She ends the night unable to cover herself.

The applause still echoed in her ears, a humiliating buzz that blended with the accelerated beat of her own heart. Magi clung to the black dress, desperately trying to cover herself with the crumpled silk, but Adrian's hand rested over hers, stopping her firmly.

"No," he said, his voice a murmur charged with possessiveness that raised her skin. "Leave it like that. You've earned the right to show what you're worth."

Shame burned her face. The "right" was a sentence. She looked around the VIP lounge, where several waitresses were already completely naked, some covering their breasts with trays or crossed arms, others moving with professional coldness. Magi knew that, although she wasn't entirely nude, her **** toplessness under the central spotlight made her feel uniquely exposed and marked. Her modesty could not compare with the resignation of the other women.

Costa's voice in her micro-implant remained in absolute silence, signaling that this additional humiliation was part of the price to pay. She obeyed, letting the dress hang from her hand. The minimal black lingerie felt like an obscene paint on her skin.

Every step back to the corner was an agony of self-consciousness, feeling the stares like fingers tracing her sweaty body. Inside the sanctum, the atmosphere had changed. She was no longer just anyone; she was the trophy of the night.

"That was... audacious, Magda," an older man said from a nearby table, his gaze fixed on the lace strips crossing her chest. "Adrian's gamble paid off."

Gamble. The word dropped like a brick in Magi's stomach.

Adrian laughed, flattered.

"I always have an eye for hidden gems," he said, squeezing Magi's waist. "Magda has... potential."

The night became a blur of **** smiles and drinks she didn't consume. As the first hints of dawn began to filter through the cracks, Adrian leaned toward her.

"Come on, I'll take you home," he said, his tone making it clear it was not a question.

"Accept. Do not argue," Costa whispered in her ear at last, her voice cold and functional.

The ride in Adrian's luxurious car was tense and silent. Magi sat as far away as possible, wrapping herself in her own embrace, the dress now on, but feeling that the exposure was still there, etched on her skin. She looked out the window, watching the affluent neighborhoods give way to the more modest streets where she lived.

Arriving in front of her building, a simple, worn place that contrasted brutally with the world they had just left, Adrian turned off the engine. He made no move to leave.

"A fitting end for Cinderella," he commented with a mocking smile, looking at the facade with disdain.

Magi reached for the door handle, **** to escape.

"Thanks for the ride," she murmured, avoiding his gaze.

"Wait," he said, sliding a hand onto her arm to stop her. With his other hand, he pulled a discreet, elegant business card from an inner pocket. "Take this."

He slid the card into the neckline of her dress, his fingers deliberately grazing her skin before retreating. Magi suppressed a shiver of revulsion. The coldness of the card on her skin, right where she had been exposed earlier, was the signature of the transaction.

"My personal number," he added, his gaze fixed on her, serious now. "You were... different. Not like the others. Call me if you want something more than dancing on stages. There could be... opportunities for a girl with your... determination."

The insinuation hung in the car air. Magi took the card with trembling fingers, nodding mechanically. Adrian's "opportunities" sounded as dangerous as Costa's, but dressed in silk instead of a military uniform.

"Think about it," he said, starting the engine. "And rest, Magda. It was an intense night."

Magi stumbled out of the car. She didn't look back as the black car silently drove away. She climbed the stairs to her apartment on legs that felt like cotton, the card burning in her hand like a hot coal.

Upon crossing the threshold, she locked the door. Finally, she ripped off the black dress, throwing it into a corner as if it were contaminated. Then, the lace lingerie. She stepped into the shower and rubbed her skin until it was raw, concentrating particularly on her upper torso, where the air, the stares, and the spotlight had touched her. But she felt that the grime of the night wouldn't wash away; it had clung to her insides.

The micro-implant in her ear buzzed one last time.

"Report at 08:00 in my office. Don't be late. And keep that number. It could be useful."

The connection cut out. Magi collapsed onto the bed, wrapped in a rough towel, staring at the ceiling. On the nightstand, the white card contrasted with the cheap wood. Adrian Soler, Strategic Investments. A name, a number, a reminder that there were two predators now, each with their own elegant cages. And she, caught between them, wondered if she could ever be the same after having danced, bared her body and her dignity, and been found... useful.