Emily worked part-time at The Octagon, the most elite bar in the city.
It was the only job she could manage in the evenings, as her days were consumed by her studies.
After her last class, she hurried to the changing room, swapping her school uniform for the sleek attire required at the club.
She slipped into a black mini dress, paired with a red scarf neatly wrapped around her slender neck. A small gold-plated name tag gleamed on the left side of her chest, the lettering clear and unmistakable:
"I'm Emily at your service."
Her hair was styled into a flawless bun, highlighting the elegance required for the job.
Black net stockings. High heels.
Minimal yet striking makeup; red lipstick was non-negotiable.
The rules were simple: look presentable, maintain a professional smile, and keep the high-end clientele satisfied.
The Octagon wasn't just any bar.
It was the most exclusive rooftop club in the city, towering above the V International Hotel, boasting breathtaking views of the skyline through its floor-to-ceiling glass walls.
VIP rooms lined the outer sections, offering privacy for special events, while the massive dance floor at the center pulsed with energy.
For guests in the VIP rooms, attendants like Emily were assigned to serve them personally.
Once inside, she transmitted orders through her earpiece, ensuring seamless service. Drinks poured, food plated, games set: billiards, darts, anything to keep the wealthy entertained.
Some guests preferred to keep the attendants waiting outside.
Others let them in but barely acknowledged them, treating them as part of the decor.
Everything about The Octagon was designed for exclusivity.
Only the rich, powerful, and well-connected could gain entry, and even the attendants were carefully selected.
Emily had been hired immediately.
She hadn't needed multiple screenings, interviews, or extensive evaluations.
Her beauty alone had sealed the deal.
Effortlessly stunning, with delicate features that made her impossible to ignore.
Large, expressive eyes. Naturally cherry-red lips. Porcelain skin. A tall, elegant nose that enhanced her sophisticated yet innocent aura.
Her figure was perfectly balanced, graceful yet striking.
She hadn't asked for any of it.
But she had learned to use it.
Because life had given her nothing else.
She had no family.
No home.
Only a dream.
A promise whispered to herself, night after night, through exhaustion and grief.
Graduate. Get a high-paying job. Take back what was stolen from you.
She wanted to see the regret in her father's eyes.
Wanted him to realize exactly what he had lost by choosing those strangers over her.
Just five more months.
She could already picture herself standing on that graduation stage, wearing her gown, collecting the diploma that would grant her freedom.
If only she could fast-forward time.
But she had learned patience.
She had survived the last five years, sustained herself through sheer willpower.
She was close—so close.
Her mother's voice echoed in her mind.
Focus, Emily. Persevere. You will make it.
Her father's voice shattered her thoughts.
"You have to come back and sign the documents to sell this house! Otherwise—"
Emily clenched the phone. His rage was palpable, his voice filled with barely contained fury.
"Otherwise, what?" she snapped. "I'm an adult now, Dad. I know my rights. I will not sell my grandmother's house!"
She had spent years being held hostage—controlled, manipulated, blackmailed.
But now, he had nothing left to use against her.
There was no mother to hold over her head, no false promises to keep her obedient.
Her father laughed, a cold, mocking sound.
"I see you're acting high and mighty now, huh?" His tone dripped with disdain. "Who do you think you are?"
Emily gritted her teeth, fists clenched at her sides.
After all these years, he hadn't changed.
Not even a little.
Still the same pathetic excuse for a father.
"I am the daughter of your deceased wife," she said softly, her voice filled with quiet defiance.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, silent, uncontrolled.
For a moment, her father paused.
"Emi…"
The nickname stabbed into her heart, twisting painfully.
She had been a child when he used to call her that.
Back when she thought he loved her.
Back when she thought he would protect her.
But Emily felt nothing now.
No warmth. No nostalgia.
Only disgust.
"Come home, Emi," he urged, his tone suddenly gentle. "Let's talk calmly, okay? I miss you."
Emily shut her eyes, taking a shaky breath.
"I can't. My home disappeared the day Mom died."
Silence stretched between them.
A silence filled with the ghosts of the past.
But Emily knew the truth.
Her grandmother had foreseen this.
She had always despised her daughter's husband—Emily's father.
She had seen his greed, his selfishness, his complete lack of loyalty.
And so, she had ensured that Emily would never be left penniless or homeless.
The house was hers.
Signed, sealed, and legally protected.
And that was why her father was furious.
Because for once, he could not take it from her.
Emily wiped away her tears, her voice cold and resolute.
"I will never sell it."
And she meant it.
"It's because of your mother's illness that my money has drained! So, you must cooperate!"
Emily's father's voice was sharp and filled with frustration.
"I'm your father, and I have the final say! Emily, you have become so disrespectful that heaven will punish you and put you in hell! I am not asking you now! As your father, you will obey me, and I say we sell the house! Do you understand?"
His brief attempt at sentimentality had vanished, replaced by sheer fury.
Emily could hear his rage, could almost imagine his veins bulging, his fists shaking with frustration.
But she wasn't surprised.
She had expected this.
"Correction, it's my mom's money," she shot back, her voice trembling with anger.
Her nails dug into her palms, her entire body tensing with rage.
She wasn't afraid anymore.
She knew now that nothing her father said was true.
Out of guilt, her mother's physician had told her everything.
Her father had requested to stop her mother's treatment, claiming he could no longer sustain the expenses.
Emily knew that was a lie.
Her mother's company had been thriving.
The truth was, her father had refused to waste a single penny on her sick wife.
Instead, he had poured every bit of wealth into Claudette and Nicole, making sure they lived comfortably while her mother suffered.
And now, he wanted more.
Shameless.
Just as she was about to hang up, his furious voice rang through the speaker.
"I will find you, and I will make sure you sign those documents! I will punish you, you ungrateful child!"
His roar made her ears ring, cutting into her like knives.
Emily's entire body burned with fury.
"Over my dead body!" she spat, unable to contain the years of rage clawing to break free.
She ended the call abruptly.
Her breath came fast, uneven.
Her fingers curled tightly around the phone, as if trying to crush the memories it held… the betrayals, the pain, the loss.
But even with the call disconnected, his voice lingered in the air, echoing through her mind.
"I will find you."
"I will make sure you sign the documents."
"I will punish you."
A shiver crawled down her spine.
Emily squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hands against her ears, trying to silence the lingering echoes of his voice.
She didn't want to hear him anymore.
Not again.
Not ever.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket, the sudden movement jolting her back to reality.
Her pulse raced.
Had he found another way to reach her?
Her fingers curled around the device, her stomach twisting.
She would block him.
She would erase him from her life forever.
But…
It wasn't her father.
Emily's breath caught.
It was him.
Not her father.
Not another nightmare dragging her deeper into despair.
Charles Adam.
The perverted man…
She called him that, and those little thingy too awkward to mention.
The man she had admired for years.
Her darling superstar…
Her Charles Adam.