1

ELARA

The notification sound on my phone usually meant a sale on my website or an email from my agency.

It was a soft ping, harmless and routine.

I didn't hate the sound. In fact, I lived for it. It meant money in the bank, and money meant my parents didn’t have to sell their house in Ohio.

But this time, the ping felt like a countdown to something.

I sat on the edge of my bed, surrounded by wedding invitations that needed stamps.

My engagement to David was supposed to be the highlight of my year. We had just announced it two weeks ago.

The ring on my finger was heavy, platinum, and cost more than my car. I stared at the screen.

A message from Vivian.

Don’t freak out. Just watch.

My stomach turned over. Vivian didn't send vague texts. She was loud, brash, and direct. If she was telling me not to freak out, the house was probably on fire.

I tapped the video file.

It was grainy, shot in low light, probably from a hidden angle in a room I didn't recognize.

The audio was messy—shuffling sheets, a headboard hitting a wall. Then came the voice.

"God, you’re tighter than she is."

I froze. I knew that voice. I knew the cadence, the slight rasp, the arrogance in it.

The camera shifted. I saw a wrist. A gold Rolex with a custom blue face. I bought that watch. I put it on a credit card that I was still paying off because he said he needed to look the part for a meeting with investors.

Then, a laugh. His laugh.

"She’s just… boring," David’s voice cut through the phone speaker, slicing right into my chest. "Like a dead fish. I have to picture this whenever I’m with her."

The video ended.

I didn't scream. I didn't cry.

I just felt cold. A numbing, cold that started in my toes and worked its way up to my throat.

Two years. I spent two years picking up his laundry, listening to his business pitches that never went anywhere, and soothing his ego when his father cut off his allowance. I spent two years thinking I was the problem in the bedroom because he told me I was.

You’re too stiff, Elara. You’re not adventurous enough. You’re lucky I stick around given how average you are without the makeup.

I stood up. The wedding invitations were scattered onto the floor.

I grabbed my keys.

David’s penthouse was on the Strip. It was paid for by the trust fund he was terrified of losing.

The place always smelled like stale weed and expensive cologne.

I didn't knock. I had a key, though I rarely used it because he hated "surprise visits." He said they interrupted his creative flow.

I slammed the door open.

David was on the couch, playing a video game, wearing nothing but boxers. He jumped, dropping the controller.

"Elara? What the hell?" He scrambled up, eyes wide and bloodshot. "You can’t just barge in here. I’m in a meeting."

"With who? Call of Duty?" I walked straight up to him. I felt like I was vibrating. "I saw the video, David."

He blinked. "What video?"

"The one where you’re screwing some girl and talking about how boring I am. The one where you’re wearing the watch I bought you."

His face changed. The shock vanished, replaced by that sneer I had learned to ignore because I thought it was just 'stress.'

He sat back down, picking up a half-empty beer. "So?"

"So?" I choked out. "That’s it? We’re getting married in two weeks! I’ve been killing myself to make this work, and you’re cheating on me?"

"I have needs, Elara. Needs you obviously can’t meet." He took a sip. "Look, stop being dramatic. It was just sex. It doesn't mean anything."

"It means we’re done," I said, my voice shaking. "I’m leaving. I’m canceling the venue, the caterers, everything."

I turned to the door.

"You’re not going anywhere."

His tone stopped me. It wasn't loud. It was smug.

I looked back. "Watch me."

David set the beer down and picked up his phone. He tapped the screen a few times and turned it toward me.

My breath hitched.

It was a photo of me in the shower. I didn't know he was in the bathroom. I was bent over, shaving my legs.

It was explicit. Unflattering. Private.

"I have about fifty of these," David said casually, swiping to the next one. "And a few videos of you sleeping. You drool, by the way."

"Delete that," I whispered.

