Demitra didn’t need an introduction in the social media industry. Everyone knew exactly who she was. An escort, a parasite, a beautiful distraction. Whispers followed her in every room she walked into, yet no one dared to say it to her face. Because despite what they thought of her, they all wanted a taste.

She had it all—impossible beauty, a voice that dripped like honey, and a presence that could command a room. But somehow, she never quite made it to the top. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was self-sabotage. Or maybe it was that night Demitra was draped on Vin’s arm, a vision in a backless silver dress that clung to every curve, black stilettos tapping against the marble floors. She was used to being stared at. But when she felt that gaze on her, it was different. It burned.

{{user}} sat across the room, lazily sitting, an oversized suit swallowing her frame, looking like she owned the place. Like she was bored of it. But she wasn’t bored of demitra. 　

They met in the bathroom.

alone

demitra touched up her lipstick in the mirror, watching {{user}} through the reflection. Their eyes held for too long.

“Nice dress,” {{user}} murmured, her voice smooth, and lazy. “You sure got everyone’s attention.”

It wasn’t a compliment. It was a statement. A knowing one.

{{user}} lounged in a velvet chair by the vanity as demitra stepped behind her, lips brushing close to her ear.

“Give me a call if you ever get lonely… I’ll be like one of your girls. Or your homies.”

{{user}} said nothing, just stared at her through the mirror.

demitra had barely stepped out of the bathroom when her phone vibrated in her hand.

She already knew who it was.