Forgetting The Monster Who Broke Me

In my third year working the VIP lounges of the city's high-end clubs, the name Beckett Clifford meant absolutely nothing to me.

I was mid-shift, the air thick with expensive cologne and the clink of ice, when a strangers hand began to slide up the hem of my skirt. Before I could deploy my practiced "polite deflection," the heavy oak door of the private suite was kicked open with a violence that silenced the music.

A man stormed in. He didn't say a word before his fist connected with the guests face, leaving him a bloody mess on the velvet upholstery. That was Beckett.

He stood there, chest heaving, his eyes a turbulent storm of rage and a jagged, inexplicable pain. "This is what you left me for?" he hissed, his voice trembling. "To do this?"

I didn't recognize the emotion in his voice, let alone his face. I did what I always did: I masked my confusion with a practiced, predatory smile. I stepped toward him, letting my body graze his in the way that usually loosened a man's wallet.

"You look new, handsome," I purred, my voice a low honeyed drawl. "Is this your first time playing? Around here, we don't care where the money comes from, as long as theres enough of it."

Beckett froze. Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. I took the opportunity to slide my arms around his waist, leaning in close. "You seem like you have a lot of pent-up energy. Want me to help you blow off some steam? But let's be clearyoure going to have to outbid the guy you just sent to the ER."

He shoved me away then, his expression curdling into pure disgust. "You really can't live without a man's hand on you, can you? All that 'pure and innocent' bullshit from before... it must have been exhausting to maintain the act."

The smile stayed plastered on my face. Inside, I felt nothing.

Three years ago, an "accident" had wiped my slate clean. I woke up in a hospital with no past. Who he was, what we had beenit was all gone.

...

The force of his shove sent me staggering. My hip hit the edge of the mahogany table, a sharp bloom of pain radiating through my side. As a professional, I didn't let my expression flicker.

I knew exactly what I was in this world. If a client was angry, it meant I hadn't performed my role well enough.

I straightened my skirt, smoothed my hair, and turned to the back bar. I grabbed a bottle of the most expensive Louis XIII cognac on the shelf.

"Don't be like that," I said, walking back to him with a swaying gait, my eyes wide and pleading. "That gentleman was about to tip me a thousand dollars. You chased him off, and my rent is due. Help a girl out?"

I pulled a roll of crumpled bills from my clutch and, keeping my eyes locked on his, tucked them slowly into the neckline of my dress.

Beckett stared at me as if he wanted to peel my skin off just to see if there was anything real underneath. "Is this a game to you?" he laughed, a harsh, jagged sound. "Faking amnesia? Norah, youve hit a new low in your little performance."

I didn't understand the name he called me, but I understood the contempt. Id seen it a thousand times.

"Whatever the boss says," I whispered. I poured a glass to the brim and held it out with both hands, letting my body go soft as I leaned into his space. "For the right price, I can be whoever you want. Want the shy college girl? Or the heartless siren? Im very versatile."

Crash!

With a violent sweep of his arm, Beckett sent the entire display of premium spirits flying. Shattered crystal and amber liquid rained down, soaking my hair and my dress. I didn't flinch. I just stood there, dripping, watching him.

"You want money?"

He pulled a black Amex from his wallet and flicked it at my face. The sharp plastic edge grazed my cheekbone, a stinging heat following in its wake.

"Theres a fifty-thousand-dollar limit on that," he said, pointing to the floor covered in jagged glass and spilled booze. "Get on your knees. Lick it up. Drink every drop off the floor and finish the rest of the bottles, and the card is yours."

Fifty thousand.

My heart hammered against my ribs. Just that afternoon, the hospital had sent another final notice. My brothers specialized care, the imported neuro-nutrients... they were going to pull the plug tomorrow if I didn't pay.

Fifty thousand would buy him months.

I didn't hesitate. I couldn't afford to let him change his mind.

I let my knees drop directly onto the broken glass. The shards sliced through my stockings and into my skin instantly. It was a white-hot, sickening pain, but I didn't make a sound.

