Dying For Your Cruel Game
Language: en
Tonight was my seventh gig at this VIP lounge. Under the pulsing, strobe-lit haze of the dance floor, my footsteps faltered. My eyes locked onto a woman in the center of the VIP booth, surrounded by male models and half-empty champagne flutes. It was Carol. The woman who had once been the center of my entire universe, and the architect of its ruin. One of the socialites draped over the leather sofa caught sight of me. Her manicured finger pointed in my direction, her voice dripping with lazy amusement. "Well, well, Carol. Isn't that the pathetic, broke ex you dated for that little bet with…