2| HIS LOSS

ELARA

My jaw slacked. I shook my head.

“I don’t have…”

“Oh, baby. But there’s so much of it on my phone.” David gripped both my wrist as he led me towards the room.

Tears welled in my eyes, but I fought them from flooding down my cheeks..

“You had hidden cameras.” My hands flew over my lips when he pointed them. The tears I fought so hard with, streamed down my cheeks as I imagined what the headlines would be if they got out.

Super model gets wild: Elara’s sex tape released.

Stunned beyond words, I turned to leave this place.

He caught my wrist. Hard. “You walk out, and those nudes go everywhere. Your little swimwear brand? Kiss it goodbye. Every brand deal, every runway, every follower who thinks you’re wholesome, they’ll see what a slut you really are.”

When I didn’t say anything, he went on, “You also have a few chats with me that I could put out there too. You really let me talk trash about Melissa Greenwood, and she’s one of your biggest customers for those little swimwear you sell. Or should I compile our gossip about your work colleagues? You really said shit about that one brand because you don’t like them—”

“Because they lied about what they stood for! They tricked me!”

He shouted back in my face, “Then you can prove it! Go ahead and try to twist those chats to your favor, love…”

I yanked free. “You’d ruin me to keep an inheritance?”

“I’d ruin you because I can.” He stepped closer, breath hot with bourbon. “Marry me in two weeks. Play the perfect fiancée. I get the trust fund when I turn twenty-six, we divorce quietly after a year, and you walk with a nice settlement. Or…” He shrugged. “I hit send.”

My pulse roared in my ears. “You never loved me.”

“Love’s overrated.” He smiled, all teeth. “But a few million bucks looks good on both of us.”

I left without another word. The elevator ride down felt like falling.

Vivian was in our tiny Henderson kitchen when I stumbled through the door, wearing nothing but boy shorts and one of my oversized tour merch tees, humming to countryside music.

She took one look at my face and dropped the spoon.

“Jesus, El. You look like someone ran over your dog and then fucked the corpse.”

I sank onto a barstool. Words wouldn’t come at first. When they did, they spilled like vomit.

She listened without interrupting. When I finished, she poured us both tequila and slid a glass over.

“So he’s a cheating, blackmailing piece of shit. Shocker.” She sighed. “Question is, what are we doing about it?”

“I don’t know.” I downed the shot. Fire raced down my throat. “He has everything. The nudes, the screenshots of me not defending my friends when he trashed them, the…”

“Fuck the screenshots.” Vivian leaned on the counter. “He’s got dirt. Fine. We’ll do something about it later. We surely cannot just let him win. But we can do something now. I mean, desperation looks good on a woman when she weaponizes it.”

I stared at her. “What are you saying?”

She grinned, wicked. “I’ve got a shift tonight at Obsidian. Elite club. Private rooms. Billionaires literally pay five figures to practice their BDSM fantasies on us. Fantasies most of them can’t practice on their wives of girlfriends because of how disrespectful it can get.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a black velvet mask and a gold-embossed pass. “My regular canceled. Client’s a high roller pays extra for anonymity, no names, no faces. I was gonna cover, but…”

She pushed the mask toward me.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Her eyes sparkled. “He’s clean, vetted, dominant but not cruel. And word is he’s hung like a legend and tips like a criminal. 

One night. No strings. You walk in masked, walk out with your self-esteem back together, and maybe a little cash for the trouble.”

I laughed hollow at first, then real. “You want me to go fuck a stranger to get back at David?”

“I want you to go fuck a stranger because you deserve to feel wanted. Desired. Worshipped. David starved you of that for three years. Starved you of everything. You haven’t had an orgasm in three years, girl!” She softened, just a fraction. “Take the night, El. Let someone remind you you’re not dull. You’re not average. You’re fucking fire.”

My fingers hovered over the mask. The velvet was cool, expensive.

David’s voice echoed in my head: dull in bed… worst sounds he’d ever heard…

I picked it up.

Vivian squealed, already grabbing her makeup bag. “That’s my girl. Now let’s make you look like sin.”

I followed her to the room and let her work—smoky eyes, blood-red lips, a black lace bodysuit that hugged every curve I’d spent years hating because he said they weren’t enough. She pinned my hair up, left a few tendrils loose, and tied the mask so it covered just enough to feel dangerous.

When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize the woman staring back.

She looked powerful.

She looked hungry.

Vivian handed me the pass and a burner phone. “Car’s waiting downstairs. Room 7. He’ll be there at ten. Safe word is black. Use it if you need to.”

I swallowed. “What if I can’t go through with it?”

“Then you walk out. No judgment.” She hugged me, quick and fierce. “But I think you’re about to have the best night of your life, girl.”

I stepped into the hallway, heart hammering.

The elevator dinged.

I stepped in and pressed the button for the garage. One night, one stranger, one chance to feel something other than broken.

I had no idea who or what was waiting in Room 7.

But I was willing to find out.