"No." He stood up, walking closer. He loomed over me. He wasn't as tall as he liked to think, but right now, he felt the part. "Here is the situation, Elara. I turn twenty-six next month. My father’s clause for the trust fund states I need to be married and 'stable' to access the full amount. If I don't get that money, the loan sharks I owe are going to break my legs."

"That’s not my problem!"

"It is now," he hissed, grabbing my arm. "Because if you leave, if you try to humiliate me by canceling this wedding, I'll upload these. All of them. T*****r, I*******m, Pornhub. Everywhere."

I tried to yank my arm away, but he held tight.

"And it’s not just the nudes," he continued, smiling now. "Remember those group chats? The ones where we talked about your agency? Where did you vent about that casting director? Or the swimsuit line rival you said stole your designs? I’ll leak those too. You’ll be ruined. No bookings. No business. Your parents will lose that sad little house in Ohio within a month."

I stared at him. I looked for the man I thought I loved, but he wasn't there. Maybe he never was. I just saw a desperate, cruel child.

"You’re a monster," I said.

"I’m a businessman," he corrected, shoving me back toward the door. "Go home, Elara. Fix your face. We have the engagement party at my dad’s estate in four days. You’re going to smile, you’re going to look pretty, and you’re going to marry me."

"I hate you."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged, sitting back down at his game. "Get in line."

I didn't go back to my apartment immediately. I drove around for an hour, blinding myself with tears, until I ended up parked outside the club where Vivian worked.

I sat in the car and screamed until my throat burned.

When I finally went inside the apartment we shared, Vivian was in the kitchen, blending a green smoothie. She took one look at my face and turned the blender off.

"He knows," she stated.

I nodded, dropping my bag on the floor. I collapsed onto the sofa, burying my face in my hands. "He has pictures, Viv. Nudes. He said he’ll ruin my career and my parents if I leave."

Vivian walked over, sitting on the coffee table in front of me. She pulled my hands away from my face.

"I’ll kill him," she said calmly. "I know a guy in North Vegas. Three hundred bucks and a ham sandwich, and David’s knees are gone."

I let out a wet, hysterical laugh. "He needs to get married to get his inheritance. He’s using me for the money."

"Men," Vivian spat. "They’re all trash. That’s why I charge them by the hour."

"He told me I was useless," I whispered, the words hurting more than the blackmail. "He said I was boring in bed. That I was lucky he stuck around."

Vivian gripped my knees. "Listen to me. David is an insecure little boy playing with daddy’s money. You are Elara freaking White. You are a goddess."

"I don't feel like one."

Vivian studied me for a long moment. She chewed her lip, her eyes scanning my slumped posture.

"You need to get that out of your head," she said. "The voice. His voice tells you you’re not enough. You need to overwrite it."

"How? I’m trapped, Viv."

"Not tonight." She stood up and walked to her room, coming back with a black velvet bag. "I’m supposed to work a shift tonight at The Sanctum. High-end client. Very private. Masked. No names."

"So?"

"So, you take it."

I stared at her. "What? No. I’m not a… I can’t do what you do."

"It’s not full service unless you want it to be. It’s a submissive role. The client just wants control for a few hours. He wants to worship someone who lets him take the lead." She tossed the bag onto my lap. "David makes you feel small to make himself feel big. This? This is different. In that world, your submission is a gift. It’s power."

"Viv, I can’t."

"Why? Because David said you’re boring?" She crossed her arms. "Prove him wrong. For yourself. Go there, be someone else for a night. Be anonymous. Let a man treat you like the prize you are, get it out of your system, and then we figure out how to destroy David."

I looked at the bag.

I thought about David’s laugh in the video. I thought about the way he looked at me with total indifference. I wanted to burn that feeling out of my skin. I wanted to feel desired. Not just tolerated. Desired.

"Does he have to know who I am?" I asked quietly.

"Nope," Vivian smirked. "Mask stays on. Rule number one."

I touched the velvet. My heart hammered against my ribs, not with fear, but with a sudden, reckless spike of adrenaline.

"Okay," I said. "Do it."