Killer's Kiss

Chapter seventeen

Chaeyoung stared down at the two items in her trembling hands, her disgust palpable. Never in her wildest imaginings had she thought this deal would reduce her to dressing like this—a glorified prop in someone's sordid fantasy. Worse, she was about to entertain a stranger and spike their drink for reasons she didn't even know.

Was she becoming a bad person?

The thought clawed at her, but Chaeyoung quickly squashed it. If this was what it took to get her father out of prison, so be it.

Even as the justification formed in her mind, it felt hollow. Excuses. That's what they were. But those excuses didn't stop her legs from carrying her to the bar's restroom.

Inside, Chaeyoung slipped into the lingerie, which left almost nothing to the imagination. Standing before the mirror, her reflection stared back, unrecognizable. The blonde ran her hands down the sheer fabric clinging to her frame, her pulse quickening.

Was this excitement?

Or just adrenaline?

Maybe it was simply the alcohol still buzzing in her bloodstream, clouding her mind and dulling her senses.

Carefully, she concealed the pill in her outfit and adjusted the mask that had come with the lingerie. The face staring back at her wasn't Chaeyoung. It was someone else entirely—a stranger dressed to seduce, to distract, to obey.

A slut.

The word echoed in her mind as she stepped out of the restroom and ascended the stairs to the second floor.

This floor wasn't part of the bar. It was a different world—a pleasure house, where men and women came to indulge their most unrestrained desires. Some doors were cracked open, revealing couples lost in the throes of passion, basking in their exhibitionism. Others remained closed, locking their secrets away.

Chaeyoung kept her gaze forward, but the sights along the way clawed at her attention. Room 3, for instance, housed a tableau she'd never imagined—a man licking wine from another's torso in a display both grotesque and intimate.

It felt criminal to look.

Finally, her destination came into view: room 11.

Her fleeting excitement curdled into unease, and nerves twisted her stomach into knots. But Chaeyoung swallowed them down, pushing herself forward. She entered the room, the door clicking shut behind her.

The space was minimal: a leather couch, a polished pole, and a man.

He wasn't just any man.

Draped in a luxurious tunic, with hair combed to perfection and sharp honeysuckle eyes that trailed over her body, he radiated power. He looked like the type of man you didn't cross.

In his veined hand was a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the dim light.

Chaeyoung froze for a heartbeat, the silence suffocating. Regret slammed into her like a wave.

What the hell am I doing?

Her mind raced with panicked thoughts. Was there a weapon hidden beneath that elegant suit? She wouldn't put it past him.

Then, slow, romantic music began to play, breaking the tension.

This was her cue.

Chaeyoung approached the pole, gripping its cold steel with clammy hands. She'd never danced on a pole before, but she had to fake it. With deliberate movements, she swung her leg around it, her body swaying to the music.

The tune was slow, giving her time to adjust. She arched her back, letting her head fall, exposing the delicate line of her throat.

She didn't look at him—didn't dare meet his gaze. A direct look would betray her fear, her hesitation. Better to keep him guessing, hooked.