Chased by My Possessive Ex (Dylan) novel Chapter 12

The club was located on top of the most expensive hotel in the city. My fingers curled tightly into trembling fists as I stared up at the tall building looming over me. Its glass windows were illuminated by the light coming from the inside. And somewhere high up, behind one of those gleaming windows, was the place I needed to go. The last place where I want to be.

I didn’t know how long I’d been standing there, frozen on the sidewalk, heart pounding in my chest like a drum. People passed me by without a second glance, all of them rushing to wherever they needed to be, completely unaware that for me, this wasn’t just any building. This was the last door left unopened. The last line I hadn’t crossed.

I tilted my head up again, eyes trailing the glass and steel that seemed to reach into the clouds. My knees felt like jelly, but I couldn’t move. My pride was pulling me back, whispering that I didn’t belong here. That I should turn around and find another way. But the weight of reality crushed those thoughts before they could take root.

I kept asking myself over and over again if this was truly the only choice I had left. Was I really at the end of the line?

I thought about my parents–how tired and broken they looked. I thought about the broken door of our apartment and the threat that still hung in the air like a curse waiting to strike.

Swallowing hard, I reached for the card again, running my thumb over the edges. The name printed on it shimmered in the sunlight, taunting me like a challenge.

No, this wasn’t the life I wanted. This wasn’t the path I ever dreamed of walking. But dreams didn’t pay off, thugs. And pride didn’t keep the people you loved safe.

So I drew in a shaky breath, forced my feet to move, and stepped toward the building. Every step was heavier than the last, but I kept walking, one foot in front of the other.

I approached the lobby. The beautiful woman behind the desk was beaming with a smile, waiting for me to air my concern.

I stood there, feeling completely out of place. My palms were sweaty, and I couldn’t seem to get a single word past the knot in my throat. I had no idea where to begin or what I was even supposed to say. My mind was blank, my nerves tangled.

The woman behind the reception desk, dressed neatly in all black with a headset tucked over her ear, gave me a kind but curious look. “Is there anything I can help you with, miss?” she asked, her voice smooth and professional but laced with a hint of concern as she noticed my hesitation.

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. Nothing felt right. No explanation I could offer would sound good enough—not even to me. So instead, I reached into my coat pocket, pulled out the gold–embossed card, and silently handed it to her.

She took it gently, her eyes scanning the elegant print. As soon as she saw what it was, something in her expression shifted. Her polite smile faded into something more guarded. She looked up at me again, and

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Chapter 12

though she didn’t say anything right away, her eyes said more than enough.

She knew. The card had said everything I couldn’t bring myself to voice. She knew why I was here.

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And just like that, I felt the weight of her judgment. It wasn’t harsh, not really. But there was that subtle change in the way she looked at me–like she was trying to figure out what kind of girl I was, what kind of situation led me to this place… to this choice.

I shifted uncomfortably, my fingers knotting together in front of me as I looked away. Shame crawled under my skin like an itch I couldn’t scratch. I wasn’t proud of being here. But I was desperate. That card was the last door still open to me.

After a brief moment of silence, she gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. Then, with a flick of her fingers, she signaled to one of the nearby security personnel. The man, tall and sharply dressed in a tailored black suit, moved swiftly toward us. He stood with perfect posture, his expression unreadable.

“Kindly assist Miss…” The receptionist began, then paused and turned her eyes back to me, her eyebrow lifting slightly in quiet expectation.

“Gordon,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt.

She nodded, her professional tone returning with crisp authority. “Please escort Miss Gordon to the top floor and endorse her to Philippe.”

The man gave a single, respectful nod in acknowledgment. “Of course,” he replied. Then, turning to me, he gestured toward the elevators. “This way, miss.”

I hesitated for a second, casting one last look at the receptionist. I forced a polite smile her way, hoping to receive even the smallest reassurance in return. But she was already back to typing on her keyboard, her eyes locked on her screen like I no longer existed.

Swallowing the lump in my throat, I bit down on my lower lip. The weight in my chest grew heavier with every step I took away from the desk. My nerves twisted in knots, but I clenched my hands into fists, willing myself not to crumble.

