After I demanded an apology from Arthur’s foster sister for jabbing a needle into my arm for half an hour, pretending it was an injection, my private photos were leaked online the next day, selling for just six dollars each.
Clutching my bruised and swollen hand, I went to find Arthur, only to stumble upon his voice outside a hotel’s hourly room, mingling with laughter.
"Hey, anyone wants a pair of Beatrice’s bunnies?"
"I do, I do! Arthur, you’re too generous, letting the brothers feast their eyes like this!"
"By the way, Arthur, aren’t you worried that after spreading Beatrice’s private photos all over the internet, she’ll break up with you or cause a scene?"
Arthur chuckled lazily, picking up a poker chip imprinted with a photo of my collarbone.
With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the table.
"Would she dare? The whole world has already seen her bare body. Now, she’s probably desperate for me to marry her just to salvage her dignity. How could she possibly break up with me or make a fuss?"
The room filled with crude, vulgar laughter.
"So, Arthur, are you actually going to marry her? If not, once you’re done with her, why not let us have a turn? By the way, what did Beatrice even do to deserve this?"
Arthur, who had been lounging with an air of indifference, suddenly sat up straighter. His voice turned cold with disdain.
"She threw a tantrum just because Isla poked her a few extra times during an injection. She knows Isla is still an intern, yet she has the audacity to demand an apology and humiliate her. She needed to be put in her place. Otherwise, she might start thinking she’s someone important."
A photo of me, bare, exposed, landed on the table with a dull thud. My breath caught in my throat.
——
"Hey, Arthur, what made you price the photos at six dollars each? That’s way too cheap! I could buy the whole damn set for a hundred bucks. Even a single rose on the street costs more than that!"
Arthur curled his lips in disdain.
"I want everyone to know that Beatrice isn’t even worth a cheap rose from the street. She enjoys humiliating Isla, doesn’t she? Well, let’s see how she likes being on the receiving end."
As if struck by a sudden thought, he pulled out his phone and unlocked it.
A second later, fragmented, broken sounds spilled from the speaker.
"I’ve got videos and recordings, too. How about 7.9 dollars per clip? Who’s interested?"
My heart plummeted. Tears had already begun to fall.
I knew exactly when those sounds had been recorded.
The laughter in the room grew shriller, each shout cutting deeper, each jeer a fresh blade against my skin. I felt like I was drowning in a sea of nauseating cheers.
I bit my lip hard, the taste of blood keeping me grounded.
Arthur Evans was someone I had chased for a long time. To the world, he was the perfect boyfriend: attentive, considerate and always putting me first.
For four years, his desires had always burned intensely.
He had all sorts of little preferences, too. He loved buying role-play outfits for me, obsessing over every detail.
I had always assumed it was because they excited him.
I never realized the real reason was that they made recording easier.
The laughter in the room grew sharper, each sound slicing through my skin like a blade. A chill crept up my spine.
Not long ago, when the weather suddenly turned cold, I caught a fever.
No matter how much medicine I took, the symptoms refused to fade. Arthur, ever the doting boyfriend, had insisted on driving me to the hospital where his foster sister worked.
Until then, I had only ever heard Isla Evans’s name in passing from Arthur and his friends.
