3. Chapter 3

three

Clara

T onight, I'm out to fuck one, maybe two of those bastards.

If men can screw around whenever they want, why the hell can’t I? No strings, no bullshit—just raw, unapologetic release.

I step into the Versace store, the plush carpet cushioning my stiletto-clad feet. The scent of expensive perfume and leather handbags wafts through the air, mingling with the soft strains of classical music playing in the background.

I make my way toward the evening gown section, my eyes scanning the racks of designer dresses.

I need something that will make every head turn, every man drool with desire. Something that will make me forget, even if just for a moment, the anger and frustration boiling inside me.

“Good evening, Miss Caldwell. How may I assist you today?”

I turn to see a sales manager approaching me, her sleek black hair pulled back into a tight bun, her red lips stretched into a polite smile.

“I need a dress that will make me look like sex on a stick,” I say bluntly, not in the mood for small talk. “Something that will have every man in the room eating out of the palm of my hand.”

The sales manager blinks, taken aback by my brashness. But she quickly recovers, her smile never wavering. “Of course, Miss Caldwell. I have just the thing.”

She leads me to a rack near the back of the store, filled with dresses in rich, jewel-toned colors. She pulls out a slinky red number, the fabric shimmering under the soft lighting.

“This one is sure to turn heads,” she says, holding it up for me to inspect. “The cut is both elegant and seductive, and the color will complement your skin tone beautifully.”

I take the dress from her, feeling the smooth satin glide between my fingers. It’s exactly what I’m looking for.

“I’ll try it on.”

She nods and escorts me to the dressing rooms, her heels clicking on the marble floor. I step inside and slide the lock into place, quickly stripping off my clothes.

I slip the dress over my head, the fabric hugging my curves like a second skin. I turn to face the mirror, my breath catching in my throat.

The dress is stunning. The deep V-neckline plunges down to my navel, revealing a tantalizing hint of cleavage. The skirt is fitted through the hips and thighs before flaring out into a mermaid silhouette, the hem brushing the tops of my feet. A daring slit runs up the side, nearly reaching my hip bone.

But it’s the back that really steals the show. Or rather, the lack thereof. The dress is completely backless, dipping down to the dimples just above my ass. It’s the kind of dress that demands attention, that screams confidence and sensuality.

“Allow me to say, you look absolutely stunning this evening,” the woman gushes as I step out of the dressing room. “Like a goddess stepping into the mortal world.”

I smirk, preening under her praise.

I know I look good.

With my tanned skin, toned curves, and luscious brown hair, I’ve never had trouble turning heads.

And in this dress? I’ll have men falling at my feet.

After the clusterfuck of a day I’ve had, I deserve a little fun. And if that fun happens to involve a hot, sweaty hookup or two? Even better.

My aim tonight: just have fun with one of those rich, arrogant pricks that frequent the high-end clubs downtown. The kind of men who think they’re God’s gift to women, who believe they can have anyone they want with a snap of their fingers.

I’ll show them who’s really in control. I’ll have them begging for a taste of me, desperate for just a single touch. And when I’m done with them? I’ll toss them aside like the used condoms they are.

If men can stick their dicks into any willing hole they please, then I sure as hell can act the same. I’m not some delicate little flower, content to sit at home and wait for a man to pluck me. I take what I want when I want it.

“I’ll take it,” I tell the satisfied-looking woman, not even bothering to glance at the price tag.

Money is no object, not when Daddy foots the bill.

“Turn left at the next intersection,” I say, glancing at the address Stephan scribbled on the scrap of paper.

The car’s engine hums a low, steady rhythm as we cut through the darkening streets. Mitch’s hands grip the steering wheel, his jaw clenched. I can feel his disapproval without even looking at him, but I don’t give a damn.

“Where’s this place?” Mitch asks, eyes locked straight ahead.

“The Viper’s Nest,” I say, tossing the slip of paper back into my purse. It’s Stephan’s latest find—a secret spot not yet poisoned by my father’s reach.

Mitch keeps quiet, stopping at a traffic light. He drums his fingers on the steering wheel, a sure sign he’s brewing over something he wants to say. I can almost hear his thoughts from here—he’s about to tell me it’s a bad idea. His whole vibe screams he’s not thrilled about me hitting the club tonight.

Ignoring Mitch, I lean back against the plush leather seat, smoothing my hands over the silky fabric of my dress. The Versace gown clings to me, the daring slit up the side revealing a tantalizing glimpse of toned thigh.

Mitch shoots a glance at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes lingering a second too long on the plunging neckline of my dress. “You’re sure about this place?”

I lean back, crossing my legs. The leather seat sticks to my skin, slightly uncomfortable yet thrilling. “Drive, Mitch. That’s an order.”

“Your father’s not gonna be happy about you going off to some secret club.”

I roll my eyes, a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth. “Daddy Dearest can go fuck himself. I’m a grown woman, Mitch. I can do whatever the hell I want.”

He sighs, his fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “It’s not just about your father, Clara. This club… the Viper’s Nest… it sounds like it’s crawling with a whole lot of rotten fuckers.”

“Take the next left at the junction,” I command.

Without a word, he obeys, easing the car into the turn.

“I’ve never heard of this dump before. And the name? Sounds like a fucking rat hole.”

I laugh, “Please, Mitch. I’m not looking for a knitting club or a fucking Bible study group. I want somewhere I can let loose, have a little fun. And if that fun happens to involve a few orgasms and a couple of hot, sweaty bodies? Even better.”

Mitch’s jaw clenches, his disapproval radiating off him in waves. But he knows better than to argue with me when I’m in this mood.

The city lights flash by outside the window, neon signs and streetlamps blurring together in a kaleidoscope of color. The sun has long since set, the darkness wrapping around us like a velvet cloak.

“Your dad wants you back home, Clara,” Mitch says, his voice low and gruff. “He’s worried about you running around like this.”

I scoff, tossing my hair over my shoulder. “Worried about me? That’s rich. The only thing my father’s worried about is his precious reputation. He doesn’t give a damn about me.”

Mitch opens his mouth to argue, but I cut him off with a sharp look. “Just drive, Mitch. I’m not in the mood for a lecture.”

He presses his lips together, his frustration palpable. But he does as I ask.

I stare out the window, my mind drifting to the night ahead. The clubs my father owns are all the same—boring, stuffy places filled with his lackeys and sycophants. They watch my every move, reporting back to him like the good little soldiers they are.

But the Viper’s Nest? It sounds like fucking trouble, which is exactly what I need.

A place where I can be anonymous, where I can shed the weight of my family name and just be Clara.

A place where I can lose myself in the beat of the music and the heat of a stranger’s touch. Where I can forget, even if just for a few hours, the anger and resentment that constantly simmers beneath my skin.

Mitch pulls up to the curb, the car gliding to a smooth stop. He turns to look at me, his brow furrowed with concern. “I don’t like the idea of leaving you alone here, Clara. At least let me come in with you, keep an eye on things.”

I roll my eyes, fixating on the glowing digits of the car’s clock. “And I want a night to myself. No watchdogs, no babysitters.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mitch clench his jaw, his frustration clear even in his silence.

“I’ll find my way back home,” I declare, reaching for the door handle and stepping out into the night.