiral. Her eyes darted to his lips for a fraction of a second before she caught herself, but he noticed. Of course, he did.
His smirk widened. "See? There it is. You want validation, you want someone to tell you you're enough." He leaned in, his breath hot against her ear. "But here's the thing: nobody's going to do that for you. Not me. Not anyone else."
Her heart pounded in her chest, the truth of his words hitting harder than she expected. There was no safety net, no fallback. Either she took control of herself, or she'd always be at the mercy of others. That reality settled in her gut like a cold stone.
She clenched her jaw, swallowing hard. "I'll figure it out."
"You better." His voice was sharp, but there was a flicker of amusement behind it. "Because everyone wants the same thing. Control. Every man you meet will dream of you kneeling under them, worshiping at their feet. And in return, you can try to control them, bend them to your will."
Isabella frowned, her mind flashing back to memories of her grandparents. Victoria, her grandmother, held the leash in their relationship—that much was clear. But Roger, her grandfather, was a different beast when he was away from her. At work, he was harsh, commanding, as if the entire world owed him deference. Yet, whenever he was in front of Victoria, he was a completely different man—subdued, obedient, like a loyal dog.
Dick was right. Life was an endless cycle of control, a tug-of-war that most people were too busy surviving to even notice. Everyone was playing the game, but only a few knew how to win.
She shifted on her feet, the weight of that realization settling deep in her chest. "So what's the trick?" she asked, her voice quieter now, less defensive. "How do you win?"
Dick chuckled. "That's the neat part—you don't. The second you show weakness, the second you give someone leverage, they'll use it to control you."
Isabella frowned as she nodded. "I understand," she said softly.
Dick looked at Isabella, "This is what the game entails," he said. "You either play actively, control others without giving them the chance to control you, or you refuse—and end up under their thumb."
"And confidence?" she asked, her voice sounding calmer than she felt.
Dick shrugged slightly. "It's knowing exactly how much you can control without burning yourself."
He was right, she knew he was. Everyone played this game, whether they realized it or not. The second you let someone take control, even for a moment, you lost a part of yourself. No matter how small, the act of surrender had a cost, and Isabella wasn't in the mood to pay.
She didn't need to ask Dick what came next; it was obvious. Asking for guidance meant giving him more power, and she wasn't about to let him dictate the terms. Not anymore. She looked up at him, catching the slight amusement in his eyes, and smiled.
"You're not half bad. I can see now why Mrs. Harper has high expectations of you," Dick said, glancing at her as the tension on her shoulders lifted.
Isabella flicked her hair back, a small smirk playing on her lips. "I'll take that as a compliment," she shot back.
Dick chuckled, nodding as he walked towards the driver's seat. "It was."
Sliding into the passenger seat, she glanced out of the window as Dick started the car. The engine purred. As they pulled out onto the road, Dick's fingers tapped lightly on the steering wheel. Dick dropped her at the Harper estate, watching as Isabella vanished into the sprawling mansion.
She was smart. Victoria clearly had high expectations for Isabella—after all, she was sharp, adaptable, and could learn quickly. But no matter how clever or strong someone appeared to be, sooner or later, someone like Dick would emerge to dominate them with a cock. It was just the way things worked. The cycle of power and control was relentless, an endless grind that never really had a true top or bottom. Only those who knew how to exploit the game stayed on top, even for a fleeting moment.