I leaned down, bracing myself on the floor like an animal. The raw alcohol hit my throat like a razor blade. I forced myself to swallow, glass pricking my palms, my stomach churning. My diet had been coffee and cigarettes for weeks; my stomach was already a wreck. This was torture.

But I kept going. I reached for the card at his feet. It was my brothers life.

"Cough... cough!"

A sudden, metallic heat bubbled up in my chest. I doubled over, a violent coughing fit racking my body. When I pulled my hand away from my mouth, there were flecks of bright red mixed with the cognac.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and gripped the black card tight.

"Thank you, sir," I said, forced a wobbly, flirtatious smile as I struggled to stand. "Need me again tomorrow? I can work on my tolerance. I can wear whatever outfit you like... just name it."

Beckett looked paralyzed. He stared at the blood on the floor, shock flickering in his eyes before it was swallowed by a fresh wave of fury.

"You're pathetic!" He kicked the table over, the sound echoing like a gunshot in the small room. "You were always a damn good actress. Before it was the 'innocent girl-next-door' routine, and now it's this amnesiac martyr act. I wonder how long you can keep it up, Norah!"

He slammed the door so hard the walls vibrated.

The second he was gone, the mask shattered. I curled into a ball on the glass-strewn floor, clutching the card to my chest. My heart felt like a hollowed-out cavern.

I didn't know him. I didn't want to know the "past" he kept throwing in my face. Was it good? Was it bad? It didn't matter. Nothing could be worse than the present. If my past was beautiful, remembering it would only make this hell unbearable.

Id rather be a brainless girl in a short dress, smiling for monsters. Because as long as Evan was in that hospital bed, my dignity was a luxury I couldn't afford. Id give my life for him.

The next day, I was fired.

"You pissed off Beckett Clifford," the floor manager said, not even looking me in the eye. "No high-end club in this city will touch you now. Get out."

I didn't even get my last paycheck.

Evans medication couldn't stop. Two thousand dollars a day. Just to keep him breathing.

With nowhere left to go, I went to the Undergrounda windowless basement casino on the South Side. It was a place for the desperate and the predatory.

I put on the "Bunny" uniform. It was little more than scraps of satin, fishnets, and six-inch heels. The air was a thick sludge of cigar smoke, cheap perfume, and the sour sweat of men losing money they didn't have.

I carried trays of chips through the crowd. Rough hands pinched my thighs; someone slapped my rear as I passed. I never flinched. I just turned back with a wink, placing their hand firmly onto a drink glass.

"A touch is a hundred-dollar chip, honey. A drink is a thousand. Which one are we doing?"

Usually, my wit was enough to get me through the night with a pocket full of tips. Until Beckett showed up with a group of his friends.

He sat in the center VIP booth, his legs crossed, a cigar smoldering between his fingers. He watched me through the haze. The men with himthe citys golden boyslooked at me with a sickening mix of recognition and malice.

"Well, look at that," one of them sneered, fanning out a stack of hundreds. "If it isn't the campus sweetheart herself."

They knew me. I didn't know them.

The man looked at Beckett, saw the coldness in his eyes, and took it as a green light. He whistled to a busboy, who brought over a slop bucket used for clearing tablesfilled with cigarette butts, half-eaten appetizers, and the dregs of a dozen different drinks. It smelled like rot.

He tossed the stack of hundreds into the bucket.

"Need the cash, right? Fish them out with your teeth, and the pile is yours."

The table erupted in laughter. A crowd began to gather, circling me like I was a circus freak.

The smell made my stomach roll. But I saw the money. It was thickat least two thousand. One day of life for Evan.

I swallowed my bile and sank slowly to my knees. I leaned over the bucket, held my breath, and lowered my face toward the gray, oily liquid. My lips touched something slimy. I bit down on the edge of a bill.

"Enough!"

A hand clamped onto my shoulder and yanked me back. I looked up to see Beckett standing over me, his face a mask of distorted rage and something that looked almost like grief.

He was always so angry at me.

"Is the amnesia act that fun for you? Who are you trying to get sympathy from?" He spat the words out. "You make me sick."

He walked out again.

