Chapter 9

Opening night went smoothly—better than anyone could’ve hoped for.

The mayor of Chicago made an appearance to officially welcome Club Velvet to the city. A handful of pro athletes showed up—players from the Bears and Bulls, both teams finally enjoying winning seasons again.

Frank and Grant stood back, watching Lisa with quiet pride. She moved through the club like she owned it—checking on guests, adjusting lights, sending out trays of drinks and appetizers. Every staff member had been handpicked by her, and now they were proving her right. The service was flawless. The energy was electric.

Then it happened.

“Hey, Jewel,” a voice said behind her, low and familiar. Too familiar.

An arm slid around her shoulders—unwelcome, uninvited.

Her stomach dropped.

That sick feeling washed over her in a wave.

Every nerve in her body screamed danger.

She nearly bolted.

But she didn’t.

She stood her ground.

Her back went ramrod straight. Her shoulders squared. Her heart pounded—but her voice, when it came, was a blade of ice.

“My name is Lisa Nowak. I’m the manager here. Is there something I can do for you, sir?”

Each word was crisp. Precise. Sharp enough to cut glass.

The man froze, momentarily thrown by the force of her tone.

Then he chuckled—a greasy, too-familiar sound—and leaned in closer.

“Oh babe, don’t be like that. I know a Jewel when I see one. How about a quickie? For old time’s sake.”

Her skin crawled.

Her instincts were screaming.

But Lisa didn’t flinch.

She turned to face him fully, stepping out from under his arm with slow, deliberate calm.

“Sir,” she said, voice like glacial-steel, “I don’t know who you’re talking about. But I can assure you, that’s not something I do.”

Her eyes locked on his like steel locking into place.

“If you’re looking for a private dance, I can call over one of our professional dancers, and she’ll be happy to entertain you—for a fee. Otherwise, I suggest you enjoy the show and leave me alone. Sir.”

The silence between them stretched—cold, heavy, unbreakable.

He blinked, caught off guard. His smirk faltered.

Lisa didn’t blink.

Didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe until he turned and walked away.

Only then did she inhale, slowly, deeply, letting it settle in her chest. Not fear. Not shame. Just clarity.

That life was behind her.

And she would never go back.

Please make sure that man is not allowed in here again, she said—both to her WE and to the man at the door.

Both confirmed. He was now permanently barred from Club Velvet.

Frank was already moving toward her, having felt her freeze—the bolt of fear that had rippled through their connection like a siren. He didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her.

“Honey, you okay?” he asked softly.

She held onto him tightly, drawing strength from the warmth of his body and the calm in his voice.

“I’m fine,” she said, her face buried in his shoulder. “Just a blast from the past I want to forget.”

Frank. Lisa. The man has been barred from entry permanently, their WE confirmed. Once again.

Frank kissed her temple. “What was his name?”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Lisa lifted her head, her eyes sharp and burning with conviction.

“He doesn’t get a name,” she said, voice unwavering. “He’s slime. Filth. He doesn’t deserve the privilege of having a name spoken by my mouth.”

Frank woke early on his last day in Chicago and turned to see Lisa still curled beneath the comforter. Only her head was visible, the rest of her tucked into the warmth of what had quietly become their bed.

He slipped out gently, not wanting to wake her.

After a shower and getting dressed, he stepped out into the cool morning air, the city just beginning to stir. He had one destination in mind—a jewelry store down the block.

He was going to buy a ring.

He was going to ask Lisa to marry him.

Even after all they’d been through—after everything they’d built together—some tiny, irrational part of him still whispered that she might say no.

That is the most ridiculous thing the WE have ever heard, his WE chimed in, full of exasperated affection.

I know, Frank replied with a quiet chuckle. But welcome to the mind of a man in love. Even if the signs are clear, even if she’s told us a hundred times, we still find room for doubt.

Lisa will say yes. She might fuss about the timing ... but she’ll say yes. His WE assured him.

Thanks, Frank replied, and pushed open the jewelry store door.

A soft chime sounded.

A young saleswoman looked up and smiled. She wore only an apron around her waist—a nod to the WE-friendly fashion of the modern world. “Hi there,” she said, walking toward him with an outstretched hand. “I’m Carly. What can I do for you today?”

“I need a ring,” Frank said. “She’s going to marry me. I just need to find the right one.”