The casino gleamed like a palace built on broken things—golden trim over rotting wood, laughter that rang too sharp, too loud. It was a place where masks were currency, and every smile had teeth behind it.
Yinlin walked beside Tao, her heels clicking against the marble with a rhythm that felt dangerously like a countdown. The dress he had sent to her apartment was a size too small, clinging to her ribs and hips in a way that made her feel peeled open. It wasn't designed for comfort; it was designed to be looked at. She felt less like a companion and more like a centerpiece.
Tao guided her toward the private floor, his hand resting on the small of her back. His touch was light, possessive, and entirely impersonal—the way a collector handles a rare, fragile vase.
Inside the glass-walled enclosure, the air was thick with the scent of expensive tobacco and old leather. Three men sat around a low mahogany table. They stopped talking as the door opened, their eyes sliding over Tao before settling, heavy and wet, on Yinlin.
"Gentlemen," Tao said, his voice smooth. He applied a fraction of pressure to her spine, stepping her forward. "This is Yinlin."
She didn't cringe. She didn't pull at the hem of her skirt. She simply arranged her face into the pleasant, vacant expression of a woman who knows she is the least important person in the room.
"A pleasure to meet you all," she murmured, executing a shallow, respectful bow.
"Well now," said the man on the left. He was older, with heavy rings that clicked against his scotch glass. He looked her up and down, not hiding the appraisal. It felt like a physical touch. "Where did you dig this one up, Tao? I didn't think the agencies had anything this… fresh left in the rotation."
Yinlin's stomach tightened, but she widened her smile, freezing it in place.
"She's not agency," Tao said, taking a seat and leaving her standing for a moment longer than necessary. "She was waiting tables at the hotel. I thought she had potential."
The man with the rings laughed—a wet, hacking sound. "A waitress? You're feeling charitable tonight, aren't you? Giving the help a taste of the high life."
"Everyone has a price," said a second man, lean and fox-faced. He extended a glass of champagne toward her, holding it just out of comfortable reach so she had to lean in to take it. "Isn't that right, sweetheart?"
Yinlin took the glass, her fingers brushing his. He held on for a second too long before letting go.
"We all have jobs to do, sir," Yinlin said softly. The humiliation burned in her throat like bile, but her voice was steady, light, indistinguishable from a hostess's practiced charm.
"And what's the job tonight?" Fox-face grinned, leaning back. "Listening to Tao bore us to death, or are there… after-hours services?"
Tao didn't defend her. He didn't even look at her. He sat with one leg crossed over the other, watching the men watch her, his expression detached. He was checking the durability of his investment.
"My job is whatever Mr. Tao requires of me," Yinlin answered. She took a tiny, decorative sip of the champagne. It tasted sour.
The third man, who had been silent until now, leaned forward. He had silver hair and eyes that looked like they had seen everything and liked none of it. "You have a hungry look, Miss Wen. The waitress outfit might be gone, but the desperation is still there. What is it you're chasing?"
The room went quiet. It was a trap. If she acted too greedy, she was cheap. If she acted too noble, she was a liar.
Yinlin set the glass down. She met the silver-haired man's gaze, letting the smile drop just a fraction—enough to show the steel beneath it.
"I have a daughter," she said. "I want to make sure she never has to stand in a room like this and smile when she doesn't want to."
The silence stretched, thin and taut. The silver-haired man stared at her, then gave a single, dismissive grunt.
"An expensive dream," he muttered, turning back to Tao. "She'll do. Now, about the shipment..."
She had been dismissed. Yinlin took her place on the arm of Tao's chair, her legs aching, her face hurting from the force of her own pleasantry. She sat there for an hour, a statue made of flesh, while they discussed money and borders.
******************
The elevator doors slid shut, sealing out the noise of the casino floor. The silence that followed was sudden and heavy.
Yinlin let the posture slump out of her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the mirrored wall, closing her eyes for a brief second before snapping them open to look at Tao.
He was watching her in the reflection of the doors.
"You're angry," he stated. It wasn't a question.
Yinlin kept her eyes on him. "Was that the point? To see if I would let them talk to me like that?"
Tao turned to her, a faint, patronizing smirk playing on his lips. He looked at her the way one looks at a dog that has successfully performed a new trick.
"The point was to see if you could be useful," he said. "Most women in your position would have blushed, or cried, or tried to defend their honor. You did exactly what I paid you to do. You smiled."
"I have a daughter to feed," Yinlin said softly. "I can't afford an ego."
"Precisely." Tao stepped closer, invading her personal space just enough to assert dominance. He didn't offer the money yet—he held onto that power a little longer. "You have a high tolerance for humiliation, Yinlin. In my line of work, that is a very valuable skill."
He reached out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. His fingers were cold.
"Keep this up," he murmured, "and you might just earn your keep."
Yinlin didn't respond, instead she moved her face away.
Behind his charming smile, she knew there was a sick pleasure of putting her in this humiliating situation. But why? What did she do to deserve to be looked down like this by him?
Her fists tightened.
******************
The car ride back was cloaked in silence.
City lights blurred against the tinted windows, casting fleeting shadows across Yinlin's face. She sat primly, her hands folded on her lap, the perfume of the casino still clinging to her skin like smoke she couldn't scrub off.
Tao leaned back, legs crossed, eyes on his phone. If he noticed the way she hugged the door or flinched at every sudden stop, he didn't show it.
When they pulled up to the edge of her apartment complex — a block of aging concrete wedged between a shuttered bakery and a dingy convenience store — Tao finally looked up. His gaze swept the surroundings, unimpressed. A flicker of distaste passed over his features.
"This is where you live?" he asked, not mockingly — just flat, like confirming a disappointing fact.
Yinlin didn't answer.
She was already reaching for the door handle when he stopped her. "Wait."
He took something from his coat pocket — an envelope, thick and pale — and placed it on the seat between them.
"For the company," he said. "They liked you."
The words weren't cruel. But they cut.
Yinlin stared at the envelope for a heartbeat too long. Then, quietly, she picked it up.
"Thank you," she said, her voice barely audible.
He didn't say anything else. The door clicked shut behind her.
The street felt colder than before. The wind bit through her coat, even though it hadn't earlier. She walked up the narrow stairwell of the apartment block with stiff legs and the envelope clutched tightly in her hand, as if it might vanish if she let go.
Inside, the lights were dim. Mei was already asleep on the fold-out bed, curled up under her cartoon blanket, her little back rising and falling in the rhythm of innocent dreams.
Ah Jia, the teenager from down the hall, was dozing in the armchair. She stirred when she heard the door.
"Hey, Auntie Wen," she whispered. "Mei fell asleep after her milk."
"Thank you, Ah Jia," Yinlin murmured, pulling a few bills from her coat pocket. "For your trouble."
She waited until Ah Jia left and the door latched shut behind her.
Then Yinlin finally sank to the floor.
The envelope slipped from her hand and landed with a soft thud. She didn't look at it again.
Her shoulders began to shake. Silent at first. Then louder — breaths that stuttered and broke and became something rawer, wetter.
She buried her face into her knees and cried — for the way they'd looked at her, like a transaction, like something rented by the hour. For the weight of her daughter sleeping so close, never knowing what her mother had to swallow to keep the lights on. And for herself, most of all.
She had never imagined she'd fall this far. But tonight, she realized how easy it was — how quickly dignity could be exchanged for survival.
She wasn't stupid — she knew what kind of game Tao was playing. A polished cage was still a cage, no matter how soft the velvet. And if she wasn't careful, she'd find herself locked inside it with no way out.