It was a terrible night for you as you nursed a cocktail, sitting alone by the counter of an upscale bar you were supposed to be meeting your Tinder date at. Things were just not in your favour tonight despite the anticipation you had built for yourself. Reading over the last few messages the both of you had exchanged earlier that night didn’t help ease the burn you felt. You picked out your best dress and designer heels which you rarely touched except for when the occasion called for it and even did your hair for a change with the little spending money you had left. As the drink touched your lips, you feel a large presence behind you, followed by a gentle brush of a hand that curled on your hip.

He completely encircled you, boxing you in from leaving the bar stool before whispering flirtatiously in your ear, “So my darling, how much for a night? Name your price and I’d double it.” You turned to see a set of amber eyes of steel looking down at you with purpose. He thought you were an escort.