Chapter Twenty-two: The Revelation
Leena was on her knees.
The carpet was soft beneath her, expensive and plush. Rider sat on the couch above her, one hand tangled loosely in her hair, the other holding the TV remote.
She'd been doing this for ten minutes now—taking him deep, using her tongue the way he'd taught her, focusing on the rhythm he liked. Her jaw ached slightly, but she didn't stop. Didn't slow down.
This was what he wanted. And what Rider wanted, Leena gave him.
The TV was on. Some local news channel. Leena wasn't paying attention to it—she was focused on Rider's breathing, the subtle shifts in his body that told her when she was doing it right.
Then she heard the anchor's voice change tone.
"—in what authorities are calling a suicide attempt, a local man jumped from the Riverside Bridge late last night—"
Leena's eyes flicked up to the screen.
And froze.
It was Jack.
His photo filled the screen—a professional headshot, probably from his old job. He looked younger in it. Happier.
"—identified as Jack Morrison, 34, was pulled from the water by emergency responders and is currently in stable condition at Mercy General Hospital—"
Leena's hands stilled. Her throat tightened.
Jack had jumped off a bridge.
Jack had tried to kill himself.
"—witnesses report Morrison was driving erratically before stopping on the bridge. Police attempted to intervene, but Morrison jumped before they could reach him—"
The camera cut to footage of the bridge. Police lights. An ambulance. The dark water below.
Leena felt something cold and heavy settle in her chest.
He jumped.
Because of me.
Rider's hand tightened in her hair, pulling her attention back to him.
"Don't stop," he said.
Leena blinked, her eyes stinging. She tried to focus, tried to keep going, but her hands were shaking.
"Leena." Rider's voice was sharp now. "I said don't stop."
She forced herself to move again, taking him back into her mouth, but her mind was elsewhere.
Jack had jumped off a bridge.
Jack had tried to die.
And it was her fault.
The video. The divorce. The way she'd refused to look at him in that conference room.
She'd destroyed him.
"There we go," Rider murmured, his grip on her hair loosening slightly. "That's better."
On the screen, the news anchor was still talking.
"—Morrison's wife could not be reached for comment—"
Leena's vision blurred. She felt tears prick at the corners of her eyes.
Rider noticed. Of course he did.
"You're crying," he said, almost amused. "Why are you crying?"
Leena pulled back slightly, gasping for air. "He—he tried to—"
"He jumped off a bridge. Yes. I can see that." Rider's tone was casual, detached. "And?"
"And it's—" Leena's voice broke. "It's my fault."
Rider laughed. Actually laughed.
"Your fault?" He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. "Leena, sweetheart, Jack chose to jump. You didn't push him. You didn't make him get in his car and drive to that bridge. He did that all on his own."
"But the video—"
"The video was leverage. Business. Jack couldn't handle losing, so he decided to throw a tantrum." Rider's thumb brushed away one of her tears. "That's not your fault. That's his weakness."
Leena stared at him, her chest tight.
"He's weak," Rider continued. "Always has been. You know that. That's why you're here with me instead of with him."
"I—"
"You're here because you want to be. Because I give you what he never could." Rider's hand slid down to her throat, his grip firm but not painful. "So stop crying over a man who couldn't even kill himself properly."
The words were cruel. Vicious.
But Leena felt them settle into her like truth.
Jack is weak.
I'm here because I want to be.
She swallowed hard and nodded.
"Good girl." Rider guided her back down. "Now finish what you started."
Leena took him into her mouth again, her tears drying on her cheeks.
On the TV, the news had moved on to another story.
Jack was already forgotten.
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Hela watched from the armchair across the room.
She'd been silent this whole time, her legs crossed, her expression carefully neutral. But inside, she was seething.
Leena had been here for three days now.
Three days of Rider's attention focused entirely on her. Three days of watching him touch her, fuck her, mold her into whatever he wanted her to be.
Hela had always known Rider played with other women. That was part of their arrangement. Part of the game.
But this felt different.
Leena wasn't just another conquest. She was a project. An investment.
And Rider was obsessed with her.
Hela watched as Leena's head bobbed up and down, her hands gripping Rider's thighs. She watched the way Rider's fingers tangled in Leena's hair, the way he looked at her with something close to pride.
