Chapter Three

Harper's POV

My fingers stay hovering over the screen, the man's offer is glaring back at me like a dare. My heart pounds in my chest, almost like a warning to not do this. It's just dinner, that's all it is. Dinner and a few light touches, someones hand resting on mine across the table, maybe even a staged kiss on the cheek.

I mean, I've endured far worse than that, for far less. At least that's what I whisper to myself to try and calm the panic blooming in my stomach.

Slowly, I begin to type.

Hi. I saw your profile. I’m interested in the dinner date option, with public affection. Could you tell me what sort of place you’d like to go, and what you’re expecting?

I don’t send it right away, my mind won't let me. My thumb lingers over the screen. I know Mark is watching me and I can see his knee bouncing restlessly, as his fingers drum against the edge of the sofa like I’m taking too long.

“You’re wasting time,” he snaps. “He’s probably fake anyway. Or busy. They all say they’re interested, and then they ghost.”

“I just want to sound polite,” I murmur, not looking at him because if I do he will see the lie.

“You’re being slow,” he huffs, and before I can move, he leans over and yanks the phone from my hands.

I flinch and almost move back, and my chest tightens as he scrolls aggressively through the screen, tapping at it. His jaw is clenched and his eyes are narrowed in focus.

“There,” he says, pushing the phone back into my hands. “Message this one instead.”

I take the phone reluctantly, the unease is already crawling down my spine like ice water. Okay, I can do this. I glance at the screen, expecting another profile like the last, another man, another list, another sickly menu of desires.

Only this one isn't, my breath catches and I stare.

It's not just one man, it's three.

The profile photo shows them sitting together in a high end hotel room. They’re all dressed in suits, their expressions too smug, too eager, with the kind of smiles that don’t reach the eyes.

They look like a pack, not like the men I am used to, they aren't individuals, but a unit. Three men.

My eyes scan the username: The_Triumvirate.

The air leaves my lungs at the username and my hands start to shake, I don't click further, I don't need to because one thing stands out more than anything.

My hands start to shake.

It's three men, not one, but three, I didn't expect that!

Before I can even click on the images or read the rest of the profile, a notification pops up across the screen and stops me. I read the notification and sigh.

“It says I need to complete my account before the message will go through,” I murmur, barely able to hear myself over the pounding in my ears.

Mark glares at me from his side of the couch. “Then answer the fucking questions,” he snaps, as though I’m wasting his time by hesitating. I didn't want to just do it and then him complain at me for not asking him.

Swallowing the knot in my throat, I tap on my profile. A list of requirements stares back at me.

I need to upload at least four photos, one showing my full body, fully clothed, and another with my face clearly visible. There’s also an option to include explicit images, though those remain locked unless I manually approve someone to see them.

I scroll through my images, debating over which ones are the best to add. I could sabotage it by adding awful ones but something tells me he will figure out my plan.

“You have plenty of fucking photos,” Mark says impatiently. “Seriously, Harper, fucking pick some.”

I sigh and nod. Okay, so I need to do this quick to stop his complaining. I select eight pictures in total. A couple of me sitting cross-legged on the floor with a book in my lap, ones that have natural light spilling across my skin. Then I pick one of me in a short black dress at some club I barely remember going to. There's another where I’m in tight hot pants and a crop top, the kind of outfit that only makes sense in summer heat. I don’t even look at them closely. I just upload and move on so he can't complain I'm taking my time.

The next section is more invasive. It asks for everything. My height, weight, hair color, eye color. It even asks about piercings and tattoos. Then it goes deeper, and asks me about any freckles, scars, or birthmarks that I have. I hesitate and stare at those ones, it feels oddly specific, even for a site like this. But then again, I remind myself that people have kinks for everything. Someone out there probably thinks a birthmark on the thigh is the height of eroticism. Who knows?

I fill in the rest, reluctantly listing a few of my interests, and answering some light-hearted questions that feel strange in the context. What would your dream vacation be? What’s your favorite way to be touched? My fingers type answers automatically, my mind not really present. It's all just noise and things to fill in the space between what’s already been decided for me.

Finally, I reach the last part, preferences and what I'm looking for in the app. I sit and stare at the screen.

“Everything,” Mark says, not even giving me a chance to consider this.

I don’t argue, I can't deal with another argument right now. I just select the box. Interested in: Everything. Then I hit save.

The screen refreshes and takes me back to the profile, the one with the three men.

Great, my pulse stutters and I scroll down slowly this time, and let the images load one by one.