Avery wants to slap Andrew across the face. She hates the way he's looking at her baby sister as if he wants to taste her. She wants to get up, grab Gabrielle, and take her far away from this place. But she's not the only one with that idea. Half a dozen men crowd the foot of the stage and shout up at Gabrielle.

"Little beauty, what's your name?" one shouts. "Your little feet are so beautiful—can I lick them?"

"Hey, little girl," shouts another. "How much does it take for a night with you? I'd spend all my money on you tonight."

"Does the white dress mean you're a virgin?" shouts another. "I'd love to take your cherry."

A drunk man pushes the others aside and shouts, "I've never seen anything like you. I'll give you ten million dollars for another private show. What do you say?"

Avery bites her lip and digs her nails into her palms. Gabrielle is only eighteen, and her figure is still girlish and immature. Though she's wearing layers of makeup, she looks young and naïve. What's wrong with these men? She thinks. Don't they want someone more experienced and womanly?

"Baby, I'll give you twenty million if you get drunk with me tonight," a man in the crowd shouts.

"I'll pay fifty million for the whole night," the first man shouts back.

Gabrielle leans over the edge of the goblet and bats her eyes at them. Even from a distance, Avery can tell that her sister is drunk. Her eyes are unfocused, and her movements are slow and lazy.

"You have to ask Mr. Oliver," she purrs. "He's my boss, and only he can accept your offers."

Gabrielle looks up at the security camera dangling above her and winks. Avery catches the movement and wonders who she's winking at. Is Jackson watching the whole thing from somewhere in the club?

Jackson watches Gabrielle wink at him on his LCD screen. The screen is as big as the back wall of his office, and Gabrielle appears life-size in front of him.

"I have to say, she surprised me," Hill says. "Not much can at this point, but she did. She usually looks so dumb and awkward, but she used that to her advantage, and she seduced them at the critical moment. I'd say she has a bright future here."

Jackson swirls his wine and asks, "How much did the men offer for her?"

"Well, a lot of them shouted outrageous things, but the legitimate offers are well over six million in total. They might even add up to ten—we're still looking into it."

"More than ten million, hmm?" Jackson asks, swallowing the rest of the wine in a single gulp.

Most girls only need to get one million in offers before they're promoted from blue to jasmine, but Jackson secretly set Gabrielle's minimum to five million. He can't believe she's doubled that.

"It's a club record, Mr. Oliver," Hill says.

"I know that," Jackson snaps.

"One guest even offered to pay fifty million for the whole night with her," Hill says. "I'm not sure the offer is legitimate, but we're checking. If it is, shall we accept it?"

Jackson smashes the empty wine glass against his desk, slicing the edge of his finger on one of the shards. Hill's face pales, and he jumps forward to help, but Jackson waves him away.

"She got into the whore character really fast," Jackson snaps.

"She certainly did," Hill says with pride in his voice. "Now, do you want to approve the offer or not?"

"Tell her if she dares to spend the night with him, I'll break her pretty little leg," he says.

He wipes his bloody hand on the leg of his pants and jumps to his feet, ignoring the shocked expression on Hill's face.

Gabrielle watches as a bulky bodyguard with a menacing scar across his cheek, grabs the fifty million man by the collar and drags him away from the stage. Does that mean Jackson refused the offer? She wonders. That doesn't make sense—he brought me here to pay my debt, and fifty million dollars would help a lot. I can't believe he refused the offer.

She looks down and sees that the other men are being dragged away from the stage. The curtains swing closed, and she stands. Without the hot spotlights, the goblet of wine is cold, and she shivers. She stands and climbs over the edge, feeling drunk off the wine fumes.

As she passes the curtains, she sees a pale, familiar face on the other side. Avery is standing on the stage, peeking in through the gap in the curtains. Her eyes are wide and wet as if she's on the verge of tears.

"Avery, what are you doing here?" Gabrielle asks.

"Oh, Gabrielle, what has Jackson done to you?" Avery asks. "Are you okay? Can you make it a little longer? I swear I'm going to get you out."

Gabrielle feels tears flood her eyes, but she knows she can't cry. There's no way Avery can rescue me, she thinks. So there's no point in her knowing how miserable I really am. If she knew even half of it, she'd never forgiven herself.

"No, that pervert hasn't done anything to me," Gabrielle answers, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

"Then why are you selling yourself out here to these—monsters?" Avery stammers.

"Don't worry," she says. "He won't let me actually serve the guests. A man just offered fifty million dollars, and he forced the man to leave. I wish he would've accepted—it would have made a dent in my billion-dollar debt."

Avery gasps and shakes her head, "Don't talk like that, Gabby. You're not some piece of meat."

"Honestly, it's not so bad," she says. "You know I had sex with Jackson before. There's no way a guest could be any worse."

Avery groans and says, "Only a billion dollars? All this humiliation for a billion dollars? I wish I was still with Evan. I could've asked him for that kind of money, no problem. But I can't ask the same from Andrew."

"I don't expect you to," Gabrielle says, reaching through the curtain to pat her sister's arm. "Really, I'm fine. I just got a promotion, and I can have one day off each month. I'm even allowed to leave the club that day. I promise, at the end of the month, I'll get out of here and come find you."

"But what about before then?" Avery asks.

"I'll survive," Gabrielle says. "But I have to go now. Take care, Avery."

A bodyguard is waiting to show her to her new room. Blue level girls get suites with a bedroom and a living room, but they have to share bathrooms. Jasmine level girls get their own private bathrooms, and Gabrielle can't wait to take a long, hot shower. The only problem is the back wall of the bathroom is all glass, and it faces out onto one of the hallways. Any passerby can catch her bathe.

She slams the clear door of the bathroom behind her and peels the sticky, stained dress over her head. She steps out of the thong and kicks it into the far corner of the bathroom. She frowns—the red wine smell is stuck to her very skin and hair, and it's starting to make her feel nauseous.

She steps into the shower and lets the scalding heat of the water calm her stomach and her mind. The water sprays over her face, splattering her lips and eyelids and trickling down her neck. She reaches for the shampoo, but freezes. It sounds like the door is being opened.

"Who's there?" she asks.

A hard, male body slams her against the wall, and she opens her eyes and stares straight up at Jackson.