CHAPTER 231: YOU RICH PEOPLE

At first, it was dry dates, photos, and vague reports. Escort work. Frequent club visits. Nothing illegal, but everything shadowed in sex and power and manipulation.

But the deeper he went, the more things didn’t quite fit.

A few redacted reports.

One hospital entry, months ago, marked "forced entry trauma" with no follow-up.

An off-the-record interview with a man named Ben—Aveline’s handler. Calculated. Charming. Dangerous.

Stefan’s jaw tightened.

The last page was a surveillance photo.

Aveline. Coming out of a club, head down. And behind her, Ben, gripping her arm tightly. Too tightly. Stefan closed the file. And left the mansion without a word.

Now – Outside Aveline’s Apartment

The street was dim. Quiet. He could hear the hum of distant traffic, the occasional bark of a dog. But closer... something else.

A voice.

Male.

Muffled, but low. Confident. Familiar.

Stefan stood at the base of the steps, his hands curled into fists. He didn’t need to knock yet. His gut already told him what he feared.

Laughter. The sound of a glass clinking.

Then Aveline’s voice—sharp, almost scolding, but then softening into something resigned.

He took a slow breath, exhaled hard.

He didn’t want to do this—not like this. He didn’t want to be that man, standing outside like he had a right to feel this deep about someone who’d never truly let him in.

But he couldn’t walk away either. He climbed the steps. Paused in front of the door.

The male voice again—lower now. Too comfortable. Too familiar. He closed his eyes.

Then raised his hand and knocked hard.

A silence fell inside.

Then footsteps.

Then—

The door creaked open.

Aveline stood there in a loose black robe, hair damp, eyes wide like she’d just been caught in a dream she didn’t expect to end this way. Behind her, just barely visible... a shirtless man stepping back into the shadows.

Stefan’s eyes didn’t waver. He said nothing for a long moment.

Stefan stood still. His jaw was tense. His fists, looser now.

Aveline turned toward him, her arms crossed over the thin fabric of her robe, one bare leg angled out as if to assert distance.

Then—his words:

"How much?"

Aveline blinked. "...Excuse me?"

"To send him away," Stefan said flatly, already pulling his wallet from his coat pocket. "This?" He held up a few folded bills, then added more. "Or all of it?" He stretched out his hand toward her, a bitter challenge behind his voice.

Aveline stared at the money, then at him. Her lips curled into something that tried to pass for a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

She turned, calm as anything, and called over her shoulder:

"You’ll have to go. Sorry."

The man muttered something under his breath—an apology, maybe—and grabbed his shirt, slipping quietly out the door.

When the latch clicked again, Aveline let the smile fall.

She turned to Stefan, arms still crossed, voice even sharper now.

"What do you want?"

Stefan opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Aveline’s eyes burned.

"What, you want to fuck? Want me to make it easy for you? Should I strip?" Her voice cracked with a kind of laugh that didn’t sound like laughter at all. "Here, I’ll do it right here, in front of your clean conscience and family name—"

"Aveline—" Stefan took a step forward, stunned.

She shook her head.

"You don’t get to look shocked now. You don’t get to stand there with pity in your throat and shame in your eyes like you’re doing me a favor by caring."

"I’m not—" he started.

"You don’t have to do this," he said instead, quieter this time. "I can help you. Financially. You wouldn’t have to keep living like this." He threw the cash down on the couch like it burned in his hand.

Aveline stared at it.

Then looked at him.

Her face twisted—not into rage, but into something colder. Emptier.

"God, what is it with you rich people?" she said with a hollow laugh. "When I first found out you were a Shepherd, I thought I’d won the lottery. I imagined a man who’d buy me silk and diamonds just for breathing next to him."

Stefan’s chest rose, shallow and fast.

She took a step closer, not to be near him, but to draw a line between them.

"But that night... when you saw me. The way you looked at me, Stefan—like I was something rotten under your shoe—I realized exactly how far away your world was from mine."

She leaned in slightly.

