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to prompt a reply. Griffith: [Looking for cigarettes.] Charlotte thought about his addiction and couldn't resist typing. Charlotte: [Can't you quit?] Griffith: [Cigarettes can help relieve irritability.] Charlotte: [How upset can you be?] Griffith: [Come over, and we can talk about it.] Charlotte responded with a speechless emoji. Did he really think she was that naive? Griffith located his cigarettes and opened the door to the master bedroom's sky garden, stepping outside to smoke. The night breeze tousled his hair, giving his handsome face a mysterious allure in the dark.

I looked like a corpse hanging onto life by a thin thread. The video droned on and on, two people were talking about what could have caused me to look like that. One of them said I must have been using drugs then, called my a junkie. And the comments started to pour in. First they say I have cancer, then I'm a junkie? And another one said I had an eating disorder. And right there, another video popped up analyzing if I did drugs. And another one was asking if the man in the picture was my lover.

Looking at herself one last time she knocked. Nathan opened the door; he only had a boxer on and the robe hung loose over his body, slipping off his shoulders and exposing the full width of his broad chest and the hard lines of his abs, giving him a presence hard to ignore. “I came to give you this, baby,” Alicia said, showing her upper teeth in a small teasing smile as she lifted the tray of fruits she was holding. “Don't call me that, madam!” Nathan snapped, furrowing his brows. “Do you see the time? I don't do night time snacks. Do you not know there’s a time for everything?”

The room glowed softly beneath dim lamps. Several folders lay open across the desk. Financial statements. Transaction histories. Corporate reimbursements. Private transfers hidden beneath operational expenses. Every page revealed another crack beneath Adrian’s carefully polished image. Selena reviewed each file meticulously. Luxury purchases billed to company accounts. Private hotel reservations rerouted through executive travel budgets. Consulting payments tied to shell vendors. Careless. So incredibly careless. Not because Adrian was stupid. Because he never expected scrutiny. Her phone buzzed softly against the desk. Unknown number.

My name was Julie Carr. I had perfect curves and soft, pale skin, and I was right at the age when a woman's beauty felt effortless and alive. And yet, a woman like me somehow ended up married to the wrong man. My husband, Colin Carr, is skinny, weak, and completely useless where it mattered most. We had been married for almost two years, and I had never once experienced what people called the joy of being a woman. Today was the breaking point. Natalie Turner, my best friend, sent me another nude photo of her husband, Scott Turner, proudly showing him off like she always did.

He didn’t stop, licking me through the aftershocks, his fingers still pumping slowly, drawing out every shudder. But he wasn’t done. He stood, shoving his sweats down to free his cock—thick, veined, already leaking pre-cum. He grabbed a bottle of popcorn butter from the side table—some cheap, oily stuff Mom kept for movie nights—and smeared it over his shaft, the slickness making his strokes obscene. “On your knees, Clara. Time to suck my cock like the good little whore you are.”

She slammed her hands on the table and leaned closer to me. "Si cagna! Avrò il tuo lavoro!" Maria screamed. "Quanto di una cagna si pensi che sono io quando ho perdite non solo quelle foto, ma il video porno di voi e Oliver Fartham." I spat. The whole room went completely quiet. Maria looked at me with horror written all over her face. She sat back down and stared at me. "Tu e io sappiamo che non sei incinta. Let's just let this go before it escalates higher than it needs to." I said. Maria slowly turned towards Norman.

Same one from my last life. "Babe, now that you're further along, the pup needs more nutrients. Drink this while it's hot. You've gotten so thin." I glanced at the mirror. Glowing, full-faced, obviously well-fed. Laughed under my breath. Not sure if it was his bad acting or the recycled lies that got me. Held out my hand, no hesitation. "Sure."

Needless to say, her chat became super excited when their goddess told them she was going to try it out right away. Turning away from the camera with only her back facing it, London unbuttoned her sexy nightgown blouse and opened it wide enough so that her viewers knew there wasn’t anything beneath that. Soft porn was art, and Queenie carefully stuck the stickers on. They felt sticky enough to not fall off halfway through her stream, so the streamer boldly turned around without rebuttoning her shirt. It didn’t give her viewers a full glimpse of her rack, but they were blessed with new little peeks that they previously couldn't have.

I couldn’t even look at Zayne. Mr. Harlan turned his monitor toward us and pressed play. The video started. Grainy but clear enough. Me walking into the locker room. The door locking, the two of us against the wall my leggings yanked down, his shorts shoved low, his powerful hips snapping into me from behind while I moaned loud enough for the camera to pick it up. The angle caught everything: the way my back arched, the way his strong arms caged me, the way my mouth fell open in a silent scream when I came.