Chapter 4: Dance for Your Freedom

“If you want me to sign, come to the Hilton Hotel, Room 708. I’ve had the housekeeper prepare your clothes.”

The message was cold, transactional. I almost laughed at the formality of it all.

It was a sleek cocktail dress, hugging my broad shoulders and slim waist. I ran my fingers over the fabric, wondering if this was supposed to be a peace offering—or a final humiliation.

When I pushed open the door to the private room, a group of people turned to look at me, rowdy and jeering.

The air was thick with cigar smoke and expensive cologne. Laughter bounced off the walls, sharp and mean.

Lisa’s smile was especially sharp.

She sat on the edge of the sofa, legs crossed, her grin practically gleaming. She waved, eyes glinting with malice.

“Savannah, Mr. Zimmerman wants to see someone dance. I twisted my ankle, so I’ll have to ask you to fill in.”

Her tone was syrupy, but her eyes were cold. The men around her leered, eager for the show.

The men’s eyes were all over me, practically undressing me.

I felt naked, exposed. Their stares crawled over my skin, making me want to disappear.

So this was Jackson’s plan—have me dance in Lisa’s place.

He wanted to humiliate me, to prove I was still under his thumb. My stomach twisted.

“Autumn, didn’t you want a divorce? I’ll grant your wish. If you dance well enough to satisfy him, I’ll sign.”

His breath was hot on my ear, his words a twisted promise. He shoved me forward, making sure everyone was watching.

He whispered each word in my ear, then shoved me toward Mr. Zimmerman.

I stumbled, catching myself on the edge of a table. Mr. Zimmerman grinned, eyes hungry.

Mr. Zimmerman wrapped his arm around my waist, gaze leering.

His hand was heavy, fingers digging into my side. I tried to twist away, but he held me tight.

“They say Savannah’s waist could sway the whole club—today I finally see it. Don’t worry, I promised Mr. Carter I’d only cop a feel, nothing more. As long as you dance to my satisfaction tonight, I’ll agree to take on Carter Group’s contracts for the rest of the year.”

His words oozed, practiced and sleazy. I could smell whiskey on his breath. The deal was clear: my dignity for a business contract.

I stared at Jackson in disbelief.

I searched his face for any sign of regret, any hint he might call this off. Nothing but cold calculation stared back.

Everyone knew Mr. Zimmerman had a thing for waists. Whenever he saw a slim waist, he couldn’t help himself.

It was an open secret—people joked, but no one stopped him. I felt sick.

Last time, a client sent him a woman with a tiny waist—she ended up in the hospital with a fractured spine.

The story made the rounds, whispered warnings no one really heeded.

I broke free from Mr. Zimmerman’s grip, but before I could get far, Jackson grabbed me.

His hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me back. I could see the anger in his eyes, the need to control.

“Autumn, stop being so dramatic. It’s just a touch—won’t kill you. This is your bargaining chip with me.”

He said it like it was nothing, like I was just another piece on his chessboard.

So this was the price of divorce!

I felt the last shred of hope drain away. This was never about love—it was always about power.

As the door closed behind me, despair swallowed me whole.

The room spun, the air thick and suffocating. I wanted to scream, but my voice was gone.

The sweet, heavy scent in the room made me hot and restless.

It was sweet and cloying, making my head swim. I tried to clear my thoughts, but everything felt fuzzy.

A hand gripped my waist from behind.

I jerked away, panic flooding my veins. My hands scrambled for anything I could use to defend myself.

I grabbed a wine bottle from the table, ready to smash it over the man’s head, but he twisted my wrist, turning the bottle on me instead.

The glass was slick in my hand, slipping as he overpowered me. My heart pounded, adrenaline surging.

The bottle hit my forehead. I fell to the floor, my collar ripped open.

Pain exploded behind my eyes. The world tilted, everything moving in slow motion. I felt hands on me, rough and insistent.

I bit down hard on my tongue. In that moment, my parents and sister flashed before my eyes.

Their faces were soft, smiling. I heard their voices, warm and loving, cutting through the darkness.

“Savy, it’s our fault we couldn’t be there for you.”

My mother’s voice was gentle, full of regret. I wanted to reach for her, to hold on.

“Sis, live well.”

My sister’s words echoed, a promise I’d tried so hard to keep. I felt tears slip down my cheeks.

It was like seeing a ray of light in the darkness. I bit down on Mr. Zimmerman’s finger.

The pain snapped me back to reality. His yelp was loud, angry. I tasted blood, but I didn’t care.

He jerked away, cursing. I scrambled to my feet, every muscle screaming.

I seized the chance to run out the door.

I bolted, shoes slipping on the polished floor. The hallway was empty, the doors all closed. I ran, heart pounding.

As I ran past a private room in the hallway, the door was slightly ajar.

I slowed, curiosity and desperation warring inside me. I peered through the crack, breath held.

Inside, Jackson was pressing Lisa against the wall, kissing her hungrily.

His hands were all over her, their bodies pressed close. The sight made me sick.

“Jackson, shouldn’t you go check on Savannah? I’m worried about her…”

Lisa’s voice was breathy, full of fake concern. She glanced toward the door, eyes flickering with something I couldn’t name.

“What’s there to worry about? I already told Zimmerman—he won’t dare touch her. Besides, I want to use this as a chance to punish her. She’s been too disobedient lately.”

His words were cold, calculated. I realized then that he’d never loved me—not really.

I was about to push open the door when Zimmerman’s bodyguards found me and dragged me back.

Their hands were rough, unyielding. I kicked and screamed, but it didn’t matter. They hauled me down the hall, back to that room.

Utterly hopeless, I threw myself against the wall.

The pain was sharp, but it barely registered. I wanted out—of the room, of my life, of everything.

Before I blacked out, I seemed to see my parents and sister smiling at me again.

Their faces were peaceful, full of love. I felt a strange sense of calm wash over me.

Mom, Dad, Sis—Savannah might not be able to keep her promise.

I whispered it in my mind, hoping they could hear me wherever they were.

Savannah’s coming to find you.

The darkness closed in, soft and final.

An hour later, Jackson opened the door to Room 708, expecting to see me begging for forgiveness.

He strode in, confidence radiating off him. He was ready to gloat, to revel in my humiliation.

He stopped short.

The room was empty, the silence deafening. He looked around, confusion flickering across his face.

I was nowhere to be found.

My absence was louder than any words I could have spoken.

Broken glass littered the floor, along with bloodstains.

The scene was chaotic—shards of glass glinting in the dim light, smears of blood trailing across the carpet. The air was thick with the scent of fear and something else—loss.

The cleaning staff were whispering to each other.

Their voices were hushed, eyes wide. They glanced at Jackson, then away, afraid to meet his gaze.

“That woman had it rough. Mr. Zimmerman tore her clothes to shreds. She couldn’t stand the humiliation and tried to kill herself by smashing her head against the wall…”

Their words floated through the air, heavy with judgment and pity. For once, Jackson had no comeback, no clever retort. He just stood there, alone in the wreckage he’d created.