˗ˏˋ꒰ 💰 ꒱ ━ ☐ Thomas Shelby never thought he would fall in love with a whore. In the bustling streets of 1920s Birmingham, Alicent, a prostitute since her teenage years, with her irresistible charm, had only one goal : to make money. Every encounte...
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ALICENT WAS NO LONGER THE GIRL SHE USED TO BE. Once innocent, a little girl playing with her dolls. But this was her life now : sex, shame, secrets, and fangs. Deep down, she felt an aching emptiness, like something crucial had been taken from her.
She remembered the days when she dreamed of a different future, far from the dark alleys of Birmingham, far from the men who looked at her without truly seeing her. But those dreams had been erased quickly. Now, she was just another shadow, a woman stained and used by the world.
The stares of men, their words, their hands — they left their mark on her. She felt dirty, as though shame had seeped into her skin, impossible to wash off, no matter how many times she dipped her hands in icy water after each encounter.
Because the worst part of prostitution isn't selling sex. It's selling your humanity. The real loss is not in the bed, but in the acceptance of the deal — in becoming someone to be bought.
For Alicent, poverty was the one thing she hated more than sin.
That night, she wore a light dress, a flowing fabric that hugged her figure without revealing too much. The dim lighting of the brothel created an intimate, almost deceptive atmosphere. She moved through the crowd, her eyes scanning the room for the man who would pay the most for her time.
Laughter, whispers, thinly veiled promises — it all blended into a hum that slowly consumed her. Each man she passed had a story, but they were all tinged with desperation. One by one, they waited to be saved, and she was their last hope.
The men devoured her with their eyes, a few already finishing their drinks, ready to follow her upstairs. Just as she was about to approach one, a deep voice startled her.
"Alicent."
She turned and faced her boss, a tall, broad man with a thick mustache that emphasized his harsh features. His gaze, as always, left no room for tenderness or pity. He wore the same dark suit, as dull as his lifeless eyes.
"A special client just arrived," he murmured, his words heavy on her shoulders. "He's in the back, alone. Important man."
"What kind of man ?" she asked, trying to hide the fatigue in her voice.
"The kind who pays well, and you don't ask questions." He shrugged slightly before leaning in closer. "You're one of the best... Make sure he has a good night." A thin smile flickered on his lips, but it never reached his eyes.
Alicent nodded, already resigned. It was always like this : men full of mystery, lives hidden behind smiles and glasses of whiskey. She knew her role — to play the part.
She moved slowly toward the back of the room, where the man sat. His brown hair, slightly tousled, framed a face hardened by life. Dressed in a dark, perfectly tailored suit, he exuded the dangerous elegance of a man who lived in the shadows. His deep blue eyes stared into the void, and a haze of tobacco smoke floated around him.