He never looked at Hela like that anymore.
She's going to replace me.
The thought was sudden and sharp, cutting through Hela's carefully maintained composure.
Rider didn't need her anymore. Not really. He had Leena now—quieter, more malleable, more desperate to please.
Hela was becoming obsolete.
She uncrossed her legs and stood, moving toward the kitchen without a word.
Rider didn't even glance at her.
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Rider came with a low groan, his hand tightening in Leena's hair as he held her in place.
Leena swallowed, her throat working, and when he finally released her, she sat back on her heels, gasping for air.
"Good," Rider said, his breathing heavy. "Very good."
Leena wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes still red from crying.
Rider reached for his phone, scrolling through something. Then he smiled.
"I have a job for you," he said.
Leena looked up at him, confused. "A job?"
"Ronald Chen. You remember him from the party?"
Leena's stomach tightened. "Yes."
"His wife just left him. Filed for divorce. Poor bastard is devastated." Rider's smile widened. "He called me yesterday. Said he needed a distraction. Someone to help him forget."
Leena's heart started to pound. "What does that have to do with me?"
"He's willing to pay ten thousand dollars for one night with you."
The words hung in the air.
Ten thousand dollars.
For one night.
Leena stared at Rider, her mind racing. "You—you want me to—"
"Sleep with him. Yes." Rider set his phone down. "He's lonely, desperate, and willing to pay a premium for quality. And you, sweetheart, are very high quality."
"I'm not—" Leena's voice faltered. "I'm not a prostitute."
"Of course not." Rider's tone was soothing, almost patronizing. "You're a woman who's helping a friend through a difficult time. And he's compensating you generously for your time and companionship."
"That's the same thing."
"Is it?" Rider leaned forward, his eyes locked on hers. "Or is it just two adults making a mutually beneficial arrangement?"
Leena's throat was dry. "I don't—"
"You don't have to decide right now," Rider said. "But he's expecting you tonight. I already told him you'd come."
"You—what?"
"I told him you'd be there at eight." Rider stood, stretching. "Wear something nice. He likes his women to look classy."
Leena felt like the floor had dropped out from under her. "Rider, I can't—"
"You can. And you will." His voice was firm now, leaving no room for argument. "This is what we do, Leena. This is how we build something. You think I got where I am by being squeamish?"
"But—"
"Ten thousand dollars for one night. That's more than most people make in a month." Rider cupped her face, his thumb brushing her cheek. "And all you have to do is give him a few hours of your time. Make him feel good. Make him forget about his bitch of a wife."
Leena's mind was spinning. "I don't know if I can—"
"You can." Rider kissed her forehead. "I believe in you."
He walked toward the bedroom, leaving Leena kneeling on the floor, her heart pounding.
From the kitchen, Hela watched in silence.
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The car dropped Leena off at Ronald's house just before eight.
It was a nice house—suburban, well-maintained, with a manicured lawn and a two-car garage. The kind of house a successful man would own.
The kind of house Leena used to dream about living in with Jack.
She stood on the doorstep for a long moment, her hand hovering over the doorbell.
This is prostitution.
The thought was clear and undeniable.
She was about to have sex with a man for money. That was the definition of prostitution.
But Rider's voice echoed in her head: Two adults making a mutually beneficial arrangement.
Leena pressed the doorbell.
Ronald answered almost immediately. He looked terrible—his eyes were red and puffy, his hair disheveled, his shirt wrinkled. He'd been drinking. She could smell it on him.
"Leena," he said, his voice thick. "You came."
"Of course." She forced a smile. "Can I come in?"
Ronald stepped aside, and Leena walked into the house.
It was a mess. Empty beer bottles on the coffee table. Takeout containers on the kitchen counter. A framed wedding photo lying face-down on the floor.
"Sorry about the—" Ronald gestured vaguely at the chaos. "I haven't been myself lately."
"It's okay." Leena set her purse down. "Rider told me about your wife. I'm sorry."
Ronald's face twisted. "She left me for some asshole. Just walked out. Said she didn't love me anymore."
Leena didn't know what to say. "That must be hard."
"Hard?" Ronald laughed bitterly. "It's fucking devastating. Years of marriage, and she just—" He shook his head. "I gave her everything. Everything. And it wasn't enough."
