Sex Tape

Two weeks. It had been two weeks since Wes had announced their elopement to their families. Two weeks since he had insisted she meet him at the courthouse, signed the papers, and sent off staged photographs of a tropical beach wedding that had never happened. Two weeks since she had last seen her husband.Now, out of the blue, he had called her. Not a text, not an email. His deep, measured voice on the other end of the line, instructing her to come to his office. Immediately.Vivi barely remembered the cab ride to the Carter Industries. Her mind had been too busy racing through all the possible reasons Wes might suddenly want to see her. Had he changed his mind about ignoring her? Or, she dared to hope, was this the start of something real between them?Their marriage had been an arrangement, something their families had quietly orchestrated. Their fathers had been business partners for decades, always toying with the idea of merging their companies. In the end, it seemed the easiest

Vivienne fumbled for words, her voice hoarse from crying, her breath uneven. "I'm so—I'm so sorry," she rasped, her fingers trembling as she swiped at her soaked face. "And thank you. I—your clothes—"The man simply stared at her.The weight of his gaze made her feel exposed in a way that had nothing to do with the rain-drenched dress clinging to her skin. There was something unreadable in his expression, something almost pained. The intensity in his dark eyes made her stomach flip, made her shiver despite the warm spring air thick with rain.“I can pay for your dry cleaning,” she blurted out, already reaching for her wallet inside her sodden purse. Her fingers, frozen and clumsy, struggled with the zipper, but before she could retrieve the money, a large, warm hand covered hers.Her breath hitched.His touch was gentle but firm, the heat of his skin a shocking contrast to her own freezing fingers. He shook his head slightly, his fingers lingering over hers before slowly pulling away.

One Year LaterVivienne’s body pressed against the cold, unyielding marble of the desk, her hips aching as the edge bit into her skin. Every forceful jolt sent sharp, numbing ripples through her frame, but she barely felt them anymore. The rhythmic slap of skin echoed through the cavernous office, filling the space like an unwanted metronome.“Why aren’t you pregnant yet?” Wes sighed, irritation thick in his voice.Vivi didn’t answer.She kept her gaze fixed on the city skyline through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, her eyes tracing the glittering high-rises and bustling streets below. The world carried on as if nothing were happening. As if she weren’t being used like this, twice a month, scheduled like an appointment.“A whole year of this… what a waste of time.” His grunt was filled with frustration, his hands gripping her hips lazily, as if even the act itself was beneath him.Vivi had stopped flinching at his words months ago.Love, admiration—any feeling she’d once had for

Vivi heard every sound from the other room, every detail cutting into her like glass.“How do I know… ah… you won’t leave me… ugh… for another woman… hng… once you become famous?” Celeste’s moans were loud, clear, and painfully unaffected by the thin walls.“Ugh, baby, I’d never leave you,” Wes grunted, his voice rough and low.“Oh god… but what if I’m not pretty enough?” Celeste whined, her voice dripping with exaggerated sweetness. “Haah…What if he doesn’t want me?”Vivi sat frozen on the sofa just outside Wes’s bedroom, hands pressed so hard against her ears that her knuckles ached. But it didn’t matter—she could still hear everything. She always could.And soon enough, he would call for her.This routine had become one of the most humiliating parts of their twisted arrangement. The cold, impersonal acts on his office desk were almost merciful by comparison. Those encounters at least felt transactional—clinical. But this? This was something darker. Something worse.“You’re perfect,

Vivienne woke early, as she always did.Routine was the only thing that kept her sane.She ate a small breakfast, something bland and light, then settled into an hour of yoga on the polished hardwood floors of the guest house. The quiet stretch of her muscles, the controlled breathing, it was the only time her mind could be still.There wasn’t much else to do.She had lost touch with her old friends long ago. After marrying Wes and moving into his world, any connection to her former life had slipped away like smoke. Wes had made it clear from the beginning that even the suspicion of cheating would bring swift consequences. That was his excuse for keeping her isolated, for giving her no money, no means of escape.The guest house was essentially a prison, though a very comfortable one.Her trust fund and shares in her family’s company remained untouched, growing steadily with interest while she lived like a caged bird. If there was a silver lining, it was that one day—if she ever got ou