Isolde turned her face away when her mother insisted on seeing her, refusing to leave in a separate car.
"I want to see my daughter! What did you do to her? What did you ask of her in exchange for our release?! Who are you people? Are you my late husband's men?! Isolde, don't go, sweetheart—don't do something you'll regret again, Isolde!"
Isolde closed her eyes, trying to ignore her mother's screams. Lucien, sitting beside her, was quite entertained by the drama, but he didn't have time to spare—he had other matters to attend to.
"Drive," Lucien ordered the driver. The car pulled away, leaving Isolde's mother behind, still shouting her daughter's name.
"What a shame I can't watch this mother-daughter drama play out any longer. You should've said goodbye to her. You might not see her again after this."
Isolde opened her eyes and shot Lucien a cold glare.
"I figured you'd have me do something life-threatening. What exactly is this task you want me to do?" she asked, locking eyes with Lucien.
"You'll find out soon."
.
.
.
Isolde stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her naked body was covered in dark purple bruises—evidence of the beating she'd endured.
In her hand was a pair of scissors. The first thing she wanted to do upon arriving at the hotel room was cut off her messy hair.
Her long hair, nearly reaching her waist, was pulled forward and snipped off, all while she kept her eyes locked on the mirror.
She cut her hair down to neck-length, and clumps of it fell to the hotel bathroom floor.
She stared again at her reflection with short hair, tousled it a little, then walked toward the shower and let the cold water run over her bruised body.
.
.
.
Isolde expected Lucien wouldn't let her rest for long. She was only allowed to enjoy the hotel bed for one night. The next morning, as she woke, Lucien was already there—her ticket to Las Vegas was in hand.
Everything had been arranged. All Isolde had to do was follow his instructions.
Even after landing in Las Vegas, exhausted from the flight, Isolde wasn't given any time to rest.
Lucien took her straight to meet a woman who had been waiting for them in a hotel room.
The woman began doing Isolde's makeup meticulously—mainly covering all the bruises on her body.
Watching herself get dolled up made Isolde wonder if the task Lucien had planned for her was to seduce someone.
But the real question now was: Who was she meant to seduce?
Lucien wouldn't go to all this trouble to get Isolde and her mother out of prison to have her seduce a nobody.
If she had to seduce a man, then that man must be someone important.
Suddenly, the door to the hotel room opened. Lucien walked in with his usual expressionless face.
"Is she done?" he asked as he stepped inside without bothering to close the door.
"Hurry up. We don't have much time," Lucien said to Isolde, who still had her back to him.
When she turned around, Lucien looked briefly stunned—like something had just clicked in his mind the moment he saw her.
One thing was sure—it wasn't admiration. Lucien's expression actually looked angry when he saw Isolde.
She thought maybe her makeup wasn't appealing enough in his eyes, but Lucien didn't tell her to change it.
Instead, he motioned with his finger, signaling her to follow him out of the hotel room.
Inside the elevator, Lucien glanced at Isolde after pressing the button.
"You're going with a woman. She'll take you somewhere as a replacement stripper. And wear this—you'll be able to hear my instructions through it. Put it in your ear."
Lucien reached into his jacket pocket and handed Isolde an earpiece.
Isolde furrowed her brows as she looked at the device—something she'd only seen in action movies before she went to prison.
Seeing it only confirmed her suspicion: the task she was about to carry out was dangerous.
But the danger didn't matter—being in prison, hated by nearly everyone, was just as dangerous.
Isolde had only two options: die in prison or die out here doing Lucien's bidding.
"You don't know how to use it? I can help you put it on if you want."
Isolde quickly shook her head. She didn't need Lucien's help to push a tiny device into her ear.
The elevator doors opened, and Isolde followed Lucien out of the hotel lobby. He opened the car door for her. Inside, a woman wearing dark sunglasses sat waiting. The woman lowered her glasses, glancing back and forth between Lucien and Isolde.
