After the livestream ended, Julian sent Orca's donation money back.

Didn't matter why Orca had tipped him. Julian hated owing people.

Orca had dropped ten grand into the stream. Next time Orca went live, Julian would feel obligated to return it. They'd both lose money. The platform would win.

After refunding five thousand to Orca, Julian's final earnings from the stream and commissions came out to a little over ten thousand.

Two weeks of work for that.

Product sourcing. Outfit testing. Stream prep. Talking nonstop for hours.

Not exactly worth it.

He wasn't a huge influencer. Commission rates sucked. Sell a hundred-dollar dress, make ten bucks.

And he was still a guy.

No matter how good he looked in women's clothes, his frame wasn't built for female tailoring. Tons of people came to watch. Very few actually bought anything.

Julian collapsed onto the bed afterward, still wearing the dress.

Couldn't even find the energy to take it off.

He'd made money.

Didn't feel happier.

The money helped. Didn't solve anything.

His work group chats were still exploding. His parents were coming during winter break too, another weight pressing against his chest.

Livestream sales took too much time for too little return.

Julian started looking for other ways to monetize the account.

Problem was, his follower count wasn't high enough for decent sponsorships. Most brands reaching out were shady as hell anyway.

Cheap lingerie.

Sex toys.

BDSM accessories.

Julian rejected every single one.

The only decent offer came from a furniture brand called Soli-Lunar.

Nordic company. Chinese founder. Trying to enter the domestic market.

They wanted influencer promotion.

Fifty thousand before tax.

No face reveal required.

Julian accepted almost immediately.

Then he saw the catch.

The campaign needed another influencer involved.

Fair enough. Foreign brands needed bigger creators to open the market.

Then he saw the name they'd invited.

Orca.

Apparently Orca had already turned them down.

Julian nearly blacked out.

Even thinking with his toes, he knew Orca would never agree to an ad like this.

Still, Julian asked the PR team whether they had backup candidates.

No.

That single reply killed the whole thing.

Two days later, another message came in.

A media company wanted him as a part-time model for a Lolita runway show.

Julian had worn Lolita before. Gone semi-viral doing it too. Brands reaching out wasn't weird.

Still, "modeling company" immediately put him on guard.

Back in college, he'd seen this scam before.

They'd lure people in with "modeling jobs," then pressure them into paying for expensive portfolio shoots. Thousands gone. No actual work afterward.

The photos were the scam.

Julian had been too broke to fall for it back then.

This time he asked directly:

[Do I need portfolio photos?]

[No.]

The recruiter replied instantly.

[Only scam agencies pull that shit. We're strictly runway work. You can search us online. Everything's legitimate.]

Julian did.

The runway events existed. The company registration checked out too.

The pay was decent.

They allowed masks during the show.

So Julian agreed.

Saturday evening, he arrived thirty minutes early.

The venue was a standalone building dripping in fake luxury. Gold lights. Marble floors. Cadillacs lined outside.

Fashionable young people kept walking in.

"Models," the staff member explained casually.

Nothing felt wrong yet.

Julian followed them backstage.

Huge room. Half dressing area, half makeup studio. Vanity mirrors lined the walls while models sat under bright lights getting ready.

Julian got assigned a seat.

Then someone handed him an outfit.

Julian unfolded it.

And froze.

A maid costume.

Slit nearly up to the ass.

Black garter stockings too. The kind designed to mean exactly one thing.

Oh, fuck no.

His face went cold instantly.

Julian dropped the outfit onto the table. "I'm leaving."

"What's your problem?" The man stepped in front of him.

Julian looked him straight in the eye. "I'm not for sale."

"Relax." The guy smiled patiently. "You walk the runway, maybe have a few drinks with clients afterward. Easy money."

Julian glanced around.

Pretty boys. Pretty girls.

Nobody even looked surprised anymore.

