Under the Billionaire's Spell

Sofia's POV

The bass from the club’s music hit me before I even stepped inside, a low, vibrating thrum that seemed to pulse in my chest. The neon sign above the entrance flickered in bright pink and gold, the words "Ros'Notte" glowing like a beacon in the dim alleyway.

I squared my shoulders, pulling my coat tighter around me. This wasn’t the kind of place you walked into unless you had a reason. Lucky for me, I had one.

The inside of the club was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of alcohol and perfume. People moved like shadows, swaying to the music, their laughter blending with the beat. A man in a dark suit stood by the entrance, his eyes scanning me up and down before jerking his chin toward a door on the left.

“The manager’s office,” he grunted.

I nodded, my throat dry, and walked toward the door.

Inside, the manager sat behind a glass desk, leaning back in her chair like she owned the world. She had platinum blonde hair pulled into a tight ponytail, her lips painted a bold red that matched her stiletto heels. Her outfit was more revealing than professional, and she blew a bubble with her gum, letting it pop loudly as she eyed me.

“So,” she said, her voice sharp, “you’re here for the job?”

“Yes,” I replied, standing straighter under her scrutinizing gaze.

Her eyes roamed over me, taking in my dark hair, sharp cheekbones, and slender frame.

“You’ve got distinct features. Muy bonita. That’s the only reason I’m even considering this,” she said, waving a hand toward me like she was talking about a mannequin. “The customers here? They’ll eat you up with that face.”

I said nothing, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or a warning.

“But looks aren’t everything,” she continued, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the desk. “You gotta be smart if you wanna work here. Can you dance?”

“A little,” I said cautiously.

She raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Good news for you, sweetie. You may not even need to. Just flash that face, show those teeth, and keep the clients happy. Got it?”

“Got it,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

“Good.” She stood, snapping her gum again. “You start now. Head to the girls’ locker room and change into one of the dresses. Pick something sexy. Something that says you’re worth every dollar they’re dropping here. Then meet me downstairs, and I’ll tell you what you’re doing tonight.”

“Okay,” I said.

“And hurry,” she added, walking toward the door in her clinking heels. She paused, blowing another bubble before popping it with a loud crack. “I don’t have time to babysit.”

With that, she walked out, leaving the faint scent of her floral perfume behind.

As I stepped into the locker room, the smell of cheap perfume and hairspray hit me like a wall. It wasn’t unpleasant, just familiar. The racks of glittering dresses on one side and the rows of lockers on the other told me this place wasn’t playing around. This was high-end, glamorous. Everything here screamed luxury.

I let out a small sigh, shaking my head with a wry smile. My face really did open doors for me. But not enough to make me rich. Still, here I was—hired into one of the biggest clubs in Mexico, without so much as an interview. That had to count for something.

I took a minute to look around, letting my eyes wander. The club was even bigger on the inside than I’d thought. The high ceilings, the chandeliers, the endless corridors—it felt like a palace. Could I ever see the whole place? Probably not. But I’d be working in it, so maybe I’d get close.

Turning my attention back to the task at hand, I walked over to the racks and pulled out a short black dress. It wasn’t exactly modest, but that wasn’t the point. I slipped it on, the fabric hugging my curves like a second skin. I turned to the mirror, smoothing it out and checking my reflection.

I liked what I saw. I looked good—confident, and ready. There was no hesitation in me. I wasn’t new to this kind of work. Clubs, bars, waitressing, dancing—I’d done it all. I knew how to handle myself, how to handle customers, and how to make my tips. This wasn’t my first rodeo.

Satisfied, I headed downstairs.

The music hit me hard as soon as I stepped into the main floor, the bass vibrating through my chest. People were everywhere, moving and laughing, drinks in hand as they danced under the flashing lights. The club was alive, buzzing with energy.

“Hey! You the new girl?”

The voice snapped me back. I turned to see a tall woman with fiery red hair and eyeliner sharp enough to cut glass. She looked me up and down, her lips curling like she wasn’t impressed.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said.

“Lucy said you’re starting with drinks,” she said, her tone clipped. Before I could respond, she spun on her heel and walked away, her hips swaying.

I watched her go, amused. I wasn't new to this. Girls always were intimidated the moment I walked into a room.

As I made my way to the bar, a sharp smack landed on my ass.

I froze, my teeth clenching as I turned to face the man who dared. He was older, in his forties maybe, with a greasy smile and a whiskey glass in his hand.

“I want another drink,” he slurred, clearly thinking this was funny.

I grabbed his wrist before he could lower it, twisting it just enough to make him wince.

“Don’t you dare lay your fucking hands on me again, Pendejo,” I hissed.

Then, just as quickly, I released him and smiled sweetly. “I’ll get your drink.”

The man stared after me, stunned, as I walked away.

At the bar, I ordered his whiskey, keeping my expression neutral as the bartender handed it over. I returned to the man’s table, set the glass down with practiced grace, and walked back to the bar.

As I walked back to the bar, I felt eyes on me.

I turned my head slightly and spotted him. He was standing at the end of the bar, leaning casually but watching me with a sharp, intense gaze. He wasn’t like the other men here. He looked calm, composed. Dangerous.

His features were striking—sharp cheekbones, dark eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass. He looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine or a painting in a museum. He looked like a god.

But I didn’t linger. I approached him with my professional smile firmly in place. “Can I get you another drink?” I asked politely.

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze stayed locked on mine, heavy and unreadable. When he finally spoke, his voice was low, almost a growl.

“Is this how you treat customers here?”

I frowned, confused. “Excuse me?”