Leena felt a pang of something—sympathy, maybe. Or recognition.
"I'm here now," she said softly. "Let me help you forget. Just for tonight."
Ronald looked at her, his eyes desperate and hungry. "Rider said you'd—that you'd do anything I wanted."
"Within reason." Leena kept her voice calm, controlled. "What do you want, Ronald?"
He swallowed hard. "I want you to pretend to be her."
Leena blinked. "What?"
"My wife. Bella." Ronald's voice cracked. "I want you to wear her clothes. Her wig. I want you to—to be her. Just for tonight."
Leena's stomach turned. "Ronald—"
"Please." He was begging now. "I know it's fucked up. I know. But I need this. I need to—to feel like she's still here. Like she still wants me."
Leena stared at him.
This was sick. Twisted.
But she'd already come this far.
"Okay," she said quietly. "Show me what you want me to wear."
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The wig was blonde. Shoulder-length. Expensive.
The dress was simple—a black cocktail dress that hugged Leena's curves. Bella's dress.
Leena looked at herself in the bathroom mirror and barely recognized the woman staring back.
She looked like someone else. Someone who wasn't her.
Maybe that made this easier.
When she walked back into the bedroom, Ronald was sitting on the edge of the bed, his hands shaking.
"Bella," he whispered.
Leena's skin crawled. But she forced herself to smile. "I'm here."
Ronald stood and crossed the room in two strides. He grabbed her roughly, his hands gripping her waist, and kissed her hard.
It wasn't gentle. Wasn't tender.
It was desperate. Angry.
He pushed her toward the bed, his hands already pulling at the dress.
"You left me," he growled against her neck. "You fucking left me."
Leena gasped as he shoved her down onto the mattress.
"You said you didn't love me anymore. You said I wasn't enough." Ronald's hands were rough, yanking the dress up over her hips. "But you're here now. You came back."
Leena's heart was pounding. This wasn't sex. This was something else.
This was hate.
Ronald pulled her panties down and positioned himself between her legs. He didn't ask if she was ready. Didn't check if she wanted this.
He just pushed inside her, hard and fast, and Leena cried out.
"That's right," Ronald panted. "You feel that? That's what you walked away from."
He fucked her like he was punishing her. Like she was the woman who'd left him.
And Leena reluctantly played along.
"I'm sorry," she gasped, her hands gripping his shoulders. "I'm sorry I left."
"You should be." Ronald's thrusts were brutal, relentless. "You should be fucking sorry."
"I am. I am."
"Say my name."
"Ronald—"
"No. Say you love me."
Leena's breath caught. "I—I love you."
"Say it again."
"I love you, Ronald. I love you."
He came with a guttural groan, collapsing on top of her, his body shaking.
Leena lay there, staring at the ceiling, feeling his weight pressing down on her.
This is what I am now.
This is what I've become.
---------------------------------------------------
They had 2 more rounds of sex before Ronald ran out of steam.
Afterward, Ronald handed her an envelope.
"Ten thousand," he said quietly. "Like we agreed."
Leena took it, her hands trembling.
She opened the envelope and looked at the cash inside. Crisp hundred-dollar bills. More money than she'd ever held at once.
"Thank you," Ronald said. His voice was hollow now, the anger gone. "For—for doing that. I know it was fucked up."
Leena nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.
She got dressed quickly, pulling the wig off and stuffing it back into the bag Ronald had given her. She didn't look at him as she left.
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In the car on the way back to Rider's, Leena stared at the envelope in her lap.
Ten thousand dollars.
For a few hours of her time.
She'd given Ronald what he wanted—a fantasy, a release, a few moments of forgetting.
And he'd paid her more money than she'd ever made in a month of working.
I have power over men.
The thought came suddenly, unbidden.
Men wanted her. Needed her. They would pay anything to have her, even for a few hours.
She wasn't powerless. She wasn't weak.
She had something they wanted. And she could use that.
Leena looked out the window at the city lights blurring past.
She'd crossed another line tonight. She knew that.
But for the first time since the divorce, since the video, since everything had fallen apart
She felt like she had control.
This is my choice. My power.
She believed it.
And that was the most dangerous thing of all.