My Father Married Me Off for Profit

In the lively heart of London, there was a nightclub called Rebel. Every evening, as the city lights flickered on, Rebel buzzed with energy and excitement. Neon signs and flashing colors filled the room, creating an atmosphere of indulgence and thrill.

In the center of the dance floor stood a raised platform, surrounded by large speakers. A small railing defined the space where a group of young men, dressed in trendy streetwear, were setting up instruments that perfectly matched the club's hip-hop vibe. Just past six in the evening, the nightclub was bustling with people of all ages, eagerly awaiting the pulse of music to fill the air. Bartenders moved deftly through the crowd, serving glasses of chilled gin and tonic to those looking to escape reality for a little while. If a patron was generous, a good tip was guaranteed to find its way into their pocket.

The beat of the night began with a powerful "boom" as the drummer's sticks hit the first notes. As various instruments joined in, people on the dance floor moved wildly, shaking their heads to the rhythm, momentarily leaving their worries behind.

It was unclear how much time had passed when the DJ's booming music filled every corner of the club. Multicolored lights flickered erratically as three girls took their place on the platform. Dressed in black, revealing outfits, they danced provocatively to the rhythm of a pole dance, drawing every eye in the room.

In the spotlight, the central dancer captured everyone's attention. Her smoky eye makeup was thick, her lips a bold crimson, and her captivating eyes held the room spellbound. Her fair skin glowed under the lights, and her graceful movements mesmerized the audience. Her black strapless top offered glimpses of her skin, and her tiny black shorts rode up with every bend, barely preserving her modesty. A shining jewel adorned her navel like a rose petal, and oversized earrings dangled from her ears. Her auburn hair was styled high in a sleek ponytail, adorned with small black and white flowers.

As she spun and swayed, her long legs wrapped seductively around the polished pole. Her fingers glided over her legs, waist, and chest, changing her gestures fluidly. A faintly sad smile graced her beautiful face, and even the brightest lights could not overshadow the sorrow in her eyes. Her seductive dance was performed with an unexpected elegance, captivating the club’s audience.

All the men in the room were transfixed, unable to tear their gazes away from the fiery performance. A group of middle-aged men waved a server over with a flash of cash, whispering with lewd intent, their eyes greedily fixed on the dancer with frog-like lust.

The dance concluded, sweat glistening on her neck. Her smile faded, her eyes now wary, exuding a distant aura as she wrapped her arms around herself protectively. She ignored the men whistling for her attention, dodging their advances as she retreated to an unnoticed corner. Quickly, she slipped on a trench coat to cover herself, wiping away the remains of her makeup with a damp cloth, feeling repelled by her own reflection.

“Nina, someone would like you to join them for a drink,” a server shouted over the pounding DJ music, his voice barely reaching her ears. She shouted back, “What is it?” He pointed to a dimly lit corner where a group of older men gestured suggestively. Disgust twisted her stomach. She yelled back, “Tell them I don’t do drinks!”

Soon after, the server approached again, this time holding a fan of cash. “They said if you join them, this is your tip. Please them, and there could be more.” Nina stared at the money, conflicted but resolute. Though she desperately needed cash, she wouldn’t compromise her dignity.

“Sorry, I don’t do drinks,” she repeated, placing the cash on the table, her eyes lowered in disappointed refusal. Just as she turned to leave, a grubby hand clamped onto her wrist, fingers slithering over her skin as a man coaxed, “Come on, darling. Keep us company. How hard can it be for someone who dances like that?”

Another chimed in, pushing a gin and tonic toward her, saying, “You’re here to have fun, right? Just down this gin and tonic, and the money’s yours,” as his hand attempted to tuck the cash where it shouldn’t be.

Nina’s face hardened, pulling away from his grasp. “I said no. I don’t do drinks!” she asserted, her gaze icy. Her sudden defiance stunned the group of men momentarily. Then one chuckled, “Oh, playing hard to get, are we? I like this one!”

“Back off, she’s mine tonight,” another contested, draping an arm over her shoulder. Her complexion turned ashen, and she bit her lip, shrugging him off. As she turned to leave, she was blocked by a group of streetwise thugs, all eager hands, which she managed to dodge or swat away.

“Boss, she's called Nina, hasn't been at Rebel long, but her dancing is the hottest, the most entrancing,” a stocky man, eager to curry favor, offered a cigarette to a blonde thug, motioning toward Nina. The thug took a drag, reaching for her. “Name your price, you’re spending tonight with me.”

Nina slapped his hand away, retreating into the crowd only to stumble back into the leering older men. They laughed deeply, “Young men got no game. Leave it to us seasoned folk, huh!”

“Get lost!” She pushed past them, her voice rising in desperation. “I told you, I don’t drink with strangers. Leave me alone!”

“Oh, feisty!” The blonde thug smirked, tossing his cigarette to the floor and crushing it under his heel. “Get her out of here. I want to see what she’s got,” he barked at his lackeys.

“Yeah, boss! Show us how it’s done!” cheered the goons as they smacked their hands together. The middle-aged group protested, “Hey, show some respect for your elders! There are rules, you know!”

“Shut it, old man,” the blonde thug sneered, swinging a punch that connected with a middle-aged man’s nose, blood spraying in a crimson arc. The victim cursed and fought back, and chaos erupted in Rebel.

Nina seized the opportunity to escape, but a burly man hauled her over his shoulder. Despite her kicking and biting, his bulk absorbed the blows.

“Put me down! Let me go!” Desperate, she fought, knowing full well what awaited if she didn’t get away. She clawed at his head, hoping to tear hair from scalp, but finally, he flung her to the floor.

The impact left her breathless, pain shooting through her body. She struggled to stand, her face pale, but anger replaced fear as she hurled every object within reach at her pursuers.

Rebel devolved into chaos, the patrons more eager to watch than to help, some even joining the melee. The club manager, his face green with worry over damages, called security to break it up. He couldn’t afford such a mess.

Amidst the fracas, Nina was captured again by the blonde thug, who yanked her up by her hair, dragging her outside despite her protests. “You filthy brat, dare to hit my guy? You’re gonna regret this,” he spat.

“I didn’t mean to hit him,” she pleaded, fear cracking her icy facade. “Please, let me go. I’ll call the police!” Her desperation made her cling to his shirt, hoping he’d find her too much trouble to deal with and leave her on the street.

Instead, her tears seemed to ignite his lust. The thug smiled crudely, gripping her arm, aiming for her lips.

Panic seized Nina. She struck out, her hand meeting his face with a resounding slap. Humiliated in front of his crew, his rage flared. “Strip her! I want her now!”

The kick to her stomach sent her sprawling, blood trickling from her mouth. She clutched her abdomen, slick with sweat. She hadn’t expected her life to spiral here, on the unforgiving pavement with indifferent passersby.

She bit her lip, the iron tang of blood filling her mouth. Her hands fended off insistent fingers, her voice rising above the fray: “Get your hands off me! Someone, please help me!”