"Real talk," the man continued. "This pays way better than influencer work. One night gets you a few grand easy. If some rich client likes you enough to take you home? Even more."

He pointed toward a luxury bag sitting nearby.

"See all that? That's where they came from. With your face, you'd make bank."

Julian almost laughed.

"Fuck off."

"I said I'm leaving."

"Fine." The man bent down, picked the maid outfit back up, shoved it toward him again. "But someone specifically requested you tonight. You wanna leave? Walk the runway first."

Wear that thing in front of a room full of men?

Might as well start posting porn online at that point.

Julian shoved the outfit away and turned to leave.

The guy came after him immediately, reaching for his mask.

Julian snapped instantly.

He ducked under the arm and slipped sideways just as two security guards started moving toward him.

Chaos exploded backstage.

"Why make this difficult?" the man called after him, hands folded behind his back like they were discussing business over coffee. "One runway. Everybody wins."

Bullshit.

Nobody knew what came after the runway.

The second he agreed once, control was gone.

Julian darted into a changing booth—

—and nearly died on the spot.

A tall gorgeous girl was changing behind the curtain.

Julian recoiled so fast his entire face burned red.

"S-Sorry!"

He turned to leave immediately.

Instead, the girl grabbed his wrist and pointed behind her.

A side door.

Julian blinked.

"Oh my god. Thank you, holy savior."

"No problem."

Male voice.

Julian's eyes widened, but he didn't stop moving. He bolted through the back exit immediately.

The backstage area was still chaos. Security guards kept digging through costume racks, assuming he was still hiding somewhere inside.

Nobody realized he'd already slipped out.

Julian hurried down a hallway, footsteps echoing behind him. He ducked into a bathroom before anyone could spot him.

Heart hammering hard enough to hurt.

What now?

Call the police?

The second police showed up, his identity would come out too. Maybe even end up on local news.

Call Jordan?

Useless. Jordan was all the way in Boston.

His parents?

Even worse.

Julian braced both hands against the sink.

Everything had looked legitimate upfront.

Who the hell expected a fake Lolita runway to secretly be a prostitution ring?

Disgusting.

Too late for regret now.

Priority one: get out.

At least he'd kept the mask on the whole time. Nobody knew his real face.

After a long second, Julian pulled the mask off.

Only the wig and clothes identified him.

He stripped off his coat, pushed all his bangs back, then straightened slowly.

In his head, he pictured Samuel Frost.

Cold eyes. Sharp shoulders. Expensive silence.

Nobody would ever mistake Samuel for someone being sold.

Julian walked back out.

Calm. Slow. Like he belonged there.

Twice he passed staff members in suits.

Neither stopped him.

Maybe it was working.

He crossed a long hallway and entered the main ballroom.

The place looked like some twisted masquerade party.

Men everywhere.

A runway in the center.

Music.

Drinks.

Pretty people being watched.

Julian wanted to throw up.

Instead, he lifted his chin slightly and looked around with bored disdain, like some rich asshole evaluating the venue.

People noticed.

One guy started toward him.

Julian stared him down hard enough that the man backed off immediately.

So far, so good.

Then right before Julian reached the exit, a man with an earpiece stepped directly into his path.

"Sir. Invitation, please."

Fuck.

Julian raised his chin higher. "And you are?"

"Manager," the man replied smoothly. "Random invitation checks tonight."

Julian's expression turned icy.

"So many people here. You stop me specifically?" He scoffed. "You profiling me or something?"

"Just procedure."

"Move." Julian didn't even look at him. "Get your boss."

Manager made a quick phone call.

Nearby guests started watching.

Julian turned sharply toward them. "What the fuck are you staring at? Never seen someone hot before?"

Several people immediately looked away.

"This place is overrated anyway," Julian muttered loudly. "Marcus hyped it up like crazy. Waste of time."

He turned like he was leaving.

Manager blocked him again.

"Our boss is occupied right now, but he asked me to make sure you're properly taken care of."

