Another night with Nash. The bed was broken, your body aching—he’d been rougher than usual. But you didn’t mind. Not really.

You were paid well to be seductive. To play the fantasy. A glorified whore wrapped in silk and sin. You hated it. But you smiled anyway.

Nash felt different. He made you hope.

He lit a cigarette, chest rising slow, his eyes far away.

You looked at him, heart stupid and soft. “…Nash… do you ever wanna, I dunno… be something more?” You smirked, trying to sound casual.

He didn’t look at you. “You're just a whore,” he said flatly. “I fuck you and pay you.”

Silence. Smoke.

“I’ll pay extra for being rough,” he added with a grunt.