Chapter 3 — American Mary
Mary sat at the operating table, carefully stitching up a turkey that had been slashed several times. Her movements were meticulous—gentle, almost tender, as if she were repairing something far more important than poultry.
Nearby, Ethan was working on the surgical lamp that kept flickering.
The light brightened, dimmed, brightened again…
Like something breathing.
When Mary finished the last stitch, she inspected her "work," pulled off her gloves, and suddenly said:
"Ethan… do you know why I'm here?"
Ethan didn't even look up. "Because you like me."
"Stop messing around."
Ethan leaned back with a grin, shameless as ever.
"Because you believe in the clinic's future, and you joined early. When we go public, you'll be lying in bed making millions."
Mary didn't even bother responding. She just narrowed her eyes at him like he was mentally unwell.
"Okay, okay." Ethan raised both hands in surrender. He thought for a moment, then answered more seriously:
"Because I saved you… and helped you get revenge?"
"That's only part of it."
"Then maybe…" Ethan slowed down, "…it's because we trust each other."
Mary fell silent.
And against her will, her mind drifted back to the first time they met.
---
(Flashback)
"Miss Mason," the customer service rep said, "our records show you have an overdue balance."
Mary's voice was stiff. "I know. I called last Friday and put forty dollars into the account."
"Our files do show a payment on Friday," the representative replied politely, without a shred of warmth. "But forty dollars is generally not enough…"
Mary frowned, a mix of anxiety and suppressed irritation tightening her tone.
"When I called last Friday, nobody told me my service would be suspended. They didn't say anything."
"Then someone clearly made an error," the rep replied evenly. "We normally wouldn't do that. I'll restore your service and waive the reconnection fee. When will you be able to make your next payment?"
"Uh…" Mary clenched the phone harder. "In about… two weeks. I can put in some money then… How much do I need to pay to keep my service from being shut off again?"
The rep flipped through paperwork.
"You are three months overdue. Three hundred sixty-four dollars should be sufficient."
Mary swallowed. Her throat felt dry. "Okay… um… What's the minimum I can pay?"
"Three hundred sixty-four dollars."
The call ended—clean, sharp, final.
Mary stared at the darkened call screen, her knuckles pale.
When she got home, the apartment was silent except for the low hum of the refrigerator compressor.
She opened the fridge and stared at shelves that were basically empty.
All she had was a bottle of expired milk… and half a bag of salad dressing.
Mary sighed, sat down on the edge of the bed, and scrolled through job listings.
Every posting screamed the same requirements:
Experience required. Full-time only. Resume needed before interview.
Her finger scrolled faster and faster, as if speed could erase reality.
Then she made a phone call.
"It's because my phone service got cut off," Mary explained awkwardly.
A warm, elderly voice came from the other side. "What? Your service got cut off? When did that happen?"
"This afternoon, I think. But it's fine now—I fixed it."
"I still have a little money," her grandmother said gently, worry thick in her voice. "I'll go to the bank tomorrow and withdraw it—"
"No, Grandma." Mary cut her off quickly, her gaze drifting back to the computer screen.
And that's when she noticed a new listing that had just popped up—
$1,000 — NO SEX — Cash Payment.
Mary clicked it.
The page flashed a bold line of text:
A booming gentleman's club is seeking charming women to provide sensory massage and private dance services.
NO SEX REQUIRED!
Weekly pay up to $1,000, plus tips!
Mary stared at the words, her chest tightening slightly.
She took a slow breath, then spoke into the phone again, forcing her voice steady.
"Really, Grandma. I don't need it. I already contacted the bank. The phone company made a mistake, so… it's fine now."
"Alright." Her grandmother sighed softly, voice gentle. "No one's bullying you at school, right? No one trying to steal your boyfriend?"
Mary gave a bitter little smile. "I don't have a boyfriend. And in med school, it's basically impossible to date anyway."
"I watched a TV drama," Grandma lowered her voice, like she was about to teach an important lesson. "There was a girl who wanted to become a prostitute. Her friend found out, so she made up a story and made everyone think her friend was the prostitute instead. Young people these days… stripping without shame."
Mary couldn't help laughing helplessly. "That's just TV, Grandma. If they didn't film it that way, nobody would watch."
"That kind of thing would never happen in Budapest," Grandma said seriously. "Over there, there's a street just for it. Women stand right on the street and—"
"Uh-huh…" Mary half-listened, her eyes locked on the screen.
Her fingers clicked Reply, then typed quickly:
I'm very interested in the job posting you published on Aexcea.
Where should I go for an interview?
She hit send, let out a long breath, and closed her phone.
---
That evening, Mary stood in front of a building lit with neon.
The sign at the entrance swayed gently in the wind. Alcohol and perfume blended into a heavy haze that crawled into her nose.
