FAYEYOKO IMAGINES

Dark Paradise

"The dancer that goes on every Friday, around nine," Faye murmured, seated across from the man. "I don't want her dancing for anyone else. She's mine."

"What?" He blinked, his disbelief clear.

"You heard me," Faye replied flatly, leaning back in one of the many sofas lining the strip club's lounge. She was speaking to one of the club's two owners, who gaped at her, stunned by the bold demand.

"Ms. Malisorn—" he began, his voice wavering as he shook his head, a deep flush creeping up his neck. "I'm sorry, but you can't just claim any of our dancers."

Faye's eyebrow shot up, and she leaned closer, her expression hardening. "And why the hell not? I want her."

The man sputtered. "She's here to make a living, Ms. Malisorn. I just... I can't do that, especially since she's one of our top earners. A crowd gathers just for her; you understand, right?"

Faye's jaw tightened, a wave of fury washing over her as the thought of others enjoying the dancer's presence sent her heart racing. "You think I care about your damn crowd?" she growled, reaching into her pocket. She yanked out a thick stack of hundreds and slammed it onto the table, the crisp bills fanning out like a threat. "I'm not asking you for permission. I'm paying for her, and she's mine. Got that?"

The owner's eyes darted from the stack of cash to Faye's harsh glare. "Ms. Malisorn, please, you can't just throw money around and expect everyone to bend to your will. This isn't how it works."

Faye leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, threatening whisper. "You want to test me? Because I promise you, I'll make this place hell for you if I don't get what I want. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

He swallowed hard, visibly shaken, but tried to stand his ground. "This isn't personal. It's business! She has her fans, and they come here for her—"

"I don't give a shit about her fans!" Faye roared, slamming her fist on the table, rattling the glasses. "I'm done sharing. You think I care about your precious business? I'll make sure it's buried six feet under if you don't get her off that stage for me."

The man flinched, and Faye could see the gears turning in his head, weighing the risk of losing her as a customer against the potential fallout of denying her request. She watched him carefully, the silence stretching painfully.

"Fine," he said finally, his voice shaking slightly. "I'll talk to her. But you need to understand, this isn't just a simple request—"

"I don't want to hear your excuses," Faye snapped, cutting him off. "Just do it. And if she isn't dancing for me tomorrow night, you'll wish you had."

[...]

Yoko stormed into the dressing room, her frustration radiating off her like heat. "What do you mean I'm not dancing anymore?" she fumed, pacing back and forth, her agitation growing with each step. "I have bills to pay! How the hell am I going to make rent?!"

"Yoko," the owner sighed, rubbing his bald head in exasperation. "You will still get paid... things will just be different now."

Yoko halted, spinning around to face him, arms crossed tightly against her chest as she tried to make sense of his words. "What do you mean?" she demanded, her voice rising. "Different how? You can't just pull me off the stage without any warning!"

"It's complicated," he replied, avoiding her gaze. "There's been a... request from one of our regulars. She wants you exclusively."

"What?!" Yoko's eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you serious? Who does she think she is? I can't just stop performing!"