Julian gave him a disgusted look. "I'm not satisfied with your service. I'm leaving."

"Earlier you mentioned your friend Marcus," the manager said carefully. "He brought you here?"

"Marcus. That's all I got." Julian rolled his eyes. "What, you think people trade legal names in places like this?"

A pause.

"Then how should we address you?"

Julian laughed.

"You think I'm giving my real name?" He leaned back slightly, spoiled irritation dripping from every word. "If my dad found out I came somewhere like this, I'd be dead."

Several long seconds passed.

Julian's heartbeat climbed into his throat.

Then Manager finally said, "We prepared a private room for you. You can rest there while waiting for your friend."

"No thanks. I don't wanna spend another second in this dump—"

Julian turned—

—and walked straight into two massive security guards.

Manager smiled faintly.

"Once your friend arrives, you're free to leave."

Julian stepped back slowly.

Cornered.

"Jesus. Annoying as fuck."

He turned and walked into the private room himself, pulling out his phone dramatically.

"Marcus, where the hell are you?" Julian snapped loudly into the dead call line. "Come get me already. This place sucks. They're literally trying to lock me in here. I swear I'm telling my brother about this."

The door shut behind him.

Locked.

Julian sat in the chair looking irritated, but his fingers were already freezing cold.

There was no Marcus.

No powerful brother either.

And suddenly Julian had to admit something he'd been avoiding for months—

His life was empty.

Work. Work. More work.

No close friends in the city.

No one he could actually call.

His contact list was nothing but coworkers and clients.

The person he talked to most lately—

Samuel.

Julian stared at the contact for three full seconds.

No.

Absolutely not.

He couldn't ask his boss to rescue him from a prostitution ring.

Police then.

Humiliating or not, getting fired would still be better than staying here.

Julian inhaled sharply and started dialing 110—

Voices suddenly drifted in from outside.

"I'm telling you, it's him. The influencer who ran. We found the clothes in the bathroom."

"You think I don't know that?" another voice snapped back. "Nobody touches him till I figure out who he's connected to."

Julian's grip tightened around the phone.

These people seriously thought they were untouchable.

His thumb hovered over the call button—

Then his phone rang first.

Samuel.

Julian answered immediately.

Samuel's low voice came through the speaker. Calm. Steady.

"Julian. You listening?"

Julian gripped the phone harder. His eyes burned suddenly.

"I…" His voice shook. "My laptop's not with me right now. Might not be convenient."

Silence.

Then Samuel said evenly, "Understood."

Julian heard movement on the other end. He was about to hang up.

"Wait—I—"

The words died halfway out.

Should he say it?

Samuel was his boss.

Dragging him into this would be insane.

And even if Samuel came… places like this didn't exactly let people walk out peacefully.

What if it caused trouble for him too?

Julian's breathing turned shallow.

"You need something?" Samuel asked.

Julian squeezed the phone tight enough his knuckles hurt.

"I'm fine," he whispered.

Samuel went quiet.

Long enough to make Julian's pulse stutter.

"If there's nothing else, I'll hang up—"

"You're in trouble."

Not a question.

Julian froze.

"…How did you know?"

"What happened?" Samuel asked. "Tell me."

Still cold. Still commanding.

Somehow it steadied Julian instantly.

"I…" He shut his eyes. Forced the words out. "I went somewhere and got stuck here. Could you maybe come get me?"

"Location."

Julian gave him the address.

Two seconds of silence.

Then Samuel's voice sharpened.

"Are you safe?"

"For now." Julian glanced toward the door. "They locked me in a private room. They haven't done anything yet."

"Hold on." A door slammed somewhere on Samuel's end. Footsteps. "I'll be there in thirty minutes."

Another pause.

"Keep the line open. If anything changes, tell me immediately."

Julian bit down hard on his lower lip.

Couldn't speak.

He was terrified the second he opened his mouth, he'd start crying.