After asking around, she finally found the club owner—Billy Buck.
Billy glanced at the paper in Mary's hand. "What's this?"
Mary stepped forward and handed it over. "My résumé. I'm not sure if you need it."
Billy looked her up and down. "We don't require résumés here." He smirked. "But it's convenient. Now I can learn a little about your secrets."
He skimmed it. "Impressive education. Planning to become a doctor?"
"A surgeon."
"A surgeon?" Billy raised an eyebrow. "You any good?"
"I am," Mary answered flatly. "And I'm also broke. I need money, so…"
Billy nodded slowly. "I like honesty."
He set the résumé down, leaned against the bar, and tapped the counter with his fingers.
"Alright then, Mary. Now we're entering the awkward part."
"You're not overweight, are you?"
Mary straightened her back. "No. I'm a poor med student who can barely afford food."
Billy smiled faintly. "Then let me see."
Mary hesitated—only for a moment.
Then she unbuttoned her trench coat, revealing the black lingerie she'd deliberately chosen.
"Is this… okay?"
"Perfectly." Billy's gaze swept over her. He nodded in approval.
"Good," Mary murmured.
"Walk a little." Billy's eyes slid to her legs. "Walk like you're sexy."
Mary inhaled, stiffened her spine, and forced herself to take a few steps.
Billy clapped lightly. "Not bad. Now give me a massage."
Mary froze. "Right now?"
"Of course."
She moved closer and placed her hands on his shoulders.
Billy clicked his tongue. "Not through the coat."
Mary bit her lip, then did as he said.
"Use more force, Mary."
"…Okay." Her voice came out low, her movements awkward.
Billy narrowed his eyes, enjoying the sensation of her hands moving over his shoulders—
Then hurried footsteps thundered outside.
A strong, long-haired man strode in fast.
"Something happened!"
Billy turned his head and snapped at Mary, "Don't stop."
Then to the newcomer: "Lance. Can't you see I'm interviewing here?"
Lance's voice was urgent. "Blake's hurt."
Billy's face hardened. "Take him to the hospital!"
"We can't."
Billy slammed his fist onto the bar. "Damn it!"
He shot up and barked at Mary, "Wait here!" before rushing out.
Mary stood there, rubbing her palms, utterly at a loss.
It wasn't long before Billy stormed back in, eyes sharp, voice tense.
"Mary—how far are you from being a real surgeon?"
"There's still a gap," Mary answered hesitantly. "I still need to do hospital rotations… but I've learned most of what I need to—"
A bright glint flashed in Billy's eyes.
"Want to make five thousand dollars?"
---
They headed toward a dim basement.
As Mary walked, she asked quietly, "What exactly do you want me to do?"
Billy lowered his voice. "Don't ask questions. Once it's done, you get five thousand. And you won't need to take your clothes off."
Mary hesitated, then repeated, "What do you want me to do?"
Billy's patience snapped. "So many questions? Forget it!" He waved her off and turned to leave.
Mary suddenly stepped in front of him.
"If you pay me five thousand," she said, voice steady, "then tonight you can have me do anything."
Billy stared at her for a moment, then nodded once.
"Follow me."
---
They entered a room in the basement.
It was dim as hell.
Several gang thugs stood around—and on a table lay a man soaked in blood.
Billy spoke bluntly: "We don't want him to die. We already gave him something. Cut him open if you have to."
Mary went still, staring at the blood-covered body, her mind blank with shock.
Billy paused, then added with a cold sneer, "I'm not a doctor, but even I know time matters."
Mary forced herself to snap back to reality.
The basement was filthy, the air thick and stale. On the table were only a few beer bottles, some towels… and a bare lightbulb swinging overhead.
"Here?" Mary's brows drew tight. "You want me to operate here?"
"I need a clean environment," she said sharply. "At minimum I need proper instruments and anesthesia."
Billy's expression stiffened as he looked down at the wounded thug.
A bullet had gone through the man's chest. Blood was pumping out in thick bursts.
The air reeked of sweat, alcohol, and iron.
"Then what do we do?" another thug shouted in panic. "He's dying!"
Billy narrowed his eyes, about to explode—
When someone suddenly spoke from the side.
"I remember there's a new clinic nearby. On the corner of Seventh Avenue."
"A clinic?" Billy turned.
"Yeah. Just opened. A young doctor runs it. People have been there. Cash only, and the doctor doesn't ask questions."
Billy gritted his teeth and glanced at Mary, whose hands were smeared with blood.
"Bring her too. We're going. Now!"
"But—"
"Move!" Billy roared. "Delay any longer and he'll be meeting God tonight!"
Mary took a slow breath.
Her heart was racing—yet her gaze stayed cold and focused.
"Let's just hope," she murmured, "he doesn't die on the way."