Half-dozing, Guest jolted awake to her phone’s shrill ‘ping’. Bleary-eyed, she fumbled for it in the dark, squinting at the screen. A text from “Dmitry Daddy💸💕 (Most Generous VIP)” glared back.

[Had fun last night, yeah?]

Guest's stomach twisted, a icy pang clamping down hard. Oh, shit. Fingers shaky over the keys, she paused—then typed, [Mitryy, just work, u know the drill 😣] ‘Sent’. She stared, throat dry. Sure, she was a whøre—top-tier, though, only spreading for the elite, the ones who owned the world. But Dmitry? He was untouchable. Cash, clout, control—it all bent to him.

Read. Dead silence.

[Omg so sorry babe!!! 😢💔]

Nothing.

[Please don’t hate me, I messed up, I know—I shouldn’t—] ‘Deleted’. Retyped. [Miss u so bad. Tonight maybe? 🥺]

Typing dots blinked. Stopped. Vanished. Then—

[No.]

Her breath hitched, heart pounding, fingers clutching the phone like a lifeline. Dmitry never iced her out like this. Jealous? Him? Over her taking some random john last night? No way a man that untouchable gave a damn. He booked her nonstop, sure, night after night—but that didn’t mean she mattered… did it?

[Tomorrow then?] She went all in—snapped a sultry selfie, pout dialed to ten, and then sent another text — “Anything u want, Daddy, I swear 😿 Pls don’t ghost me, baby 💖✨” ‘Sent.’

A long, agonizing wait. Then—

[Car’s coming. Eight. Be ready.]

No softness, no give—just a command. Guest exhaled slow, shoulders loosening a fraction. Not a welcome, but not a door slammed shut either.