Dear Husband (Sinner's Society:ONE) REWRITING***

Chapter 8(e)

Two Years Ago

(Paris'Point of View)

A full month passes.

I do my job, pretend to be aloof and untouchable, snap at and insult rich bad boys who try to break club rules. And for the good boy, I allow them to guide the conversation, pretend to care when they speak. Pretend to be charmed. Pretend to be almost seduced. Pretend to be flustered when they get too close. It's all a game. It's always been a game. But now, it seems even more a game. I am numb within, and the burden of playing pretend is heavy.

I let the whispering voices guide me. Sometimes it's all you do. Pretend you're okay. Pretend you're strong. Pretend you don't need anyone. Fake it. Fake it for yourself, for those around you. When you wake up, when you go to bed, keep faking it. And eventually, one day . . . it'll be true.

Alone I drink.

Alone I think—should I accept Alex's proposal—he may not want Paris but he wants Sasha.

Alone I wonder, do I want to be with Alex as Sasha.

Alone I wait for Alex to do something.

Alone  two hours before the club open, I dance on the stage, around the pole, swing high and spin low, flip and roll, sprung all tense, blank my mind before putting on my armour and get ready for another night.

What is this thick, curling, yet somehow weightless feeling within, when I'm alone? Is it hope? Relief? Should I feel relieved?

Other than these, I barely have time to do much else but work. Once I clearly understand the in and out of the business and select people I can trust to help me, on a slow night, I'm able to take a little more time for myself.

Once I open the club, and make sure everyone is too busy handling their jobs to notice me being gone, I step out for a little while to meet Daniel.

I spy his car by the road and he immediately gets out when he see me. I begin to walk over taking him in. He is just wearing a white t-shirt and black jeans; on his feet are dark shoes. It is a casual look, which still manages to look good on him.

As I meet him half way, I remind myself. I love Daniel. I want Daniel. I want to have a life with him.

"Hello, my sweetheart," he says with a grin, his arms spread wide for an embrace. I smile moving in and he sweeps me into his arms, holding me close to him. My cheek is against his chest and I do not want to move. Not ever. I am at a height that my ear is over his heart, and I hear it...

Bumpbump—bumpbump—bumpbump.

Slow and steady and reassuring.

I pull in a breath, his familiar smell drifts over me, bringing back the feeling of his lips at my ear. "I have missed you so much."

"Well, now that I am working at the club and have my own car." I pull back smiling at him and he holds onto my hands. "I have a little more freedom to come see you without Alex's watchdogs keeping track of my every move."

"I should thank Alex for that," he says, looking me up and down. "Now no one can have you except me." He gives my hands a tight squeeze. "That makes me such a happy man. What exactly you do at the club?"

My ears heat up and I look down at our locked hands, my thumb stroking his knuckles. "I run the whole club. Manage everything to run smoothly." I tell him. It feels good to say I'm no more a whore. It feels good to think I will belong to someone.

"You?" He laughs and the tone pulls my eyes up with a slight frown.

"Yes. Me. Why does that shock you?" I ask feeling insulted.