THE LYCAN'S GOLD DIGGER WIFE

Lacy's POV

It's another night to hunt for a man- a wealthy man.

The music vibrates through the club, a steady rhythm of deep sounds that thrum against my skin.

Multicoloured lights dance about, distorting my vision.

I wobble a little on my heels, shine some teeth at a bartender.

The white heels on my feet were a lucky find at a clearance sale, and my golden anklet glints with each step I take- stumble, rather.

My hair falls in soft waves around my shoulders, framing my face just right.

I know I look good, and in a place like this, looking good is everything, especially if you're looking to snag someone.

Except...I'm a little nervous. I'm never nervous, and it's weird.

I mean, I did this for a living: captivated men for a quick buck.

It's never hard.

I weave through the crowd, careful not to brush against anyone.

The last thing I need is some drunk thinking my presence is an invitation.

The bar is my first stop; a shiny, glossy counter with rows of expensive liquor lined up, and the handsome, tattooed bartender I smiled at.

I slide onto a stool and sigh, remembering my mother's harsh words earlier today.

"You're useless. Just like your father. No, worse. You spread your legs to survive, and you think that makes you better than me?"

I kept my back turned to her, focusing on my reflection in the tiny, cracked mirror as I applied my eyeliner. My hands were steady, even as my chest tightened.

She didn't stop. She never did. "You walk around like you're someone, but you're nothing. Nothing. Just like him."

I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly to keep the tears from smudging my mascara. Her words shouldn't hurt anymore, but they always found a way to burrow under my skin.

"You are a whore; you're the reason I'm stuck on this bed as a sickling; you're also the reason your father died. You are bad luck."

Mother had been left frail after my birth and eventually got bedridden. Father had overworked himself to pay her medical bills before dying off.

Now I'm playing the role of a gold digger with no high school certificate to keep food on the table.

Her words always sting, no matter how many times I try to ignore them.

I had turned to my mother, ignoring her curses, and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

Her skin was cold, her body frail against the pillows. Her eyes, though, were still full of hatred as she turned away from me in disgust.

I walked out anyway, my eyes brimming with tears.

Now, sitting at the bar, I take a deep breath, shaking off the memories. This is my world now.

Not that house. Not the suffocating walls closing in on me.

I observe my surroundings, searching for a prince to root me out of my misery.

All I see are couples grinding against each other, men in faux-expensive suits whispering into the