Chapter 2: Not a Prostitute

Milan's POV

His shoulders began to shake. I could see him struggling to control his emotions, but I didn't care. Right now, I just wanted to be alone, to figure out how to spend what little time I had left.

"Keep your money." He took a deep breath, his voice low and strained. "I may work for you, but I'm not a prostitute. You don't need to treat me like this."

"You said 'work,' so paying you for your services seems appropriate, doesn't it?" I fastened my bra, completely indifferent. "Whether you're a prostitute or not doesn't matter to me. There's no real difference."

That seemed to push him over the edge. His handsome face turned ashen, his jawline so tight it looked ready to snap. And in that instant, I saw his pupils change—those deep blue eyes suddenly transformed into dark gold vertical slits, like the eyes of some wild beast.

I flinched, rubbing my eyes. When I looked again, his eyes had returned to their normal deep blue.

Had I imagined it? Or was the cancer spreading to my brain, causing hallucinations?

He avoided my gaze and said nothing. He bent down to retrieve his pants and put them on, not even glancing at the cash scattered on the floor. He walked straight toward the door.

At the doorway, he paused and looked back at me.

That one look made my heart skip a beat. His face was all sharp angles and severe lines in the dim light, the kind of face that looked carved from stone rather than born. His eight-pack abs and muscular arms radiated dense, coiled power—not the sculpted kind earned in gyms, but something raw and primal, built into bone and sinew. He exuded a magnetism that pulled at something deep and instinctive in me, the part that knows when it's standing before a predator. The emotions in his eyes were too complex to read—anger, disappointment, and something older I couldn't name.

My resolve wavered. I almost called out to him, almost asked him to stay and finish what we'd started. But I'd already said what I'd said, and backing down wasn't in my nature. Besides, there were plenty of other men out there. I didn't need him specifically.

I kept my face cold and said nothing. He withdrew his gaze and pushed through the door. His tall figure looked somehow lonely, leaving me with an inexplicable sense of emptiness.

The private room fell silent again. I sat alone on the sofa, feeling the pain in my stomach growing more intense, suddenly overwhelmed by the urge to cry.

My phone vibrated. Thinking it was Tyrone again, I prepared to hang up immediately, but the caller ID showed Heidi's name.

"Hello? Milan, are you done?" Heidi's excited voice came through. "So? How was Sorensen's body? This is the man who turned me down ten times—the most popular rider in the Crimson Storm! Milan, aren't I the best friend ever?"

I froze.

Crimson Storm Riders? That legendary motorcycle club?

"What did you say? He's a rider?"

"Yeah, I told you! I found you the hottest guy at Crimson Storm." Heidi spoke as if it were obvious. "Wait, did you think he was a prostitute? Ha ha ha, Milan! Riders aren't prostitutes—they're the coolest guys in the whole city. Countless girls would kill for a chance to get in their beds!"

My face instantly burned with heat.

So he really wasn't a prostitute. He was a Crimson Storm rider, a member of that legendary club every guy in the city wanted to join and every girl wanted to sleep with. And I'd not only treated him like a prostitute, but slapped him and humiliated him with money...

"I..." I opened my mouth, unable to find words.

"Come down now! I'm waiting at the entrance!" Heidi urged. "The night's just getting started! If Sorensen didn't completely satisfy you, I'll help you find someone else!"

I hung up and mechanically finished dressing, grabbed my bag, and left the room. The dim lighting in the hallway made me dizzy, and the pain in my stomach grew so severe I could barely stand.

I steadied myself against the wall and made my way to the club entrance. Sure enough, Heidi's red sports car was parked by the curb. I opened the passenger door and climbed in. Before I could even fasten my seatbelt, Heidi asked eagerly, "So? How was his body? Was it good? How long did you guys go for?"

"We didn't have sex." I took a deep breath and told her everything that had happened in the room.

"What?!" Heidi's eyes widened. "You slapped him? And humiliated him with money? Milan, are you insane? That's Sorensen—the proudest man in the entire city!"

"I know I messed up." I smiled bitterly as another sharp pain shot through my stomach, making me clutch my abdomen.

Heidi saw my expression and sighed. She knew about my condition, knew my time was limited. That's why she was trying so hard to make me happy.

"Forget it, don't overthink it, Milan." She patted my shoulder, trying to lighten the mood. "The night's just beginning! If Sorensen didn't work out, I'll help you find someone else—we'll keep looking until you find a man who satisfies you!"

She enthusiastically began introducing other clubs she knew, recommending the men there. Not wanting to dampen her spirits, I forced a smile and played along.

"Even if they're not as hot as Sorensen, they should at least be this good-looking." She suddenly brightened, pointing ahead.

I followed her finger, and the smile on my face instantly froze. I felt my heart stop beating.

Tyrone.

Why was he here?

But his presence alone wasn't enough to shock me this much. What truly stunned me was that he wasn't alone—he had his arm around a woman, kissing her passionately under the streetlight.

And that woman was my sister.

Mili Atlantici.

The genuine Atlantici family heiress.