The room felt smaller now, the air thick with the smell of whiskey and the faint leather scent of the folder Jonathan had pulled out. He dropped back onto the edge of the bed, springs creaking under his weight, and slid the thin stack of papers across the low tea table toward me.

"So, my babyboy Ezra..." he said, grinning wide as he leaned back on his hands. "She is your client."

I reached forward and picked up the top sheet. A photo was clipped to the front—color printout, slightly glossy. I tilted it toward the lamp light.

Her name was printed in neat black letters underneath the picture: Lara.

She looked maybe thirty, thirty-two at most. Long dark hair falling in soft waves past her shoulders, big eyes looking straight at the camera with that quiet, almost shy smile. She was wearing a simple cream one-piece dress, nothing flashy, nothing trying too hard. Just... pretty. Innocent-looking. The kind of face you’d see in a family photo at a wedding, not in a client file at a place like this.

Jonathan tapped the paper with one thick finger. "Her name is Lara. Newly married—only about a month ago. Seems like she’s already looking to vent out some frustration."

I flipped to the next page. Basic info: age, height, likes, dislikes, a short note in Jonathan’s messy handwriting at the bottom.

"Family comes from money," he went on. "Real rich background—old money kind of rich. Husband... typical middle-class engineer. Decent job, decent guy probably, but yeah. You know how it goes."

I stared at the photo again. Something about her eyes looked restless, even in the still picture. Like she was smiling because she was supposed to, not because she wanted to.

"Alright," I said, exhaling slow. "I’ll do it."

Not like I had any real reason to turn down the money. Bills didn’t care about my mood. Hospital bills definitely didn’t.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. "No questions?"

I leaned back in the chair, letting the leather cushion take my weight. I picked up the whiskey glass again, swirled it once, then took a slow sip. The burn felt good—sharp enough to cut through the fog in my head.

"I don’t care," I said after I swallowed. "She’s probably not satisfied with her husband. That’s why she’s here. You said she comes from a wealthy family, married down to a middle-class guy. So she’s got fantasies—stuff he can’t give her, or doesn’t know how to give her. Maybe he’s too busy working late, too tired, too vanilla. Nothing new."

I set the glass down with a quiet *clink*.

"Nothing we haven’t seen a hundred times already."

Jonathan let out a big laugh—deep, rolling, the kind that filled the whole room.

"Haha, my boy is getting experienced now."

I raised one eyebrow and gave him a half-smile. "I’ve been working here for a while now. Come on."

I leaned back in the chair, the leather creaking under me. The whiskey was still sitting warm in my stomach. I looked down at Lara’s photo one more time—those big eyes, that soft smile—and let out a slow breath.

"Every girl is here to have fun in the end," I said. "Married or not. Doesn’t matter."

Jonathan nodded slowly. He had pulled a cigar from the inside pocket of his open shirt. He bit off the end, spit it into the small trash bin beside the bed, then flicked his lighter. The flame jumped up, lighting the tip. He took a deep pull, the cherry glowing bright orange for a second before he blew a thick cloud of smoke toward the ceiling.

"Truly..." he said, voice low and rough from the smoke.

I kept staring at the picture. Something about her face was bugging me, even though I knew I shouldn’t care.

"But still," I said, tapping the paper lightly with one finger, "why even marry the middle-class guy if you know you won’t be satisfied? Why go through all that?"

Jonathan shrugged one big shoulder, the cigar hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Well... humans have lots of secret desires," he said, exhaling another slow puff. The smoke curled around his face like a grey halo. "She probably thought love was enough. Or maybe her family pushed it. Or maybe she thought she could change him. Then reality hit. Now she’s here, needing a new man to vent out for one night. Simple as that."

"Yeah..." I muttered, leaning my head back against the chair.

Jonathan pointed the cigar at me, the red tip glowing.

"Make sure to satisfy her properly," he said. "If she enjoys it, she’ll keep you the whole night. That means more money. Good money."

I gave a small nod and forced a half-smile.

"Yeah. I’ll do my best."

It came out flat, more mock than real, but Jonathan didn’t seem to mind.

"That’s why, boy Ezra!" He stood up suddenly, the bed springs groaning under the shift of his weight. He walked over and clapped one heavy hand on my shoulder—firm, familiar, the same way he always did when he wanted to say *I’ve got your back*.

I glanced up at him. His body was already turned toward the door, like he was halfway out.

"You going somewhere?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "Need to take my daughter out. There’s this new park she’s been begging me to go to for months now. Keeps showing me pictures on her tablet every time I come home."

I raised an eyebrow, a real smile tugging at my mouth this time.

"The family guy Jonathan, huh?"

He spread both arms wide, cigar still between two fingers, smoke trailing up from the tip.

"Always has been," he said, grinning big and tired at the same time. "She’s got me wrapped around her little finger. One look with those big eyes and I’m done."

I let out a small laugh, the quiet one, but real.