Late Night Deliveries: The After Hours
To me, she was the person who could end my career with a single tap on a screen.
The blackmail had started three weeks ago. She had somehow gotten a hold of the footage of me with Kendra and Clara. She had sent me a screenshot of the video, her face looming large in the attachment, and the demand was clear: satisfy her, or the world would see everything. I had already complied once, forced by the sheer panic of potential ruin. It had been a blur of humiliation, a transaction where my dignity was the currency.
I sat at my desk, trying to grade papers, but my mind was blank. I felt like a prisoner in my own skin. Just as I started to settle into a rhythm, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknow
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