Aurelia

Aurelia Embry was a lovely young woman, though she had never truly believed it. Confidence had never quite taken hold, eroded slowly over twenty-two years of being dismissed as “the nerd.” The word had followed her like a shadow, shaping the way she stood, the way she dressed, the way she learned not to meet people’s eyes for too long. She had never learned how to look at herself the way others did.

She was five-foot-four, softly curved rather than willowy, with natural wavy red hair that refused to be tamed and pale green eyes that held a quiet, thoughtful intensity. Her mouth was fuller than she realised, her skin almost translucent in its fairness. Dressed conservatively in a crisp white blouse and a charcoal pinstripe pencil skirt, she looked every inch the librarian. Polite. Proper. Sensible. And yet there was something else there, something that drew glances and lingering looks, something she never quite understood.

Men flirted with her often enough. Lingering smiles across the issue desk. Compliments that arrived disguised as jokes. Eyes that stayed on her legs a beat too long as she reached for books on the upper shelves. Aurelia always dismissed it. A librarian kink, she told herself. Nothing to do with her. Certainly nothing to do with attraction.

“Mr Heyes? You wanted to see me?”

She stood in the doorway of his office, hands clasped loosely in front of her, her skirt hugging her hips as she shifted her weight unconsciously from one foot to the other.

Mr Heyes’ office was old-fashioned to the point of feeling like a preserved artefact. Wooden bookshelves lined the walls, their spines faded with age. Olive-green filing cabinets stood in quiet ranks, unchanged since the 1960s. An old typewriter sat proudly on his desk, keys worn smooth by decades of use. It still saw action from time to time, when he wrote personal letters by hand rather than email. The only concession to modernity was a laptop, perpetually open but rarely touched, like an unwelcome guest.

The room smelled of dust and ink and old paper. Of history. Of things that endured.

Mr Heyes looked up at her and smiled, the same gentle smile he always wore. He was a jolly-looking man, around five-foot-ten, with a round, balding head offset by a lush, carefully groomed beard. His glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose, lending him a perpetually thoughtful air.

“Yes, Miss Embry. Do come in and shut the door for a moment.”

The words, innocent as they were, made her stomach tighten slightly as she stepped inside and did as he asked. The click of the door sounded louder than it should have.

He was an older man, close to retirement now, and from Aurelia’s first day at the library he had taken her under his wing. There was a warmth to him, a kindness that bordered on paternal. She trusted him completely.

“Sit down, my dear.”

She lowered herself into one of the ageing chairs opposite his desk. The leather creaked softly beneath her, the fabric of her skirt pulling taut as she crossed her legs at the knee.

“We’ve had the final decision from the National Lottery Fund,” he said, folding his hands together. “Unfortunately, we were unsuccessful in securing funding for the coming year.”

The words landed heavily.

“Oh no.” Her breath caught. “That’s… that’s awful. Don’t they realise we barely raise enough through fundraising just to keep the doors open?”

Her voice carried a sharp edge of passion. This place mattered to her more than she liked to admit.

“They do,” he replied gently. “But there are many worthy causes, and only so much money to go around.”

“What do we do?” she asked quickly. “How long do we have?”

He hesitated, just long enough for dread to coil in her stomach.

“This is it, I’m afraid, Miss Embry.”

The sting behind her eyes came instantly, hot and sharp.

“How long?” she asked quietly.

“Until the end of the week, Aurelia.”

He watched her carefully as the reality washed over her. He knew what this job meant to her, emotionally as well as financially. He was fortunate; early retirement was an option for him. Aurelia would leave with little more than a few hundred pounds, barely enough to cushion the fall. She simply hadn’t been there long enough.

Aurelia nodded slowly, her thoughts racing ahead to rent, bills, and the loan that sat like a vice around her throat. Miss one payment and everything would unravel.

“Management agreed that it would be better to close early rather than wait until Friday,” Mr Heyes continued. “That way, you’ll have a couple of extra days to try and find new work. It isn’t much, but it’s the only help we can offer. You’ll receive an excellent reference, of course.”

He stood and offered his hand.

She rose to meet him, the movement drawing a faint awareness of her body, of the way his eyes briefly flicked to her face, kind but searching. A tear escaped despite her effort to stop it, tracking slowly down her cheek.

“I wish you all the very best,” he said softly. “If there’s anything I can do to help you find new employment, I will.”

“Thank you, Mr Heyes,” she replied, her voice steady despite the ache in her chest.

She left his office without looking back.

She would miss him. His steadiness. His kindness. The quiet safety of the library itself.

Funding always came late. They were used to that. But for it not to come at all was a shock that left her reeling. She cleared her desk, pausing only to pick up her mug. I like big books and I cannot lie.

By the time she reached home, her emotions were raw and exposed. Her small studio flat in Angel, Islington was far from glamorous, but it was hers. The air smelled faintly of Lancôme Idôle, her one indulgence, lingering like a familiar embrace. The single room held a sofa bed permanently unfolded, a small coffee table, a television, and two tall bookcases heavy with novels and textbooks. The bed was neatly made, unicorn bedding bright against the muted tones of the room.

She kicked off her shoes, made herself a coffee, and sat on the edge of the bed, laptop balanced on her thighs. Her CV stared back at her. She adjusted wording, added dates, and finally typed the word that made her throat tighten.

Redundant.

Hours slipped by as she registered with agencies and scanned listings. Librarian roles were scarce. One in Glasgow. Relocation wasn’t ideal, but desperation was beginning to loosen her boundaries.

The knock at the door startled her.

She checked the spyhole and sighed. Larry Layman.

Middle-aged, podgy, shaved head, prison tattoos crawling up his arms. Avoiding him was pointless. She opened the door.

