Beauty and the Devil
Description
I was twenty-five. Still a virgin. Not because I was saving myself - just because life never gave me the space to want anything. I was exhausted, broke, trying to keep my younger brother Michael in school and out of trouble. Every day was work and worry, double shifts at the spa, scraping by while the world moved on without me. Then I got offered a private client. High-paying. Last-minute. Nobody else wanted him. They said he was dangerous. The kind of man people whispered about but never dared to name. His name was Clyde Marlowe. He didn't touch me that first day, but he saw me. Really saw me. Like he knew exactly what I was - someone who'd never been touched, someone with nothing left to lose but pretending she had control. When Michael got caught up with the wrong people - dealers, gang money, promises he couldn't keep - Clyde made me a deal. He'd handle the debt. He'd keep Michael alive. But I had to work for him. Not in the spa. In his club. I danced. I performed. I wore what he told me to wear. And I told myself I could survive it. That I could do all of it and still walk away untouched. But the more time I spent in that house, under his rules, the more I started to unravel. Because it wasn't just the club. It was him. Clyde didn't want sex. He wanted control. He wanted presence. And the sickest part was... I started wanting to give it to him. Even when I hated him. Even when I hated myself.
Chapter 1
Jun 22, 2025
Samantha’s POV
The older woman on my table let out a sigh of contentment as I adjusted the towel across her shoulders. “You have magic in your hands, dear,” she said, her voice like velvet unraveling. “And you’re easy to talk to. That’s rare these days.”
I smiled faintly and nodded. I’d heard that a lot—about the talking, the listening. Not the magic. That part always felt like a fluke.
I used to dream of quiet offices and meaningful conversations. A desk with plants on it. Degrees framed on the wall. Helping people untangle the mess inside their minds like a soft, guiding voice through the dark.
But life doesn’t care about your plans.
Now I work in a dim room that smells like lavender and lemon balm, pressing knots out of strangers’ backs for a living. I still help people, I guess. Just not the way I wanted.
When she left, I sat on the edge of the massage table, rubbed the ache out of my palms, and looked at the clock. Still four hours left on my shift. Another full room waiting. Maybe two.
I didn’t used to feel this tired. But then again, I didn’t use to carry the weight of someone else’s future on my shoulders.
Michael—my little brother, my only family—was the reason I pushed through every day. I’d been seventeen when our parents died, twenty when I gave up on college, twenty-three when I took the second job. Now I was twenty-five, with chestnut hair I didn’t have time to style and a face clients called “pretty” in the same breath they asked if I had a boyfriend.
I didn’t. Never did. Not because I wasn’t interested. Just… I never had the time. Between double shifts and sleepless nights, my heart was too busy surviving to fall in love.
Some of the clients tried—tried to flirt, tried to touch—but I learned early how to sidestep unwanted hands and overfamiliar glances. Kira, my manager, was worse than all of them. She was always hovering, eyes sharp, voice louder than necessary. The kind of woman who lived for control, even if it meant stepping on people to feel tall.
She’d been caught doing happy-ending massages once. Did jail time. Now she was on parole and walking a thin line between boss and parasite. But I needed the job, and she knew it.
At least Michael appreciated what I did. Sometimes. We’d sit on our threadbare couch at night, knees touching, sharing cold leftovers and bills. I helped him with taxes. He taught me how to reset our Wi-Fi when it glitched. We were a team. Just the two of us. Always had been.
But lately, something had shifted.
His friends— those friends—had started dressing better. Flashier shoes. Sleek watches. They said they ran with a crew now, a local group moving things that didn’t belong on college campuses. I told him to stay away. He rolled his eyes. Said I didn’t understand.
We fought about it last night. Again. The fear that I was losing him clawed at my insides, quiet but relentless.
Back at the spa, I washed my hands slowly, watching the water swirl oil and sweat down the drain. The next client was late, which was strange. My whole day ran like clockwork. I glanced up just as Kira’s voice crackled through the intercom.
“All staff, lobby. Now.”
The hallway echoed with footsteps. I joined the stream of worn-out therapists filing toward the reception desk, dread growing heavy in my chest. Whenever Kira used that tone, it meant something bad—usually disguised as an “opportunity.”
She stood near the marble counter like a vulture on a throne, tapping one red nail against her clipboard. “We’ve got a situation,” she said, smiling like it was good news. “A VIP client is returning. Appointment is at his place, in an hour.”
A pause.
Then the ripple.
A few people exchanged glances. Melanie took a step back. Marta actually whispered, “No way.”
Kira didn’t flinch. “We need someone to take him. Vanessa—” she gave a little shrug, “—resigned. Abruptly.”
No one said a word.
“Five times the standard rate.”
My ears perked up. Not that I needed to hear it again. I’d already calculated what that money could mean. A laptop upgrade for Michael. A week’s groceries. Maybe even one night without counting coins.
Still, the silence stretched on.
Then the whispers came.
“He’s dangerous.” “A killer.” “Drug lord.” “Monster.”
No one had proof. Just fragments and fear.
I looked around. Every single woman there avoided eye contact. Arms crossed. Spines stiff. No one wanted to be the one.
And then I heard my own voice, flat and steady.
“I’ll take him.”
Kira’s eyes lit up, like she’d just won a bet. “You sure, Sam?”
I swallowed. “He’s just a guy.”
My voice didn’t shake. My hands did.
“What’s the worst that could happen?”
Beauty and the Devil
30 Chapters
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