Chapter 9 The Revenge Plot

Amelia

I walked forward, counting my steps. At twenty-eight, I heard voices—Marco's distinctive Italian accent and someone else's deeper rumble.

I stopped just outside the door.

"Marco?" I said quietly.

The conversation inside cut off.

"Amelia?" Marco sounded surprised. "Come in."

I stepped into the doorway. "I'm sorry to interrupt. I can come back if—"

"No, no. We're done here." Chairs scraped. Heavy footsteps approached. "We'll finish this later," Marco said to whoever else was in the room.

The other person walked past me, close enough that I could smell cologne and leather. He didn't say anything, but I felt his gaze on me—assessing, curious.

Then he was gone.

"Sit," Marco said. "What do you need?"

I found the chair across from what I assumed was his desk and sat down carefully.

"I..." How did I ask this without sounding weak? "I need a favour."

"Already?" There was amusement in his voice. "You've been here one day."

"I know. And I'll pay you back, I promise. But I need a cane. I need a white cane, similar to the ones used by blind people. I lost mine when I first got to the city, and without it I can't—I can't navigate properly."

Silence. I could imagine him studying me, weighing the request.

"A cane," he repeated.

"Yes. I know where to get them, if you can just—"

"I'll get you one," he interrupted. "However, the cost will be deducted from your pay. You understand?"

Relief flooded through me. "Yes. Thank you."

"Anything else?"

I hesitated. The idea that had been forming upstairs felt fragile, maybe stupid. But I had to try.

"I have something I want to do with it," I said slowly. "With the cane. Something that might help me work better here."

"I'm listening."

I took a breath. "The special customers you mentioned—the ones who value discretion. They don't just want someone who can't identify them. They want someone who makes them feel safe. Comfortable. Someone who isn't a threat."

"Go on."

"Being blind makes me seem helpless. Vulnerable. Non-threatening." The words tasted bitter, but they were true. "But if I have my cane, if I move more confidently, if I can navigate the private rooms without fumbling—it shows I'm capable. Competent. That I can handle myself even though I can't see."

"And why would that matter to them?"

"Because competent is trustworthy. Helpless is pitiable. Men like the ones who come here don't want to pity the girl serving their drinks. They want someone who knows how to be discreet, how to handle herself, and how to keep secrets without being told." I leaned forward slightly. "I can be that person. But I need the right tools."

He remained silent for another long moment.

Then Marco laughed, a genuine sound of surprise and approval.

"Smart girl," he said. "Smarter than I gave you credit for. You're right—confidence sells better than desperation. Even for special customers. Especially for them."

"So you'll get me the cane?"

"I'll get you the cane. You should have it by tonight. And Amelia?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let the other girls get to you. Jade's been here six months and still doesn't understand the game. You grasped the game in just one day. "That's why you got the position she wanted. Not just because you're blind. It's because you possess the intelligence to effectively utilise it.

The compliment felt strange. The compliment was both validating and uncomfortable.

"Thank you," I said quietly.

"Now get out of here. Rest up. You're working tonight."

I stood and turned toward the door.

"Amelia?"

I stopped. "Yes?"

"The cane helps with navigation. But you know what really helps in this business?"

"What?" I asked.

"You need to know who to trust and who to fear."

His words sent a chill down my spine.

"I'll remember that," I said.

As I left his office and made my way back through the bar, Marco's warning echoed in my mind.

Know who to trust. Who to fear.

The problem was, I wasn't sure which category Marco himself fell into.

This includes the drunk customer from last night who kissed me and then passed out.

Or anyone else in this world I'd stumbled into.

But I was going to figure it out.

Because survival wasn't just about having a room and a job.

As I left his office and made my way back through the bar, a small smile tugged at my lips despite everything.

Marco thought I wanted the cane for professional reasons. This was important for navigating the private rooms and for appearing more competent to customers.

And sure, those were benefits.

But what I was really thinking about was the satisfying crack a solid white cane would make against someone's shin if they tried to trip me again.

Or how I could "accidentally" sweep it wide in a crowded hallway and knock into someone who thought it was funny to laugh at the blind girl.

Having a cane meant I wouldn't have to trail my hands along walls, and I wouldn't appear helpless and fumbling in front of Jade and her friends.

My palms still stung from hitting the floor. My knee still throbbed, a reminder of how they'd laughed at me, mocked me, and treated me like I was nothing. Well, I'd show them what someone who feels like nothing could do.

I wasn't going to cry anymore. I wasn't going to hide in my room and wish that things were different.

I was determined to thoroughly understand this building. I was determined to master every step, turn, and obstacle in this building. I was going to move through Crimson like I owned it, cane tapping confidently, head held high.

And the next time Jade or any of her friends tried something? They'd regret it.

The thought warmed me more than it probably should have.

'You're a survivor,' Mrs Thomas had said.

She was right.

And survivors didn't just endure.

They adapted. They fought back.

By tonight, I'd have my cane.

And then we would determine who was laughing, as I intend to use my cane decisively against them. They will know what it takes to spend an entire 18 years as a blind orphan.

I shouldn't have to go through all these. This also makes my hatred for my parents or whoever birthed me grow.