1. Signed, Sealed, Delivered.

AYRA

I was dressed to kill.

A hot red dress hugged my body tightly, showing every curve. My hair was slicked into a clean, no-nonsense bun, and my bold heel clicked the tile beneath as I made my way to meet my husband—Chris.

Chris and I had been together since we were fifteen. We were what you'd call the perfect love story. Two teenagers who stuck it out until we got married.

We were swoon-worthy. I was an actress with a good career and Chris was the son of the Yaldon family. He worked with their transportation subsidiary, climbing the ladder with the kind of ease that came with being born privileged.

I clutched a brown document tightly as I walked down the hall of Pearson’s Hotel.

This document I held like my life depended on it were divorce papers. For the same man I once called my everything.

Do I think I’m crazy? Oh, absolutely.

Better to be crazy than easy. You see, I’ve been quiet, demure, and easy for too damn long. When the Yaldon family told me I needed to give up my “Silly career” and join the family’s charity organization to help polish their public image, I agreed.

All for Chris.

And what did I get in return? Betrayal.

I swiped the key card to the luxury hotel room and entered. Their voices floated through the air like poison.

“Do you think she knows about us but pretends not to see it? Because it’s classic Ayra to let you off,” Victoria purred, her green manicured nails dragging lazily down his bare chest like she’d done it a thousand times before.

And you’d think she wasn't my sister with the way she touched him.

I scoffed. Maybe I should sit back and enjoy this shitshow. Enjoy hearing what they say when they think I’m not there.

“Ayra would never leave me. She’s in love with me—obsessed, even. I know her. She can’t bear the thought of separation; she hates change,” Chris spat arrogantly, like he held my soul in his hands.

Well, he’s right about one thing. I hate change. But that was definitely about to change.

“So, when are you going to tell her you want to get divorced and be with me?” she asked, all doe-eyed and innocent.

Chris didn’t meet her eyes. He just let out a noncommittal grunt.

“You’re telling her next month, right? You already got the documents. Just give them to the bitch to sign. You know I’m the right choice.”

My heart stuttered. Next month?

I gripped the papers in my hand tighter, the edges digging into my palm. I couldn’t feel them. All I felt was the sting behind my eyes and the weight in my chest.

“Yeah, I’ll give them to her next month. Let’s not talk about her… Let’s not talk at all. I just want to feel,” he groaned.

I’d had enough. I wasn’t going to be blindsided or one-upped by either of them.

I slammed the door hard enough to break it out of its frame.

Victoria shriek pierced the air looking at me like I was a ghost,while Chris looked pale.

I stepped inside, slow and deliberate, and then I started clapping.

One.Two.Three.

“Wow,” I said, stepping into the room. “What a performance. Really. You both should win an award… for audacity.”

I tossed the papers onto the bed like trash.

“Why wait till next month when we could be divorced now?”

Chris scrambled for his clothes while I casually took a seat by the bed stand, crossing my legs and staring at both offenders.

“Ayra, how did you—”

“How did I get in? Or how did I find out?” I cut him off. “Please, speak up—or better yet, don’t. Hearing words from trash like you could give me a migraine.”

Chris’s eyes widened. He had never seen this version of me. I’d always been the kind, quiet Ayra.

“Ayra, I know you’re upset, but isn’t calling Chris a piece of trash too much?” Victoria had the audacity to say.

“Shut up, you worthless, attention-seeking hoe. Wait your turn for the dragging and stop trying to steal someone else’s spotlight,” I snapped.

“Enough already, Ayra. This isn’t like you. Let’s go home and talk about this,” Chris said, reaching for me.

I flinched away from his touch before he could infect me with his self-conceited disease. “Chris, the only thing I want from you at this point is your signature on those papers. Done. Properly.”

His jaw tightened as he gritted his teeth, eyes seething. “You don’t want to make an enemy of me… or of the Yaldons. If Olivia hears—”

“I don’t give a damn what your bitch-ass aunt thinks or says. What’s so hard about signing the same divorce papers you were going to give me anyway? Think of it as Christmas coming early.” I smiled brightly, nodding at him to get on with it.

“Fine. I’ll be here when you come crawling back,” he growled.

Victoria’s eyes lit up. She had finally gotten what she wanted.

Chris scrawled his signature and tossed the papers to me.

“This is why I loved you… well, used to. So gentle. Now, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to continue your shameless whoring,” I said with a smile.

I turned and walked away without sparing either of them a second glance.

“She’s gone crazy. Has Ayra truly been possessed?” I heard Victoria whisper.

“She’s going to regret this. She’ll regret leaving me,” Chris murmured darkly.

*********

I looked at myself in the mirror, hair curled and loose around my shoulders. I looked different. I looked good.

“You’re going to love my surprise tonight,” Brielle smirked wickedly.

“Oh, I just know it’s going to be the worst thing ever. You’ve got that look—the look of mischief,” I groaned.

“Please, you’ll thank me later. I can feel it.”

We headed to an underground secret club. I had no idea how Brielle knew these places, and I didn’t ask.

“Sex on the Beach, because this bitch is about to get laid!” Brielle winked at the bartender.

I died a little inside. “You’re going to be the death of me one day.”

“And you love me for it!” she said, cocky as ever.

“Grab your drink while I take you to the main event of the night,” she said, scrunching her face into a mysterious expression.

“Isn’t this dress—with half my boobs out and barely covering my ass cheeks—event enough?” I raised a brow.

“Ugh,” Brielle gasped mockingly. “This basic ass fit? Keep up with the times, Ayra. Unleash the baddie in you!”

I flipped my hair back, took the shot, and said, “Baddie mode activated.”

We moved into a secluded part of the club. Open enough, but fewer people. And my eyes widened at what I saw.

“Glorious, isn’t it?” Brielle said, eyes shining.

“It’s… something. And is he wearing a cha—”

“He’s collared. Is this your kind of thing? Oh, I knew you had some boss bitch energy in you,” she purred, egging me on.

“Oh, I’m not— Oh, please, no.”

Brielle laughed at me. And honestly, who could blame me? It looked like some kind of sex dungeon. No one was making out, but it was clear people were here to pick someone and make out later.

The men wore tight leather or black pants, shirtless and muscled. The women weren’t leaving anything to the imagination either—they came dressed to turn fantasies into reality.

“When you said I was going to celebrate my divorce with a one-night stand, I didn’t think you’d bring me to a kinky dungeon,” I hissed. “Brielle! You made me swear not to back out!”

“It’s boring to go to a bar and pick out some rando who can’t even find the G-spot. That’s wasted recklessness,” she said like we were chatting over coffee. “You never agree to do this stuff, so this was my only chance. The guys here? They know their stuff. I could cum just from the memory of it.”

Brielle was a wild free spirit, and that was exactly why she was my best friend.

“Okay, but I get to pick the guy,” I muttered.

“Go for it. I’ll be seated right over there.”

I stepped into the space where the men waited. They were respectful, but they gave me teasing smirks, winks, a few flirty gestures.

But my eyes locked on a well-toned guy in the back. He looked older than most of them—more refined.

I walked toward him and tapped his arm.

A flicker of surprise passed through his eyes before it turned into a frown as he looked me over.

“I’ll pick you,” I said with a smile, trying to hide my nerves.

“You’ll pick me?” he said, raising an eyebrow. His voice was rich with amusement, arrogance, and something else I couldn’t name. “Now I’m flattered, darling. But what exactly are you picking me for?”

Was this part of the drill? A sex-play script?

I didn’t know. So, I played along.

“I’m picking you… to make me feel good tonight. You’re going to be my personal pleasure toy.”