Leah
I will never be that desperate when I’m older.
Leah leans against the kitchen counter, watching Boots’s latest reel on mute—forty-five and fumbling through influencer-speak like a mom crashing her kid’s TikTok, her face caked in bronzer and cherry red blush. Beyond cringe. Exhausting just to witness. She flips the phone over, screen-side down.
Then—a knock at the door. Of course. Always when she finally has the place to herself.
Leah swings it open. Doesn’t bother masking her annoyance. “What do you want?”
Daphne stands across the threshold, her smile too bright to be sincere. “Is Tina home?”
“No,” Leah says. “Weren’t you with her all day? Didn’t I tell you to leave us alone?”
“She seems to work the night shift quite a bit,” Daphne answers with a shrug. “Strange, isn’t it? Plus, I learned something today. From my mother, of all people.”
“What are you talking about?” Leah’s eyes narrow, irritation tamped down by curiosity.
“Apparently,” Daphne continues, dangling the gossip like bait, “Tina might be… how should I put this delicately… a two-grand-an-hour chameleon who bangs hedge-fund fossils for Birkin money.”
“Wait, what? Like a hook—I mean, a sex worker? That’s ridiculous. How would your mom and Tina even be in the same orbit?”
“I’d guess one of her crusty old friends is a client. Believe me, I hope it’s not true. For Tina’s sake.”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“Why are you even telling me this?”
“Because we used to be friends, Leah. And I figured… whatever. I don’t even know why I bothered. Maybe I just… missed my friend.”
“So you thought you’d swing by, drop gossip about my roommate—the same roommate you’ve been trying to charm into your next sycophantic sidekick—to win me over? You have a twisted, manipulative, deeply fucked-up idea of friendship. You know that?”
Daphne lifts her chin, bluffing confidence. “Never was a problem for you before.”
“Yeah, because I didn’t know you were screwing a married man. You’re not just messy, Daph. You’re dangerous. An enemy to all women.”
“Got it.” Daphne looks away, like it’s the only way to keep from saying something she’d regret. “Good to know that’s how you feel. Good to know where you’ve set the bar, even for other women who evidently aren’t allowed to make mistakes.”
Leah lets out a short, bitter laugh. “It was more than a mistake! How can you even—”
“Stop talking! Fine. We’re done. I get it now. Goodbye.”
“Fine. Bye. And don’t come back!”
Leah slams the door in Daphne’s face. Tina? A hooker? It sounds insane. And yet…
She moves fast, straight into Tina’s room. Straight to the closet. The suitcase is still there, tucked in the back. Still locked. Leah kneels and examines the clasp—nothing a steel nail file can’t handle. She slides it into the seam. Twists. Wriggles. Click.
She lifts the lid slowly. Inside, everything is meticulously arranged: collapsible ring lights zipped in their cases, a high-end microphone with pop filter and mounting arm, two laptops, and a burner phone. At the bottom, a portable livestreaming kit: compact tripod, clip-on LEDs, a mobile encoder, and a bundle of neatly coiled cords.
What the hell is this? A whole virtual broadcast studio stashed in a suitcase? Unless… it really is just voiceover gear. Leah tries to walk it back, clinging to the most plausible explanation. Maybe this is what a serious setup looks like. But the burner phone? Two laptops? All of it locked away like contraband?
She powers on one of the laptops. Password protected. The second—same. The phone, too. Everything encrypted.
Leah resets each item carefully, lowers the lid, and clicks the clasp shut. Daphne had never been a reliable narrator, and believing anything she said was never smart. But this time? Maybe she was onto something. Maybe, just this once, Daphne was right.