"Lucien, this is the last time I'm getting involved in your obsession. After this, I'm done.
You may not be afraid of Severin, but I am. That man wouldn't hesitate to slit my throat with his favorite dagger if he found out I brought one of your people into his den."
The woman then turned to Isolde.
"Get in!" Lucien shut the car door after Isolde got in and sat beside the woman.
"What's your name?" the woman asked. Isolde was just about to answer when the woman cut her off.
"Don't bother. I don't need to know your name. No point learning the name of someone I'm throwing into a lion's den. This might be the last time we meet, so there's no need to get acquainted."
The car stopped in front of an entertainment venue. Las Vegas was full of places like this, and from the outside, this one looked no different—bright and flashy.
"You're coming with me."
The woman grabbed Isolde's arm and led her inside—not through the main entrance, but through a side door labeled staff only. A tall man dressed in black with dark skin stretched out his arm to block their way.
"Who's this woman, Jess? You know you're not allowed to bring in just anyone except employees."
The woman who brought Isolde—Jess—removed her sunglasses and let out a sharp sigh.
"Did you forget what happened yesterday? One of the strippers fell during a pole dance and split her head open—needed stitches. I'm bringing the replacement. I told you that yesterday."
"But Mr. Severin said no new workers are allowed in without his approval."
"You think I'd bring a stranger here without Severin's approval?"
The guard looked confused. "But Mr. Severin didn't tell me there'd be a new worker coming in today."
"So you're going to block this woman from entering until Severin gets here? You want the stripper lineup to be short-staffed tonight? Or would you rather take the empty spot yourself and start stripping while we wait for Severin to show up?"
The guard hesitated, torn between letting the two women in or waiting for the owner to arrive. But the show was about to start.
What if what this woman was saying was true? Wouldn't he be the one punished by Mr. Severin for ruining the night?
"Alright, go ahead and enter," he finally said, deciding it was better to let them in than risk chaos.
He didn't have the money to pay for the damages if Mr. Severin lost customers due to complaints about missing dancers.
Just yesterday, Severin was furious when a stripper messed up during a performance—she fell off the pole. She got injured, and many customers complained that the entertainment was subpar.
The woman who brought Isolde led her to the dressing room and gave her a light push inside.
"My job ends here. I was only told to bring you here. What happens next is between you and Lucien."
She left Isolde in the dressing room, which was already filled with men and women getting ready for the show.
Isolde looked around, observing them one by one.
They were all wearing brightly colored exotic dancewear—the men in tight pants and body harnesses. Everyone was covering themselves in body oil to make their skin glisten under the flashing lights.
One man who had just finished applying body oil noticed Isolde's presence. He walked over to her in matching high heels, tight pants, and a harness.
"Who are you? Why are you here? Are you Mary's replacement?"
"Mary?"
"Yeah, Mary. She's one of the strippers here. She got injured yesterday and can't perform today—maybe even longer. You're here to replace her, right?"
Ah… so Mary was the injured stripper from yesterday. Isolde quickly nodded.
"Yes, I'm Mary's replacement."
"Then hurry up and get changed. You've already got makeup on, so no need to get glammed up again—just change." He pointed toward a metal clothing rack in the corner of the room.
"You can choose whichever outfit you want."
Isolde walked over to the rack. As she did, she faintly heard Lucien's voice through the earpiece in her ear.
"I forgot to mention—you'll be pole dancing. Make sure you don't mess up your performance."
Isolde clicked her tongue in annoyance upon hearing his voice. Did Lucien seriously choose her for this mission without even considering whether she could pole dance or not?
What if she couldn't do it and ruined everything? She'd raise suspicion and might get dragged out by security.
Fortunately, Isolde had taken pole dance classes back in high school, so she knew how to work the pole.
In fact, she was quite skilled. She used to love attention, often going to clubs and dancing freely just to be the center of it.
