Warning: Female Vincent
The neon sign flickered weakly outside the entrance of *La Nuit De La Passion*, a club tucked away in a forgotten corner of the city. Vanessa Charbonneau sat in front of the small vanity mirror backstage, adjusting her makeup as the familiar weight of exhaustion settled over her shoulders. Her reflection stared back-dark, tired eyes framed by smudged eyeliner. The world had been unkind to her, and the lines on her face were a reminder of every hardship she had endured.
She hadn't always been like this.
Years ago, she'd been a college student full of promise and ambition. Vanessa had dreams of becoming a chef, following her passion for food. She had been accepted into a prestigious culinary school, and her life seemed set on a path to success. That was until one fateful night derailed everything.
The night she met Rody Lamoree.
It had been nothing more than a drunken one-night stand-a fleeting moment of excitement. She never expected it to lead to pregnancy. But when the test came back positive, her entire world crashed down. Rody, the charming, carefree man she'd slept with, wanted nothing to do with it. He had shrugged off his responsibility, leaving her alone to deal with the consequences.
Vanessa had tried to talk to him, to make him understand, but Rody refused to take any responsibility. He was focused on his own life, his own dreams, and her situation didn't fit into his plans. Left with no choice, she dropped out of college, abandoning her dream of becoming a chef to take on multiple jobs just to survive. She scraped by, doing anything she could to provide for her unborn child.
When her daughter was born, Vanessa's life became a blur of sleepless nights and endless shifts. The struggle to make ends meet forced her to take on degrading jobs. Dancing, stripping-things she never imagined doing-but they paid more than the kitchen gigs. She hated it. She hated the way men looked at her, the way they treated her like an object. But she endured it for her daughter.
Now, here she was, years later, still doing what she hated because it was the only way she knew how to survive. Tonight, she had been booked for a private event-high-paying clients who expected the best. It wasn't uncommon, but something about tonight felt different, as if the universe was setting her up for something she wasn't ready for.
A knock on the door snapped her out of her thoughts. Her boss, a burly man with a thick beard, leaned in. "Vanessa, you're up for the private event. High-end clients. Behave yourself, and you might make more than your usual tips."
She gave him a curt nod, already used to his sleazy remarks. The private events always paid well, but the clientele could be unpredictable. She took a deep breath, standing up and straightening her outfit-a skimpy lace number that left little to the imagination. It clung to her curves, exposing more than she'd like, but it was part of the job. She glanced at the mirror one last time, steeling herself for the night ahead.
With her heels clicking against the tile floor, she made her way down the dimly lit hallway toward the private lounge. The sound of laughter and conversation reached her ears, and her stomach twisted with nerves. She pushed open the heavy door and stepped inside.
The room was filled with a group of men seated around a long mahogany table. The dim lighting cast shadows over their faces, but their wealth was obvious-tailored suits, expensive watches, and glasses of top-shelf whiskey in hand. Waitresses flitted between them, offering drinks and flirting shamelessly.
Vanessa's eyes scanned the room, her heart pounding in her chest. The men seemed to be in good spirits, laughing and talking amongst themselves. But when her gaze landed on one man in particular, her entire body went cold.
