The notification buzzed on my phone just as the Uber pulled up to my apartment building.
A bank alert. DEPOSIT: $2,000,000.00.
I stared at it like a two headed monster.The numbers stared back. Two million. Not the nine hundred thousand the doctor requested but two fucking million dollars.
My stomach sank. I fumbled with my phone, fingers trembling violently against the cracked screen as I searched for the number Mr. Vale had messaged from earlier. I typed fast.
> To: Unknown (User Obsidian, Mr. Vale)
> Subject: Payment
Too much. Way too much. I only needed $900k for the surgery. Please take back the rest. Send account details. Now.
The reply was almost instant. It was devoid of any emotion. It was cold. Precise.
> From: Unknown (Mr. Vale)
> Subject: RE: Payment
>
> The amount reflects the value placed on the experience and the unique circumstances by Mr. Scott. Consider it a bonus. For a job well done. Do not contact me or Mr. Scott again. Goodbye.
Job well done.
The words slammed into me. He gave me a bonus. For… for that. For lying. For letting him touch me. For enjoying it.
The money felt radioactive in my account. It was blood money. Payment for betrayal. The Uber driver glanced back at me breathing really hard. "Everything okay, miss?"
"Yeah," I choked out. "Fine."
I practically fell out of the car, stumbling towards my building's entrance. The familiar lobby felt alien. Dirty. Or maybe it was me that felt dirty.
The elevator ride up to my tiny apartment was an eternity, the mirrored walls showing everything I hated about myself. Pale. Hollow-eyed. Lips slightly swollen. Hair messy. I looked… used.
Finally. My door. My key scraped in the lock. I shoved it open and slammed it shut behind me, leaning back against the cool wood.
Everywhere was quiet except for my ragged breathing.
My apartment – usually a comforting chaos of guitars, sheet music, and colorful clothes – felt like a stranger's place.
The smell of the penthouse – the smell of expensive soap, Alexander's clean scent – clung to my skin. His touch seemed imprinted everywhere. I needed it off. Now.
I dropped my bag, didn't bother with lights. Stumbled down the short hall to the bathroom. Flicked the switch. I avoided the mirror. I couldn't face the girl that would stare back at me.
My fingers were clumsy, numb as I tore at my clothes. As I tore at the sweater Alexander had carefully peeled off. At the jeans, at my underwear and they landed in a heap on the floor, looking like evidence. I shoved them away with my foot.
The shower faucet squeaked as I cranked it on full blast. Hot. As hot as I could stand.
Steam billowed instantly, fogging the glass door, filling the small space. I stepped under the scalding water.
It hit my skin. I gasped, but I didn't flinch.
Good. I needed to be punished. I needed purification.
I grabbed the soap. My cheap, fruity body wash and somehow it was not good enough. I scrubbed. Hard. My arms. My shoulders. My chest. Where his hands had been. Where his lips had touched my neck. My collarbone.
Scrub. The memory of his hesitant kiss. Scrub harder. The feel of his warm body. Scrub. The sound of his breath catching. Scrub until it burns. The shocking, traitorous wave of pleasure that had swept through me. Scrub it away!
My skin turned red. Raw. The soap stung. Still, I felt dirty. Profoundly, irrevocably dirty. The water streamed down my face, mixing with the tears that finally broke free. Not gentle sobs. This was a full breakdown as Voices echoed in my head.
But it didn't matter how much I scrubbed myself raw, the scalding water couldn't wash it all away. The scrubbing couldn't erase it. It was inside me now. Part of the price.
My legs gave out. I slid down the slick tiles of the shower wall, landing hard on my knees. The water pounded my back, my head.
I curled into a tight ball, arms wrapped around myself, rocking slightly. Sobs racked my body, violent and uncontrollable.
I cried for Liam, unconscious and unknowing. I cried for the sweet, awkward man I'd deceived. I cried for the girl who played guitar on TikTok and smiled for the camera. And I cried for myself, naked and broken on the floor of a cheap shower, two million dollars burning a hole in my soul, knowing clean would never come again.
The water ran cold eventually. I didn't move. Just stayed there, curled on the floor, shivering, empty. The only sound was the drip of the faucet and the ragged remains of my own breath. The job was done. The price was paid. And it had broken me.