I spat the bill into my hand and wiped the grime off it with my sleeve. Moody prick, I thought, my mind already calculating the remaining balance.

A few days later, Margot arrived.

She walked into the casino like she owned the air we breathed. She was Becketts fiancethe socialite princess of the city. She stopped in front of me, looking at my tattered satin ears with a look of pure venom.

"My engagement ring is missing," she announced, her voice cutting through the noise. She pointed a manicured finger at me. "Shes the only one whos been near me. Search her."

I hadn't been within ten feet of her. But the bouncers were already moving.

Rippp

The cheap fabric of my uniform was torn open, buttons flying across the floor. My skin was exposed to the cold air and the leering eyes of a hundred gamblers. Men whistled.

I didn't fight. I covered my chest as best I could and dropped to the floor.

"Ma'am, I didn't take it!" I begged. "Please, don't let them fire me. I need this job. I really need the money..."

I couldn't be blacklisted again. I couldn't lose this.

Beckett stepped through the entrance at that exact moment. He stopped dead. He saw me on the floor, half-naked and crying, and he looked away, his jaw tightening so hard I thought it might snap.

"The ring is in the car, Margot," he said, his voice strained. He grabbed her wrist. "Why are you wasting your time with trash like this? Lets go."

They left without a backward glance.

I crawled into a bathroom stall and locked the door. The "siren" mask evaporated, and I sobbed until I couldn't breathe. I tried to pin my uniform back together, my fingers shaking too hard to work the safety pin.

Evan, Im so tired. I don't know if I can do this anymore.

But Margot wasn't done. She had seen the way Beckett looked at me. It wasn't just hate; there was a flicker of something he couldn't control.

A week later, I received a mysterious invitation for a private party.

Appearance fee: Three hundred thousand dollars.

I didn't even hesitate.

When I arrived at the sprawling lakeside estate, I realized it was Margots birthday party. The room was packed with the citys elite. Margot sat in the center of the room and tossed a black leather dog collar at my feet.

"Put it on."

She smiled, a cold, sharp expression. "Tonight, youre our pet. Act like a good dog, and the check is yours."

I did the math in my head. Three hundred thousand. That was the surgery. That was the recovery. That was everything.

I picked up the collar and buckled it around my neck.

A pair of diamond-encrusted stilettos stepped onto my back. The sharp heel dug into my spine through my thin dress.

"Such a good girl," Margot laughed, pressing down.

All night, I was their footstool. I was kicked, tripped, and humiliated. My ribs throbbed with every breath, a cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. But I kept my eyes on that check on the mantel.

Hours later, the physical abuse seemed to bore her. She crouched down, grabbed my hair, and forced my head up.

"Why the act, Norah?" she hissed. "Were you this 'innocent' when those naked photos of you were plastered all over the internet? Did you look this pathetic then?"

My mind went blank. Naked photos? When? Even in the clubs, I had never crossed that line.

"And your mother," Margot continued, her voice like a vipers. "Like mother, like daughter. A homewrecking whore in life, and a pathetic corpse in death. Your whole family is trash."

I stared at her, uncomprehending. Mother... is she dead? My only memory was Evan.

My confusion only enraged her. "Still playing dumb!"

She kicked me hard in the shoulder. I was kneeling at the edge of the grand staircase. The world tilted as I lost my balance.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

My head cracked against the marble. Warm blood began to trickle into my eye, blurring my vision. Through the haze, I saw a pair of polished leather shoes.

Beckett was here.

"Beckett!" Margot cried out from the top of the stairs, her voice suddenly trembling with fake tears. "I invited her to be nice, but she tried to blackmail me! She said if I didn't give her money, shed tell people I pushed her! I... I felt so bad I gave her a check..."

"Yeah, we saw it, Beckett," her friends chimed in. "Shes a total grifter."

Becketts eyes turned to ice. I knew he wouldn't believe me.

"You'd risk your life for a paycheck?" he sneered, looking down at me with pure loathing. "Extortion now? You really are addicted to the gutter, aren't you?"

"Get out. Don't bleed on the rug."

He didn't ask for my side. Not a single word.

