Chapter 4

Avery's POV

After the breakup, I reported to The Summit Club as if nothing had changed.

Once my shift supervisor, Hank Campbell, noticed Julian had stopped visiting, his attitude shifted day by day.

It started with him deliberately assigning me the graveyard shifts. Then he began brushing his hands over mine during shift handovers. Soon, his comments became outright disgusting.

"Julian tossed you out like trash, didn't he?" he sneered, leaning against the marble front desk, his sleazy gaze crawling up and down my body. "Why not give me a shot instead? I might not have his millions, but I sure know how to treat a pretty girl in bed."

I swallowed the disgust rising in my throat and slid the shift roster right in front of his face.

"I’ve covered all my scheduled hours, Mr. Campbell. If there's nothing else, I have VIPs waiting."

Hank stepped forward, blocking my path, his voice low and menacing. "Don't play hard to get with me. I control your schedule and your performance reviews. One word from me and your bonus this month is history. You think you're still Sterling's little princess?"

I didn't say a word. I simply stepped around him and walked off.

In my head, the clock was ticking. Once the Apex Capital gala was over, my assignment here would be officially done.

A week later, the club hosted a high-stakes corporate networking gala.

I was outside the private dining suite overseeing the catering line. Standing behind the carved partition screen, I heard Julian’s distinct voice drift through the room.

"Chloe comes from a pristine, respectable family," he said, glass raised, his chin tipped with proud arrogance. "She’s educated, elegant, and completely untainted. Not like the girls you find crawling around venues like this."

Someone at the table laughed knowingly. "Come on, Julian. What about that stunning concierge you kept around for three years?"

Julian gave a casual, dismissive chuckle. "Please. A woman who works this scene? Who knows how many hands she's passed through."

Standing behind the screen holding the heavy silver tray, my expression didn't shift by a millimeter.

Yet inside my head, every single time he had publicly humiliated me over the past three years flashed before my eyes like a film reel.

The first time was at an elite private party. Someone asked what I did for a living, and he smirked, muttering, "Just club staff," with that lazy, condescending curl of his lip.

The second time was at his birthday bash. Half-drunk, he laughed loudly in front of all his friends, boasting that I was "fantastic in bed."

A third time. A fourth time... I tallied every wound, locking each one deep in my memory.

I had endured every single insult because the mission wasn't finished.

The suite door swung open, and Julian walked out into the corridor, running right into me.

He froze for a second, his lips parting as if to say something, but Chloe hurried out behind him, clinging tightly to his arm.

"Julian! Where did you run off to? I've been waiting forever!"

Julian glanced at me once, wrapped his arm firmly around Chloe’s waist, and started walking away.

After a couple of paces, he murmured to her, "Just an old acquaintance from the club. Don't worry about her."

Chloe cast a smug, triumphant glare over her shoulder before leaning back into him.

I remained motionless holding the tray, my knuckles bleaching bone-white.

The champagne flutes rattled slightly against the silver. I tightened my grip, stabilized my hands, and set the tray down on the service station.

From down the hall, Hank had watched the entire encounter unfold.

The second Julian’s sports car roared past the club gates, Hank shadowed me down the dimly lit hallway, violently seizing my forearm from behind.

"Get in the utility closet. We need to talk about your performance."

I tried to shake him off, but his grip clamped like iron.

"Sterling dumped you! Stop playing the saint!" He dragged me toward the locked storage room at the end of the hall, vile words spewing from his mouth. "You're getting with me tonight whether you like it or not."

He shoved me inside and threw the deadbolt, lunging straight at me.

I ducked sideways with lethal speed. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the heavy fire extinguisher mounted on the wall.

I ripped it off the bracket, pulled the safety pin in one fluid motion, and blasted the nozzle straight into his face.

A blinding cloud of white chemical powder engulfed him. Choking and blinded, he dropped his hands to claw at his burning eyes.

In that split second, I grabbed his wrist, twisted it back viciously, and slammed him face-first into the concrete wall.

His face was crushed against the cold plaster, groaning in agony as I pinned his arm behind his back.

"I quit," I whispered into his ear, my voice icy, applying just enough leverage to make his joints pop.

Hank cried out in sheer pain.

I let him drop, stripped off my club blazer right there, hurled it onto the dusty floor, and unlocked the door.

A few servers in the corridor jumped back in shock. Without looking left or right, I walked straight out through the grand entrance of the club.

The outside sunlight hit my eyes like broken glass. Standing on the marble steps, I drew in a long, clean breath.

The next morning, word reached me that Hank Campbell had been fired on the spot and blacklisted across the industry.

I knew Julian had pulled strings in the background to handle it, so I shot him a brief text of thanks.

My phone rang almost immediately. But when I answered, it wasn't Julian. It was Chloe.

"Avery Vance, are you a walking disease or what?" Chloe’s voice was high-pitched and venomous. "You're dumped! Why are you still sliding into Julian’s phone? Do you have zero shame?"

I didn't waste a single breath. I hung up on her face.

Later that afternoon, I returned to the club to process my final paperwork, only to feel the suffocating tension the moment I stepped inside.

The two receptionists at the front desk instantly dropped their heads, whispering in frantic undertones.

The WhatsApp staff channels and member SnapChat groups had exploded. Someone had leaked my driver's license alongside a dozen forged motel booking records, stamped with a sleazy caption: The Summit Club’s VIP Manager Avery Vance: Long-Term Escort for Wealthy Members.

Standing in the grand lobby, I felt the heavy, mocking stares of every single person drilling into my skin.

I knew that look all too well. It was the hungry look people get when they smell blood.

The general manager walked out of his corner office, looking thoroughly uncomfortable.

"Avery... maybe head home for today. We’ll... look into this internally."

I didn't argue.

I glanced down at the leaked screenshots on my screen. The photo of my driver's license had been saved on Julian’s private phone. Nobody could have accessed it except Chloe Davis.

I walked back to the locker room, dumped my few personal belongings into a brown paper bag, and walked out of the club for the last time.

Sitting at a red light, I pulled out my secure burner phone and texted Agent Miller.

“Miller. As soon as this mission wraps, I want an immediate transfer out of this city.”