Katherine sat on the edge of her bed, staring blankly at the wall as the quiet ticking of the clock filled the dimly lit room. Each second stretched unbearably long, like an eternity. The air felt thick, suffocating, pressing down on her chest with an unbearable weight.
Vincent had left early that morning.
The past few days had been a whirlwind of emotions, and for the first time in forever, she had allowed herself to hope. Hope that she might find a way out of her miserable existence, hope that she might find someone who truly cared for her. But hope was a luxury she couldn't afford. It made fools of people like her, who had been broken and battered by life. The weight of her reality crushed her, making it hard to breathe.
A sharp knock at the door shattered the silence, making her flinch. Before she could react, the door burst open without warning, and Madame Dupont swept into the room. Her sharp heels clicked against the wooden floor, echoing through the silence. Katherine's heart sank as she met Madame Dupont's cold, calculating gaze. The madame never knocked twice.
Madame Dupont's eyes roamed over her, assessing, searching for weakness. There was something almost predatory about the way she stood there, her hands clasped in front of her, her lips pursed in a thin, unimpressed line.
"I have observed a certain... familiarity in your interactions with Monsieur LaFleur," Madame Dupont said, her voice dripping with malice. "A familiarity that I find quite disturbing." Katherine stiffened, her spine straightening as she held Madame Dupont's gaze. She knew the rules, and she had broken them anyway. The consequences would be severe, but she was ready to face them.
Vincent had touched something deep within her, something buried beneath years of forced submission and carefully practiced apathy. But Madame Dupont saw only numbers, only the value of a woman's body in coin.
"It would be wise for you to remember your place, Katherine," Madame Dupont continued, her voice slicing through the air like a knife. "You are a courtesan. A woman of pleasure. You are not a woman to be loved, Ma Cherie."
The words cut deep, like a physical blow. Katherine felt a stinging sensation in her eyes, but she refused to cry. She would not give Madame Dupont the satisfaction of seeing her falter.
Madame Dupont studied her, waiting for a reaction, but when Katherine gave none, her lips pressed into a thin line. "You have a client waiting for you," she said finally, her voice dripping with disdain. "I suggest you prepare yourself."
The door clicked shut behind Madame Dupont, leaving Katherine feeling shattered and broken. A wave of nausea washed over her, threatening to engulf her. She had let herself dream, and now reality had come crashing down around her.
She was not a woman to be cherished. She was a woman to be bought. And no matter how kind Vincent LaFleur was, no matter how gently he touched her, he could not change what she was. Katherine's heart was heavy with the weight of her reality. She knew that she would never be free, never be loved for who she truly was.
Katherine's heart pounded as she walked down the dimly lit hall, her footsteps muffled by the thick rugs lining the corridor. The flickering candlelight cast long shadows against the walls, making the brothel seem even more ominous than usual.
She reached the parlor where the other courtesans mingled with their clients, laughing and flirting with feigned delight. The air was thick with the scent of perfume, smoke, and the underlying musk of sweat. Katherine swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
A tall man sat in the corner, his dark hair slicked back, his piercing eyes locked onto her the moment she entered. He was well-dressed, his fine coat tailored perfectly to his lean frame. His expression, however, was unreadable—too composed, too controlled.
Katherine forced a smile as she approached him, her stomach twisting into knots. He had paid for her time, which meant he could do as he pleased with her. Now, she had to play her part.
"Bonsoir, monsieur," she greeted, keeping her voice smooth, practiced. "Shall we move to my... Quarters?"
Instead of answering, he gestured for her to sit. She hesitated for a brief moment before lowering herself onto the plush seat beside him. His gaze remained on her, unwavering, analyzing.
"So, mademoiselle," he finally spoke, his voice low and measured. "Tell me about yourself."
Katherine blinked. Was he serious? He had come to a brothel, paid for her service, and now he was asking her what she did and if she enjoyed it? It was absurd. But yet she knew the rules, you must please the client.
She forced a soft laugh, tilting her head slightly. Trying to respond in the most polite manner, "Monsieur, you already know what I do," she said, her voice laced with careful amusement. "Why ask what is already known?"
He smirked, but his eyes remained cold. "Humor me."
Katherine's fingers curled into the fabric of her gown. At this point, a rage of anger was brewing I side of her. But yet, she took a deep breath, "I am a courtesan, monsieur. I provide companionship to men, a d you paid for my service."
"And do you enjoy your work?"
She fought the urge to sneer. Now she's trying so hard to fight it.
Is he mocking her? What did it matter? What did he expect her to say—that she delighted in being used by strangers? That she found pleasure in surrendering her body night after night to men who saw her as nothing more than a plaything?
Again she took a deep breath, this time with a smirk on her face as she look Ed him in the eyes, "It is not a matter of enjoyment," she said, her voice measured. "It is survival."
His smile widened, but his eyes darkened. "Ah, a realist. I can appreciate that."
Katherine held his gaze, refusing to shrink beneath it. "And what is it that you desire, monsieur?"
His hand reached out, tracing a single finger down her arm. The touch was light, yet it sent an involuntary shudder through her.
"I think we could have a very... interesting time together," he murmured.
A wave of revulsion washed over her, but she forced her lips into a practiced smile. She had done this before. Many times. She knew how to play the part.
But tonight, after Vincent, it felt unbearable.
"I shall await you at my quarters ?" Her voice steady despite the turmoil within her as she got up.
The man chuckled. "Most definitely"
Katherine stood, but for the first time, her legs felt unsteady beneath her. She knew that she had no choice. She was a courtesan, and this man was her client. She had to do what he wanted, no matter how much she disliked it. The thought made her feel sick to her stomach, but she knew that she had to push through it or run from it.
And running had never been an option.