Isolde had just finished changing into her outfit when a woman with curly brown hair approached her.
"I heard from Thomas that you're Mary's replacement. Why didn't you show up for rehearsal?"
"Umm, I…" Isolde hesitated, unsure of what to say.
"But it's fine. What matters is that you know the basics of pole dancing. Besides, we're not the main act. We'll just be dancing on the sides, repeating the same moves over and over. The main star is her."
The woman with curly brown hair pointed toward a woman applying bright red lipstick.
She leaned in and whispered,
"Her name's Tiffara—she's the center. Just look at her outfit, completely different from the rest. She's also the best at pole tricks. You'll see for yourself later. Oh, and since you missed the rehearsal, I'll walk you through the choreography. You just need to stick to the basic moves. Don't try to stand out more than Tiffara—she'll get pissed, and you'll become her next punching bag."
Isolde nodded in understanding. Besides, she had no desire to draw attention to herself—she had come here for a different reason, not to become a stripper.
.
.
.
Isolde's eyes scanned the room sharply as she danced, waiting for the right moment to follow Lucien's instructions on which room she was supposed to sneak into.
"Remember, Isolde—you can't get to the upper floor without an access card. It's silver. You'll need to steal one from someone to get up there," Lucien's voice came through the earpiece in her ear.
Isolde clicked her tongue quietly. How was she supposed to steal an access card without drawing attention?
She hadn't even seen anyone with such a card—not even by the time her dance session ended.
After the performance, Isolde walked back to the dressing room with the other dancers, staying at the very back of the group. As they walked, her eyes caught sight of a man dressed entirely in black walking toward them, about to pass her and the other dancers.
Isolde noticed something resembling a card in his shirt pocket—its color matched Lucien's description.
A second later, Isolde pretended to trip just as the man was about to pass by. She intentionally fell into his arms. She took advantage of the moment to slip the card out of his shirt pocket.
"Are you okay?" the man asked, helping her back to her feet.
Isolde winced and faked pain. "Sorry… my heels are too high—I'm having trouble walking properly."
"No worries," the man said, continuing on his way—completely unaware that the card that had been in his pocket was now in Isolde's hand.
While the other dancers turned left, Isolde, who was at the very back, didn't follow them to the dressing room. Instead, she turned right, heading down a quiet hallway toward the elevator that could only be accessed with the card she had stolen.
She couldn't waste any time—the man she stole the card from might have already realized it was missing and started suspecting her.
Isolde stepped into the elevator, which took her to the upper floor. When the doors opened, all she saw was an empty corridor. At the end of it was a single room—likely the one Lucien had told her about.
Her fingers wrapped around the door handle. To her surprise, it wasn't locked.
She slipped inside the dimly lit room.
"Lucien, I'm inside," Isolde whispered, pressing the device in her ear.
But there was no response. Was the earpiece broken?
Isolde decided to search the desk drawers without Lucien's guidance. What he wanted was evidence—anything incriminating against the owner of this place, whose name she'd already forgotten.
She rifled through every drawer, but there was nothing useful, nothing that could help her fulfill Lucien's promise of staying out of prison for good.
Clicking her tongue in frustration, Isolde scanned the room again—until her eyes landed on a safe. She rushed to it and tried to open it, but it was locked tight.
It required a code.
Isolde ran her fingers through her hair, overwhelmed. Of all times, Lucien had to go silent now. As a detective, shouldn't he know how to crack a safe like this without leaving a trace?
While she was still caught in her frustration, the room's lights suddenly turned on. Before she could even turn around, Isolde felt something cold pressed against her left temple.
She didn't need to look to know what it was.
A gun. A weapon capable of blowing her brains out onto the floor in an instant.
"Well, look who we got here. I don't recall having any other guests today—especially a woman."
The voice was deep, making it hard for Isolde even to swallow.
"Looks like I'll be killing more people today... thanks to Lucien."
…