Page 7 of The Whole Package

"Daddy," Alex's small voice breaks through again. I try to lift my head, desperate to lock eyes with her, to offer some semblance of reassurance amidst the chaos. But he slams me down once more, brutally reminding me how helpless I am. I feel the warm trickle of blood from my cheek, but all I can think about is keeping my child safe.

"I was just asking if they were hiring," I grit out, desperation coloring my words. It's my attempt to reason with him, to protect our daughter from this madness, if only for a moment longer.

"At a bar?" Raphael's growl drips incredulity and rage, his disbelief fueling another violent shove. Alex's cries pierce the air, a heartbreaking soundtrack to the terror unfolding.

"Daddy!" Her voice is a blend of confusion and fear, shattering whatever composure I have left. Tears stream down my face, unchecked, as I feel utterly powerless under his relentless grip.

"What the fuck do you want?" He bellows at her, the malice in his voice terrifying. In a swift, cruel motion, he throws me to the cold floor. I don't pause, scrambling to my feet, adrenaline fueling every movement. "Close your eyes, baby," I whisper to Alex, scooping her into my arms. My heart pounds as I dash to her bedroom, the fear of what Raphael might do propelling me forward.

I slam the door shut, turning the lock just as his body crashes against it from the other side. His screams fill the air, a litany of threats and anger, but for now, the locked door is a barrier, a thin line of defense. Huddled with Alex in the safety of her room, I'm consumed by a sense of urgency, of the need to protect her at all costs.

***

"Miss Elena, wake up," Maggie's voice cuts through the fog of exhaustion, pulling me abruptly from the brief respite of sleep. My eyes fly open, and the stark reality of my apartment, dimly lit in the evening light, settles around me.

"I'm up," I say, my voice heavy with fatigue as I force a smile for my daughter's babysitter. A yawn escapes me despite my best efforts to appear more alert than I feel.

"Sorry to wake you, but I'm heading out now," Maggie says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder with a sympathetic smile. "Alex is already in bed. She had her milk and finished her homework, too."

A wave of gratitude washes over me. "Thank you, Maggie. I sent your payment through Zelle, and the driver will take you home. See you Saturday," I respond, warmth coloring my words. Watching her leave, I can't help but feel proud of the life I've made for myself in this little corner of the world.

As the door closes behind her, the quiet of the apartment envelops me. I'm alone now, save for Alexandra's soft, rhythmic breathing from her bedroom; she is my constant reminder that this is worth every struggle and sacrifice. Gone are the days of living under the tyranny of a man who cared little for his own flesh and blood. I'm not proud of the frantic night I scooped up Alexandra and fled into the darkness, but it was the only way to shield her from a life of fear and harm. I could endure hisrage and absorb the blows meant to break me. Still, the chilling realization that this path would likely end in my death – leaving my daughter in the hands of a monster – was unbearable.

I had to make a choice, and I chose to run. Our nights spent in the cold, impersonal spaces of bus terminals and the occasional shelter were a testament to our desperation. Survival without a job was a relentless struggle, a daily battle against hopelessness.

Eventually, I landed a housekeeping job at a hotel, but the challenge of caring for Alex loomed large. With no one to turn to, I resorted to sneaking her into the hotel, having her hide away while I worked. It was during one of those long shifts that Ava found me. She saw something in me and told me I was too beautiful to be relegated to the background, cleaning up after others. I didn't care about the glitz and glamour of acting; my only goal was to build a stable life for my daughter.

And so, I stepped into Ava's world, creating a semblance of stability for Alexandra. The price? A piece of my soul, a part of me that had already been fractured and scattered by a marriage steeped in abuse and betrayal. My husband had long since eroded any sense of self-worth I clung to. Selling my body was just a transaction, a means to an end. My soul, if it ever truly belonged to me, was a casualty of a life I had to escape from. In this new life, every choice and sacrifice is for Alexandra, for the promise of a future free from the shadows of our past.

***

"We've reached my favorite part of the evening, Elena," Archer Whittington murmurs, his voice low and raspy, a sound I've grown intimately accustomed to in my time with Ava's clientele. Archer was my initiation into this world – my first client. He cradled me through a night of tears, offering comfort without demand, and paid in full despite not putting a singlefinger on me. That night is etched in my memory, something I will be forever in his debt for.

Over time, our relationship has evolved into something akin to friendship, albeit with a unique set of benefits. In these stolen hours, we share pieces of ourselves—he confides his marital woes, and I speak of Alexandra, my pride and joy. He listens, genuinely interested in the tales of her growing up, thriving under the life I've fought so hard to provide.

Archer and his wife were never blessed with children, and with two decades between us, a certain longing flickers in his eyes. It's most apparent when he's lost in passion in those intimate moments. There's a silent wish there, unspoken but palpable, a yearning for the child he never had. Each time he comes inside me, I can sense that faint glimmer of hope – the hope of accidentally fathering the heir he's always wanted, of leaving a legacy beyond the empire he's built.

Again and again, I've reassured Archer that I'm vigilant with birth control and that I always take a morning-after pill as an added precaution. But his persistence belies his hope, a quiet plea that perhaps, one day, I might relent. He believes in the slim chance of my young, healthy body defying the odds. I see the unspoken desire in his eyes – the wish to wear down my defenses, to ignite a spark of possibility. But, deep down, I know he'll never leave his wife. And as for me, I refuse to be his mistress. Part of me still clings to the dream of finding real, unbridled love. Not the kind Archer offers, which, while genuine in its way, is confined within the boundaries of our arrangement. I yearn for someone whose affection I can return without hesitation, without a transactional undertone.

"You love announcing just how loud it's about to get in here, huh?" I tease, lightening the mood as he scans the key card. The door swings open to reveal the familiar opulence of the hotel room.

"I love it when I make you cry out, I must admit." His confession sends a shiver down my spine, my knees subtly giving way to the rush of desire. It's a complex web of feelings with Archer. Deep down, I know he could never claim my heart, but it doesn't diminish my undeniable physical attraction for him. Age has only refined his appeal, like a fine wine growing more potent over time. His hair, a distinguished salt and pepper, frames a face that carries the years with a rugged grace. His eyes, a mesmerizing shade of emerald, hold a depth of experience and unspoken stories. And his lips – full, inviting – are already claiming mine with urgency as he guides me back towards the bed.

Here is a man who, in another life, might have been someone I could fall for – someone who could offer the kind of love and stability I crave. But I swallow those feelings down just as fast as they rise. Wanting things I can't have only makes my job more challenging than it already is.

"Archer," I moan as his lips move towards my neck, kissing and sucking at the sensitive spot there; he knows just how much that makes me want him more.

"I want to take you from behind tonight," he whispers into my ear, causing shivers to run up and down my spine. "Will you let me?"

"Mmhmm," I hum and nod, slipping out of my dress and underwear and discarding everything on the floor.

He steps away, looking down at me with his perfect lips parted and his emerald eyes glistening.

"Get on your hands and knees, facing the mirror." He demands.

I do as he instructs, climbing onto the bed and getting into position.

"Good girl," he says, coming up behind me, unbuckling his pants, and letting them fall to the floor. The sound of his voice causes me to whimper and push back against him.

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