The music in the lounge swelled, rising above the hum of voices.  

The client and a few of the women were dancing now—laughing, clapping, spinning under the dim light.  

Glasses clinked, people shouted over one another, and the whole room blurred into a drunken carnival.  

Evan’s head felt heavy. His thoughts drifted and dissolved in the haze.  

Sienna sat beside him, close enough for him to feel her presence, yet they didn’t speak.  

The silence between them felt thick—too aware, too restrained.  

Across the table, Rachel had moved over to sit beside the manager.  

The client had been eyeing her for a while, sending not-so-subtle signals.  

The manager, noticing, gave a short laugh and waved her over.  

To him, women like Rachel were just part of the performance—props to keep the client entertained.  

Only business mattered; the rest was decoration.  

Rachel went with a bright smile, her glass catching the light.  

On the other side, Ivy returned after collecting a handful of tips from the client.  

Her expression calm, she sat down next to Evan again.  

“Let’s keep playing,” she said softly, her voice steady, almost deliberate.  

The dice clattered in her hand, sharp against the music.  

“Same game. Liar’s dice.”  

This time, Sienna reached for the dice cup as well.  

“I’m in,” she said.  

Her tone was even, her face unreadable.  

Evan froze for a heartbeat before nodding dumbly.  

The dice rolled, the game quickened.  

“Four fours.”  

“Five fours.”  

“Six fours.”  

“Call!”  

The lid came off. Evan had lost again.  

“Drink,” Ivy said quietly.  

He gave a sheepish smile and obeyed.  

The liquor burned like fire, and his face flushed deep red.  

The rounds kept coming.  

He lost again, and again—each time another shot, another sting.  

The air thickened. His vision swam.  

Ivy stayed cool, detached, playing as if it were just another shift.  

Sienna watched in silence, saying nothing.  

Then, as Evan lifted another glass with an unsteady hand, she spoke.  

“He shouldn’t drink anymore.”  

Her voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the noise.  

The table went still for a second.  

Evan looked up at her, dazed.  

Her eyes met his—calm, clear, without expression.  

Then she turned toward Ivy.  

“There’s no tip waiting for you here. Go join the main table—you’ll earn more.”  

Ivy blinked, surprised, then gave a small, knowing smile.  

“You’re right.”  

She stood, smoothing her dress, and walked away.  

Within seconds she’d vanished into the laughter and smoke.  

Evan sat there, motionless.  

His whole body felt feverish, yet her words were cold water down his spine.  

She hadn’t scolded him, not exactly.  

It was more like she’d reminded him—gently but firmly—what kind of place this was.  

This wasn’t a game.  

It was survival.  

He lowered his gaze, fingers tightening around the glass.  

A faint, bitter smile tugged at his lips.  

Gratitude, shame, and something nameless twisted inside him.  

Because deep down, he knew—  

to her, he was still just *a stranger she didn’t mind too much.*