Chapter 5 Insults

Mae and I were standing outside the VIP room door, and she seemed to be hesitating, as if she wasn't sure she wanted to enter. I really hoped I wouldn't have to go in with her.

"What! Are you just going to stand there? Open it already! I feel like a dumbass standing here like a statue," I complained, crossing my arms impatiently.

"You can go first," Mae muttered, avoiding my gaze.

"And why me? As far as I know, you just forced me to come with you! If you don't open the door, I swear I'll kick you!" I shot back angrily.

She frowned, her fingers finally curling around the doorknob. She hesitated for a moment, then, before she could even open it fully, someone else inside swung the door open. She froze, but it didn't matter-Mae got pushed inside anyway. Luckily, she wasn't holding the tray of beers. If she had been, the mess would have been catastrophic.

Standing inside the room was a white man, just slightly taller than us. There was something about him-an aura, a presence that made it impossible to ignore. For some reason, I jokingly thought he looked like a dog breed. Of course, I laughed at myself for thinking that, but his sharp gaze made me instantly cautious.

His eyes moved over Mae first, lingering a moment, before they landed on me. A grin slowly spread across his face, but it wasn't warm-it was smug, confident, almost predatory. His lips were full, perfectly shaped, yet his expression somehow made them look cruel.

"Here's your order! Come in, Miss Beautiful," he said, slightly opening the door wider to let us in. His tone was teasing, but the undercurrent of something sharp ran through it.

We pushed the food cart inside, and I took in the room. Three men were seated on a long sofa, casually sprawled, while another sat alone on a single chair across from them.

Their faces, their posture, the way they moved-it screamed money and influence. Celebrities? Wealthy businessmen? Either way, their presence was commanding. The kind of wealth that doesn't know what to do with itself.

"Are they the women you paid for the night?" one of the men asked, his voice low but cutting.

I froze, my gaze snapping to him. What? Did he just insinuate we were paid women? The audacity! I could feel my blood boil. The sheer arrogance of him-it was almost laughable if it weren't so insulting.

His eyes were cold, blue, and sharp as knives, piercing through me like he was scanning for weaknesses. Even seated, he exuded power and dominance. He had the kind of jawline sculpted to perfection, high cheekbones, red lips, and a proud, sharp nose.

He wore black ripped jeans, black shoes, and a black long-sleeved polo shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows. Nothing about him looked out of place-everything was meticulously perfect. Masculinity, wealth, power-all condensed into one intimidating man. And yet, the insult he spoke? Absolutely unnecessary.

"We're not the women you paid for! We're here for your orders, SIR!" I said, emphasizing the last word. I wanted him to understand he had crossed a line.

Mae, standing beside me, kicked my side gently, whispering, "Shut up."

"Ah... haha, I'm sorry, miss. We thought it was you," one of them said, laughing through narrowed eyes.

"Not everyone who comes in here is... you know..." I started, trying to hold back my anger.

"You can't blame me," the first man said, his voice cold and emotionless. "When people look clean, everyone thinks that way because of your job."

I felt like I could scream. I wanted to throw him into the wall. The nerve!

"For your information, SIR! You have no right-ahwywtw!"

"Ha-ha! P-please, I'm sorry on behalf of my friend," Mae interjected awkwardly, covering my mouth with her hand, glaring at me. "She woke up on the wrong side of the bed, hehe."

"Enjoy your night here, boss!" Mae said hurriedly before dragging me out of the room.

As we walked away, I yanked my arm free from her grip. I was disgusted, furious even. That man had insulted us without cause! Just because we worked here didn't mean we were anything less than respectable. And yet, he had the audacity to assume the worst. Drunk or not, he had no excuse.

"What the hell is your problem, Lyra? Why did you backtalk him?! What if they report you to Boss? You could be fired! You have to control yourself!" Mae hissed, clearly worried.

"So what? Are you saying what he said was true?" I snapped, irritation rising.

"Of course not! I just... I don't want you to get into trouble," Mae said, her voice trembling slightly. "We can't change how people think because of this job. We just... need to survive."

"But that's not true!" I retorted, clenching my fists.

"Of course it's not! I'm just saying, don't interfere with what other people think or say about us. The important thing is that you know in yourself that what he said is wrong. Now let's just get back to work."

Mae left me there, moving faster than I could catch up. My fists remained clenched in anger, still burning with the need to confront that man. If I had a chance, I wanted to punch him in the face, just to remind him we weren't to be insulted like that.

"I heard you backtalked the one in the VIP room?" Jerome asked when I got close to the bar counter. He was one of the bartenders here, his expression a mixture of curiosity and concern.

"Yeah," I said simply.

"You shouldn't have done that," he replied.

"And why not?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"They're regular customers of the bar. They have influence with Boss. Maybe tomorrow you won't have a job if Boss finds out. They watch everything we do," he explained, shaking his head.

"I don't care if I lose my job," I said firmly. "The important thing is that I defended myself. I should have punched him in the face when he assumed that not everyone who works here is... you know... a certain way."

"I understand your point, Lyra, but you shouldn't backtalk customers. That's just... rules of this place," Jerome said.

"Not because they're customers, they're always right!" I shot back, feeling my face flush with irritation.

"Hayts! Just take care of it. You'll finish your shift later, and your time here with me will be over. I'll take you home after," he added, shaking his head again.

"To you? I'm heavy," I said, frowning.

"I mean I'll give you a ride later. Tsk!"

"Fine," I muttered.

It was already 11 p.m., and the music had become deafening. The bass thumped through the floor, vibrating in my chest and making my heartbeat match its rhythm.

Some patrons danced, swaying and spinning, while others were lost in their own drunken worlds, screaming over the music. The dance floor was chaotic-a sea of people who had surrendered themselves to pleasure, ignoring anything outside their bubble.

The drunks were easy to spot, stumbling around, some causing trouble, promptly dragged away by the vigilant bar guards.

"Hi, Miss..."

I barely had time to react before someone grabbed me from behind. Shocked, I swung the tray I was carrying instinctively. The tray connected hard with the man, sending him sprawling onto the floor. My heart raced in terror and adrenaline. I didn't even wait to see if he was hurt-my entire body shook with a mix of fright and anger.

I couldn't believe what had just happened. My cheeks burned-not from embarrassment alone, but from the rush of chaos surrounding me. In that moment, the bar, the music, the VIPs, everything seemed to blur. I had never felt so alive and so vulnerable at the same time.