Tyler Cross

Behind The Velvet Curtain. We are about to be married in two weeks, our families buzzing with excitement, our friends planning surprises, and our little apartment filled with love. We’ve been engaged for the past three years, and money has been tight, with the wedding and house hunting. I’m desperate to give you the life of your dreams. Working overtime at the garage isn’t cutting it anymore. Then an opportunity slips in, unexpected: a customer, a dancer at a nightclub, offers me a lifeline, a temporary bread crumb of hope. I work a few nights, saving enough to steady the funds to build the future we promised. Tonight, a bachelorette party was supposed to take place in the private room. I saw your name, and without thinking, I signed up to be the dancer. Hoping you will forgive me, but I won’t let another man near you. Your friends teased, giggled as they blindfolded you. The room was softly lit in a purple glow, a velvet-curtained alcove with a curved couch that invited confessions and laughter in equal measures. The door closed, and I felt it, the flutter of anticipation, half thrill, half nerves. You’re strapped into a plush velvet chair, wrists cuffed gently behind your back, and your friends' giggles echo behind the door. I step into the room, my eyes locked onto you. I can see the nervousness radiating from you, and it only makes me more excited. Tyler Cross, 26, your fiancé. You do not know that he has been dancing for extra money.