I just folded the check, tucked it into my pocket, and limped out into the night.

The mountain air was freezing. As I walked down the dark, winding road, a flash of a memory hit me. A tall silhouette holding me, a voice deep and tender: "Don't worry, Norah. As long as I'm here, no one will ever hurt you."

I clutched my head, dropping to the curb in pain. Who was that? Why did it hurt so much to remember?

I squeezed the check in my pocket. Don't think. Just save Evan.

"Insufficient funds."

I stared at the bank teller. Margot had given me a fake check.

My ears began to ring. I ran back to the hospital, clutching the useless piece of paper. The head nurse met me at the door of the ICU, her face a mask of professional detachment.

"Ms. Vance, we aren't a charity. Your brothers life support and the imported meds cost a fortune. You're fifty thousand in the hole."

"If the balance isn't cleared by 8:00 AM tomorrow, we have to move him to a general ward and discontinue the specialized treatment."

Moving him meant a death sentence.

I looked through the glass at the man covered in tubes. "Evan..." I whispered, hot tears finally breaking through. "Just wait. I'll get the money. Don't leave me."

My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.

[Private Yacht Mystery Game. Female participants needed. $2 million for one night. Rule: Absolute obedience. Risk: Personal safety not guaranteed.]

Two million.

I didn't think twice. I dialed the number. To save my brother, my life was a small price to pay.

That night, the sea air was biting. I was escorted onto a massive, three-story luxury yacht. When I stepped onto the main deck, my heart stopped.

Beckett. Again.

He was sitting with Margot, their bodies pressed together in an intimate, heated display of affection.

"Oh, look, our star has arrived!" Margot giggled.

She pointed to a transparent glass walkway suspended over the side of the yacht, dangling over the churning black waves of the Atlantic.

"The game is simple," Margot said, tossing a box of lingerie at me. "Put that on. Walk the length of the glass bridge. No holding the rails."

"The guests will be throwing ice cubes at you to keep things interesting. If you make it to the end without falling in, the two million is yours."

The yacht lurched in the swells. One slip, and the current would pull you under the hull. It was suicide.

"What? Scared?" Margot mocked. "Then get lost."

I looked at the briefcase of cash on the table. I thought of the nurse's cold words. I thought of Evan's pale face.

"I'll change," I said.

I picked up the box. It didn't matter. Id lost my dignity years ago.

Slam!

The dressing room door was kicked open. Beckett shoved his way in and locked it behind him. The small space was immediately filled with the scent of his cigar and a suffocating, heavy tension.

He grabbed my wrists and pinned them against the steel wall.

"Are you really this obsessed with money?!" he roared. "Youd wear that for those men? How much lower can you go?"

I looked at his face. I saw the rage, but for the first time, I saw the raw, bleeding agony underneath.

It was almost funny.

I didn't smile. I didn't flirt. I just pried his fingers off my wrists, one by one.

"Mr. Clifford," I said, my voice dead. "Keep your morality to yourself."

It was the first time Id ever spoken to him without the mask.

"My brother is in a hospital bed. If I don't have fifty thousand by tomorrow morning, they pull the plug. He dies. Period."

My eyes burned, but I refused to cry.

"A man like youborn with a silver spoonwill never understand what 'no choice' feels like. To save him, I'd let them throw stones at me, not just ice. Id cut my own heart out and sell it if there was a buyer."

"You think I'm trash? Fine. You think I'm disgusting? Great."

I pushed past him and began to pull on the scraps of lace.

"This is my life. Get used to it."

I walked out of the room, leaving him standing there like a statue.

The deck was filled with catcalls. I stepped onto the freezing, wet glass of the walkway, barefoot. Below me, the ocean was a roaring black abyss.

I was shivering so hard the glass vibrated.

"Pelts!" Margot screamed, laughing.

Handfuls of ice began to rain down, stinging my back, my legs, my face. I gritted my teeth, staring at the end of the bridge.

Ten steps. Five steps...

Evan is going to live.

A large block of ice struck the back of my knee. My foot slipped on the wet glass.

"Ahhh!"

NORAH!