I sat cross-legged on my bed, staring at the drawer like it held a venomous snake. The envelope was still there. Untouched. Crisp. Silent. Fifty thousand dollars in cash that smelled like sex and shame and something else I couldn't name.
I hadn't told Mala I hadn't spent a cent of it. Not on groceries. Not on rent. Not even on painkillers for the dull ache still lingering in my lower back from that night. It just sat there in the drawer, burning like a secret. A weight I wasn't ready to lift.
My laptop rested beside me, screen black. I hadn't written in days. Weeks, maybe. I didn't count anymore. The words had dried up, like my voice had packed a suitcase and left town the morning after I'd let Kyl touch every part of me. I'd dreamed of writing a novel that would set the world on fire. Now all I did was avoid mirrors and stare at drawers.
"Damn it Ivana, get a grip"
Mala crashed into the room like a glitter bomb of energy and audacity. She didn't knock, she never knocked. She was chewing on a mango-flavored lollipop and holding a basket of laundry.
"You still haven't touched that money, have you?" she asked, tossing a pair of socks into my lap.
I didn't look up. "It's not mine."
"Girl, it's literally yours. It has your name on it. It's your pussy money."
I winced. "Jesus, Mala."
She plopped down next to me and yanked open the drawer before I could stop her. The envelope stared up at us like an accusation.
"You're seriously gonna let fifty grand rot in here because you've got a moral hangover?"
"It's not just that."
She raised a brow. "Then what? You're scared of liking it?"
I turned my face away. That was exactly it.
The memory of Kyl's mouth on my throat, the way he'd slowed down when I cried, how he touched me like I mattered even after he gave me the money. It haunted me. Confused me.
"He offered me something else," I whispered.
Mala froze. "What do you mean? Like, more money?"
I shook my head. "A deal. A partnership. Something longer."
Her lips puckered around the lollipop before she pulled it out with a loud pop. "What kind of partnership are we talking? Business? Or is this a sugar daddy situation with… stock options?"
I laughed, even though my stomach twisted. "He didn't spell it out. Just said it wouldn't be just sex. It would be… beneficial. For both of us."
Mala's eyes narrowed. "You know what that sounds like to me? Opportunity."
"Or manipulation."
"Same thing, depending on who's holding the reins."
I leaned back on the bed, eyes tracing the cracks in the ceiling. "I don't know if I'm strong enough to be that girl. The one who plays his game."
"Then don't play his game. Play your own."
I blinked. "How?"
She sat up straighter, her tone shifting from playful to surgical. "You said you want to publish your novel, right? Build something of your own? Well, maybe this is your chance. Take what he's offering, but keep your head. Your goals. Your power. You don't owe him your heart."
I looked at her. Her eyes sparkled with something I hadn't felt in myself for weeks,bdetermination.
"Use him," she said softly. "Don't let him use you."
The words settled into my bones like heat. They weren't cruel. They were armor.
I rolled the phrase around in my mouth like wine. Use him.
Could I do that? Could I really become someone else—someone who could let him touch her, fuck her, and still walk away with her head held high? Could I transform from the girl who cried in his arms to the woman who made him beg?
Maybe.
Maybe I could pretend. Just long enough to win.
Mala leaned over and rested her head on my shoulder. "You're stronger than you think."
I closed my eyes. In my mind, I saw his face again—cold, calculating, devastatingly handsome. I remembered how his fingers had traced my collarbone, how he'd whispered my name like it meant something.
I wanted to believe I could use him.
But a small part of me, a dangerous, reckless part already wanted him again.
I didn't even know if that made me foolish or brave maybe both.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I got up around 2 a.m., padding barefoot across the cold floor to the tiny kitchenette. I poured a glass of water and leaned against the counter, staring out at the quiet street below.
The city was always humming, but tonight it felt like it held its breath.
I opened the drawer again. Took the envelope out.
The cash felt heavier than I remembered.
I opened my laptop. It blinked to life, asking for a password. I typed it in with fingers that had stopped trembling.
The screen opened to a blank document.
I took a deep breath. And I wrote.
Just one sentence.
She sold her silence, but not her soul.
Then I looked at the money again.
And this time, it didn't look like shame.
It looked like a down payment on freedom.
By morning, I had written six pages. My fingers ached. My heart beat differently, it was steadier. I felt like someone new. Or maybe just someone closer to the woman I have always wanted to be.
Mala was still asleep, sprawled across the bed like a cat in a sunbeam. I tiptoed into the bathroom, washed my face, stared at myself in the mirror.
My lips were fuller, chapped. My eyes darker, tired. But something glinted in them now. Steel.
I picked up my phone.
And for the first time since that night, I searched his name.
Mr. Kyl Ronald.
It didn't take long.
His company's website gleamed with power. His portfolio screamed precision and ruthlessness. I found his assistant's number at the bottom of the contact page.
I stared at it for a long time.
Then I saved it.
I didn't call.
Not yet.
But I would.
Soon.
And when I did, I wouldn't be the girl who cried in his bed.
I'd be the woman who made him bleed for her.