"So yes. This is who I am. I make people feel things they’re too afraid to ask for. I take what I need. And sometimes—yeah, sometimes I...I enjoy it."

A pause. A bitter breath.

"Now go. Just leave." Her voice didn’t break. But her eyes almost did. Stefan didn’t move at first.

He stood there, surrounded by a room filled with low light, perfume, and something aching beneath the silence.

The door had closed behind him.

But Stefan didn’t move.

His hand lingered on the knob, knuckles white. His body turned toward the hallway, but something pulled against his spine, rooted him to the moment like gravity reversing itself.

He could still hear her breathing behind him—sharp, controlled, wounded.

He let go of the doorknob.

Turned.

And crossed the space between them in three long, sure steps.

She looked up—startled, confused—but before she could speak, his hand was on her cheek. Warm. Tentative.

And then he kissed her.

Softly at first.

As though asking permission, he didn’t know he needed.

Aveline didn’t pull away. Didn’t lean in, either. She just stood there for a breath, frozen.

But then... something broke. Not passion, not love—but need. A quiet, aching need neither of them had dared name.

She kissed him back.

And the kiss deepened—not rushed, not wild, but slow and exploring. Like two people trying to understand each other in the only language left available.

Stefan wasn’t sure what he was doing.

Maybe he was using her. Maybe he was trying to forget something. Maybe he just didn’t want to feel empty anymore. Maybe he wanted his first time to be with someone who wouldn’t laugh, wouldn’t judge, someone who already knew the weight of broken things.

They moved to the couch in silence. The money was still there between them, crumpled, forgotten. She swept it aside.

Their clothes fell quietly to the floor. No urgency. No games. She guided him, gentle but firm, her breath shallow in his ear. He wasn’t rough but had his consistency and rhythm, she will give him that. She wasn’t cold.

It wasn’t love. Not yet. Maybe never. But in the quiet rhythm of their bodies, something passed between them.

Not forgiveness. Not redemption. Just two people, bruised in different ways, finding comfort in the dark. When it was over, they didn’t speak. Not right away.

Just lie there in the silence. Both of them were wondering what, if anything, this moment would mean come morning.

Their clothes remained where they had fallen — a silent trail of impulsive decisions. The scent of perfume still lingered in the air, faint but present, like a memory trying not to fade.

Stefan sat at the edge of the couch, pulling his shirt back over his shoulders. His hair was slightly messy, and his expression... unreadable. He wasn’t sure what the right thing to say was, but the wrongness of silence itched at his throat.

He turned slightly toward her, still lying back on the couch in nothing but a loose sheet and a lazy expression.

"I’m... I’m sorry," he said, his voice low. "I didn’t mean to disrespect you. I don’t even know what came over me."

Aveline stretched, unbothered, as if they hadn’t just crossed a boundary neither of them fully understood. She looked at him with a soft smirk, brushing hair away from her cheek.

"You don’t have to be sorry." She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Then, teasing, she added, "You didn’t do bad... for a first timer."

Stefan flushed slightly, unsure if she was joking or being kind.

She sat up, pulling the sheet around her, legs folded beneath her as she studied him.

"You don’t have to say anything," she continued. "I like having fun. I’m used to it. I don’t want to stop. It’s not broken for me. It doesn’t need fixing."

He looked at her, eyes quietly searching.

"So," she added with a shrug, "if you ever want to have fun again, you know where to find me."

Stefan looked down, fumbling for his belt. His fingers hesitated.

"Hmm... do I have to pay or...?" he said awkwardly, attempting to lighten the mood with a half-smile.

Aveline let out a sharp laugh, tossing her head back slightly.

She leaned forward, pointing at the crumpled bills scattered across the floor.

"No," she said, amused, "this? This is more than enough."

For a second, Stefan laughed too. But it faded quickly.

There was a hollow ache beneath her smile—something she wore like armor. And something inside him stirred uncomfortably, knowing he had stepped into her world without understanding the cost.

He stood. "Right," he said. She didn’t stop him. Didn’t ask him to stay. And as he walked to the door, neither of them looked back.