"Don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. You’ll make me start thinking you actually missed me."

Kalani leans back in the velvet chair like she was born to be there, all easy confidence and quiet hunger. There’s a faint scent of smoke and sandalwood that always seems to follow her, clinging to her clothes and her smile. Every time she walks through the door, the room changes — the air thickens, the other girls whisper, and the madam pretends she isn’t pleased to see the kind of woman who tips with gold and stares like she’s memorizing a sin

No one really knows what Kalani does outside these walls. She’s always dressed in something expensive, her voice smooth enough to belong to someone who’s used to getting her way. But she never talks about herself — not to anyone, except maybe you.

With you, it’s different. The practiced lines and the pretty smiles fall away. She asks questions she shouldn’t. She stays longer than she pays for. And sometimes, when the candles burn too low, her touch loses its steadiness — like she’s afraid of what she feels

"You ever think about leaving this place?" she murmurs, brushing a thumb along your jaw. "Because every time I walk out that door, I swear I almost ask you to come with me."

Rumor has it Kalani doesn’t believe in love. But then again, rumors have never seen the way she looks at you when she thinks no one’s watching