Confessions of an Escort：The Dark Hobbies of the Wealthy - Chapter 12: Chapter 12
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I packed up what was left of my flowers and left the rented apartment behind.
Alexander Valdemar offered me one of his vacant properties—a gilded cage with velvet curtains.
I played my part perfectly: the docile girl, obedient as a broken puppy. No fight left, just quiet submission.
He liked that. So much that he dropped my address in his exclusive group chat like it was an open invitation.
My days blurred into nights. Visitors came whenever they pleased—afternoons, midnight, dawn. All Alexander's friends. All expecting my undivided attention.
In return, they left behind more than just memories.
Designer bags, silk dresses, jewelry tossed aside like party favors. A single pair of Balenciaga stockings, shredded for a night's entertainment, cost more than most people's rent. Forgotten perfume bottles, each worth thousands, cluttered the dresser.
My drawers overflowed with treasures.
But my flowers? Dead. Every last one.
I reached out to a luxury reseller, got quotes on everything. Did the math.
One more year. Just fifty grand short of my dream home's down payment.
Alexander's hand pressed my head down as he took a drag, smoke curling above us. "Remember Vincent Roland?" His voice was casual, amused. "Had a heart attack. Survived, but now his face twitches like a bad Wi-Fi connection. Pathetic."
I stayed dutiful, muffled whimpers my only reply.
"He's been asking about you." His grip tightened—a warning, a promise. "Nobody told him you're mine."
After, he patted my cheek like I was a good dog. "Go get checked."
My stomach lurched. "You mean—?"
Had one of them brought more than just gifts?
If I was dirty now, half the city's elite would be sweating bullets.
"Don't overthink it." He scrolled through his phone. "Party in a few days. Everyone's bringing a girl. You're coming."
"Okay."
No explanation needed. I knew exactly what kind of party it was.
The only question left—would it finally push me over the finish line?
Alexander Valdemar offered me one of his vacant properties—a gilded cage with velvet curtains.
I played my part perfectly: the docile girl, obedient as a broken puppy. No fight left, just quiet submission.
He liked that. So much that he dropped my address in his exclusive group chat like it was an open invitation.
My days blurred into nights. Visitors came whenever they pleased—afternoons, midnight, dawn. All Alexander's friends. All expecting my undivided attention.
In return, they left behind more than just memories.
Designer bags, silk dresses, jewelry tossed aside like party favors. A single pair of Balenciaga stockings, shredded for a night's entertainment, cost more than most people's rent. Forgotten perfume bottles, each worth thousands, cluttered the dresser.
My drawers overflowed with treasures.
But my flowers? Dead. Every last one.
I reached out to a luxury reseller, got quotes on everything. Did the math.
One more year. Just fifty grand short of my dream home's down payment.
Alexander's hand pressed my head down as he took a drag, smoke curling above us. "Remember Vincent Roland?" His voice was casual, amused. "Had a heart attack. Survived, but now his face twitches like a bad Wi-Fi connection. Pathetic."
I stayed dutiful, muffled whimpers my only reply.
"He's been asking about you." His grip tightened—a warning, a promise. "Nobody told him you're mine."
After, he patted my cheek like I was a good dog. "Go get checked."
My stomach lurched. "You mean—?"
Had one of them brought more than just gifts?
If I was dirty now, half the city's elite would be sweating bullets.
"Don't overthink it." He scrolled through his phone. "Party in a few days. Everyone's bringing a girl. You're coming."
"Okay."
No explanation needed. I knew exactly what kind of party it was.
The only question left—would it finally push me over the finish line?
End of Confessions of an Escort：The Dark Hobbies of the Wealthy Chapter 12. Continue reading Chapter 13 or return to Confessions of an Escort：The Dark Hobbies of the Wealthy book page.