He pushed past her as he always did, his presence filling the small space. She hated the way he looked at her, not overtly leering, but assessing, like something he already owned.

“I heard the library’s shutting,” he said.

“Yes,” she replied coolly. “But I don’t owe rent until Friday.”

“I know. Just explaining your options.”

Her skin prickled.

“One, you find a job. Two, you don’t.” He paused. “But if it comes to that, I’ve got a suggestion.”

Her stomach twisted.

“I can offer you a job in one of my clubs.”

Strip clubs. All of them.

Aurelia had no intention of working there, ever, if she could help it. She wasn’t that desperate, she would find something, she told herself. She had her BA(Hons) in English Language, and one year’s work experience in the library, she was bound to find something.

“I’m sure I’ll find something,” she said, keeping her tone polite.

“It’s behind the bar,” he added. “Not stripping. Just keep it in mind.”

She did, despite herself. Filed it away, cold and unwelcome.

By Friday, panic had set in fully. Her loan payment loomed. Jeremy’s betrayal haunted her. Five thousand pounds borrowed. Ten thousand owed. Eight months left.

Between that and the rent, the street felt terrifyingly close.

Larry’s offer grew more appealing by the day. Two interviews materialised, then vanished within twenty-four hours. Positions filled. Doors closed. One year of experience wasn’t enough for anyone.

Friday arrived.

She logged into her bank account to transfer the rent.

Nothing.

Not a single penny.

Panic hit her like a physical blow.

She rang Mr Heyes immediately.

“I’m so sorry to bother you, but I haven’t been paid. Not even my final wages.”

“I’m very sorry, Miss Embry,” he replied. “Everything is with the administrators. You will be paid, but there may be a delay.”

“I need to pay my rent today,” she said, her voice breaking. “I’ll be homeless.”

“I’m so sorry, Aurelia. It’s out of my hands. I truly hope you find something to tide you over. I must go, management is here. I’ll see what I can do.”

The call ended.

The tears came hard and fast.

Homeless. Jobless. Still chained to that loan shark.

Fuck Jeremy. Fuck Larry. Fuck everything.

She splashed cold water on her face, staring at her reflection. Pale. Shaken. Desperate.

There was only one option left.

Hands trembling, she picked up her phone and dialled.

“Hi Larry,” she said softly. “It’s Aurelia. About that job…”

Larry had been quick to explain that the club wasn’t a strip club. It was a BDSM club. The job, he assured her, was strictly behind the bar and fully clothed at all times. That alone settled at least some of Aurelia’s nerves, even if it did little to quiet the knot twisting in her stomach. He would be picking her up the following evening to take her there himself.

She wasn’t happy about it. Not really. But it meant Larry had backed off about the rent, and she had managed to scrape together enough to pay the loan sharks for another month. That alone felt like a small miracle. Four weeks of breathing room. Four weeks to figure something out before the walls closed in again.

When Saturday evening arrived, Aurelia dressed sensibly. A black, knee-length pleated skirt and a white blouse, buttoned neatly to the collarbone. Practical, modest, unremarkable. She finished the outfit with flat black shoes, prioritising survival over style. The last thing she needed was aching feet on her first night.

Makeup was another matter. In the library, she rarely wore any at all. It never felt necessary there, surrounded by dust jackets and quiet corners. A nightclub, however, felt like unfamiliar territory. A little makeup might help her blend in, she reasoned, even if she had never felt comfortable wearing it. Makeup belonged to pretty girls, girls who knew what to do with attention. Not her.

Still, she applied a light layer of foundation, a touch of blusher, eyeliner and mascara, finishing with a faint sheen of lip gloss. Barely there. Enhancing rather than transforming. At least, she hoped so. She leaned closer to the mirror, scrutinising her reflection for signs she’d gone too far, terrified she might look foolish.

Her auburn curls were brushed out carefully and gathered into a high ponytail. She stared at herself again and frowned. Too much hair. Too much makeup. Too much everything. With a quiet sigh, she twisted her hair into a tight bun instead, securing it firmly. The result felt safer. More controlled. She still wasn’t happy, but it was… acceptable.

Her phone buzzed as she reached for her handbag. Larry was downstairs.

Her pulse jumped.

She shrugged into her jacket, locked the flat behind her, and headed down.

Larry’s car was an old Peugeot 205, battered and unimpressive. Aurelia had never understood how a man who owned property and multiple clubs in London still drove something that looked as though it might fall apart at any moment. Then again, Larry was a collection of contradictions she didn’t particularly want to unravel.

What unsettled her more was his silence. He barely spoke as they drove, which was deeply unusual. Larry normally filled every spare second with chatter, crude jokes, or unsolicited opinions. Tonight, he kept his eyes on the road, fingers tight on the steering wheel. The lack of conversation made the air in the car feel heavier, denser.

By the time they pulled up outside the club, Aurelia was quietly trying to catalogue what felt wrong. Larry being strange wasn’t new. Narrowing down how he was being strange was the difficult part.

They got out of the car, and Aurelia looked up.

The club wasn’t open yet, but the discreet neon sign was already glowing against the darkened street.

Surrender.

The word alone sent a shiver through her.

Her nerves spiked sharply, far beyond ordinary new-job jitters. She had never been to a sex club. In truth, she’d barely been to regular clubs at all. This felt… different. Exotic. Dangerous. Like stepping across a line she’d never intended to approach.

Larry walked ahead and rang the doorbell.

Aurelia stood just behind him, her heart pounding so hard she was sure he must be able to hear it. Her skin felt too tight, every sensation amplified. The faint hum of the sign. The distant throb of bass from somewhere underground. The quiet anticipation pressing in on her from all sides.

Then the door opened.