I couldn’t afford to break down now.

I had made my choice–and now, I had to see it through. No matter how scared I was. No matter what waited for me on that top floor.

So I lifted my chin, straightened my shoulders, and followed the security guard toward the sleek, mirrored elevator. As the doors slid open and we stepped inside, I took a deep breath, trying to quiet the storm inside

1. me.

The elevator ride felt like it lasted forever, though in reality, it was probably no more than a minute. My heart thudded loudly in my chest, each passing second stretching the knot of anxiety in my stomach tighter and tighter. When the doors finally slid open with a soft chime, I was met with the muted hum of music, the scent of expensive perfume, and the low buzz of conversation–polished, exclusive, and intimidating.

The floor was bathed in golden light, every corner gleaming with sophistication and secrecy. This wasn’t just any club. This was a world far removed from the one I came from.

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Chapter 12

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A tall man was already waiting just outside the elevator doors, his posture commanding yet oddly welcoming. He was dressed in an impeccable black suit, his salt–and–pepper hair slicked back with precision. His eyes were sharp and assessing, the kind that could see through lies and hesitation in a heartbeat.

“Miss…” he said as if waiting for me to tell him what to call me, his French accent smooth as velvet.

“Dylan,” I quickly answered.

“Well, Dylan, I am Philippe, the manager.”

I offered a weak smile and nodded politely, unsure of what to say.

“If you’ll come with me, we’ll talk backstage,” he said, gesturing for me to follow.

We moved through the softly lit hallway, past heavy velvet curtains and gold–trimmed mirrors that reflected my nervous expression back at me with every step. I clutched my purse tighter, each beat of the music echoing like a warning in my ears.

Philippe led me to a door marked Private–Staff Only. He opened it for me and stepped aside so I could enter first. Inside, the lighting was warmer, more intimate. Women lounged in silk robes, applying makeup at vanity mirrors or chatting in low tones. The air was filled with laughter, perfume, and the occasional clink of champagne glasses. It felt like a world behind a world–one glittering, mysterious, and seductive.

Philippe closed the door behind us and walked me to a quieter corner where a row of lockers lined the wall.

“I believe Amanda already informed you about the job,” he started.

“Amanda?” I said, frowning.

“The woman who handed you the card,” he clarified. “Our cards here are strictly classified and personalized. Every card given to employees at the bar is unique to its owner.”

“Oh…” I uttered in surprise. “Unfortunately, she didn’t say much, but I had an idea.”

“Is that so?” he said, then looked at me as if he was contemplating whether I’m the right person for the job. “Are you sure no one’s forcing you to be here?” he asked.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. If I were to be honest, I’d say yes. Circumstances were the culprit why I was forced to be here. “I really need money right now.”

Philippe’s eyes softened, but his tone remained firm. “This is a private gentlemen’s club. Our guests are high- profile, wealthy, and discreet. You’ll be expected to entertain, dance, and captivate. No one is forced to do anything they’re uncomfortable with. But the more popular you are, the better the pay. That is how it works here.”

He paused, watching me closely.

“You are beautiful, Dylan. That alone will draw attention. But here, confidence is your currency. Mystery is your charm. You hold the power, not them.”

I nodded slowly, processing his words. It was still a lot to take in, but oddly enough, his honesty steadied

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Chapter 12

something inside me.

“Do I start tonight?” I asked.

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Philippe smiled, a small but approving curve of his lips. “If you feel ready. If not, you may observe. But once you walk that stage… you won’t be the same Dylan Gordon anymore. You’ll be whoever you choose to

become.”

I let out a breath and looked around at the women laughing by the vanities, the mirror–lined walls glowing with soft light, and the polished stage floor visible through a slit in the curtain.

Maybe this wasn’t the life I dreamed of. But right now… it might just be the only chance I had.

And I was going to make the most of it.

“Then I guess it’s time to become someone else,” I whispered.

Philippe nodded. “Good. Welcome to the La Silhouette Sombre. Let’s get you ready.”

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