My phone buzzes on the bed like an angry wasp, each new message a sharp sting.


    UNKNOWN: Hey baby doll, I liked your pictures. Do you have an onlyfans?


    UNKNOWN: Damn gurl, you sexy. Imma be wanking to your pics aaaall night long.


    UNKNOWN: I got a boat and a water bed. Give me an hour and I’ll rock your fucking world and destroy your pussy. For tits like yours, I’ll even pay.


    The messages keeping, an avnche of digital harassment that threatens to bury me alive.


    Mara suggested I block them all, but that’s like trying to stop a flood with a paper towel. For every number I block, three more pop up to take its ce.


    I power my phone down, savoring three minutes of blissful silence before myptop starts screaming at me.


    It’s an iing FaceTime call.


    When I answer, my sister’s face fills the screen, painted with enough makeup to supply a Broadway show. It’s not even dinnertime in Vegas, but she’s already got her war paint on.


    “I didn’t know you had it in you, little sis!” I think she winks at me, but it’s hard to tell with how much eyeliner she’s wearing.


    “What?”


    “You’re shing that ass all over the inte. I knew those photos would pay off; I just had no idea how much.”


    My tongue is a brick in my mouth. I have to swallow twice before I can choke out a simple, “What?”


    “I’ve seen thements. You’re fetching high-end escort prices, girl.”


    I thought turning off my phone would end the objectification. But here’s my own sister, serving it up with a side of encouragement.


    Stay calm. Don’t engage.


    But the words spill out anyway, venom I can’t contain. “I’m not gonna spread my legs for money, Syd.”


    That gets her attention. Her million-watt smile dims a few degrees.


    “Obviously. But there must be some modeling offers in there, too. This could be really great for?—”


    “Oh, it’s amazing,” I seethe sarcastically. “Some guy wants me to send him nudes for five hundred dors. He’ll double the price if I eat a hotdog at the same time.”


    She hesitates, and I see the wheels turning behind her perfectly lined eyes. “Five hundred dors just for nudes? Are you serious?”


    “Oh my God!” I screech. “Stop making this sound like a good thing!”


    Her frown cracks the porcin mask she’s painted on. “Why are you freaking out? Why put the pictures out there if you don’t want anyone to see them?”


    Have I really not told her? Between quitting my job and meeting my former boss on his private yacht to discuss being his surrogate, I guess I’ve been busy.


    “I didn’t put them up, Syd. Some deranged helicopter mom sted them on every social media site in revenge. Apparently, she doesn’t think porn stars should be wiping her kid’s snotty nose.”


    My sister sits back, hands raised. “Hold on. Start from the top. Why did you send your pictures to your daycare parents?”


    Heat crawls up my neck as I exin my epic Reply All disaster.


    How I digitally shed my entirepany when I only meant to send the photos to her.


    How I torpedoed my career with one click.


    I’m ready for her to backtrack—apologize for making jokes and bid me farewell on my life of witness protection.


    Instead, sheughs.


    I gawk at her. “This is not funny!”


    “Well, it’s definitely a little funny.” She gives me a what-are-ya-gonna-do shrug. “And it’s not the end of the world. People have seen you in lingerie—who cares?”


    “The parents of my future clients!” I snap. “Future employers! ME! I care, Syd.”


    I had ns. Real ones. Going back to school. Getting a degree in early childhood education. Building something meaningful from this daycare gig.


    But now, when people Google my name, they’ll find themselves in a deep dive of myce-d cervix.


    Dreams? Dead on arrival.


    “I know you didn’t mean for this to happen, but you need to learn to pivot. Turn this bad thing into something useful.”


    With all that makeup caked on her face, my sister looks a heck of a lot like our mom.


    She sounds like her, too.


    “This ‘bad thing’ only happened because you forced me to do that photoshoot,” I say. “None of this would’ve happened if it wasn’t for you!”


    “You got off that ne looking like hell. You needed augh, Sut.”


    “Then tell me a freaking knock-knock joke, Syd.”


    “I needed it, too,” she barks. The camera shifts and I catch the glint of diamonds at her throat. Blood money from Paul. “Giving those pictures to Paul made me feel better.”


    “Why does feeling better always depend on a man’s approval?”


    “It’s not about his approval; it’s about mine.” She leans forward, earnest now. “What harm would it do to send a few nudes to some guy who’s willing to pay you five hundred dors for them? That’s half your rent for the month.”


    “Is that the going price for a woman’s dignity these days? Or just yours?”


    The moment the words leave my mouth, I know I’ve gone too far.


    Sydney’s face crumples.


    “D-don’t you dare j-judge me,” she stammers. “I did what I had to do to survive.”


    “And I’m trying to do the same! I just happen to think there are other ways of doing it.”


    “Well, bully for you,” Sydney fights back. “Not all of us can survive on self-righteousness alone.”


    “Sorry, I don’t want to end up like Mom.”


    “And I’m like her, is that what you’re saying?”


    We’re in the danger zone now. Territory marked with emotionalndmines and childhood trauma.


    “I’m not—” I pause, trying to backtrack. “She didn’t think things through. She took risks and then we suffered.”


    Memories hit me like bullets.


    My tenth birthday, spent hiding in a grimy bathroom while Mom’stest “boyfriend” tried to break down the door.


    Running from apartment to apartment, always one step ahead of some creep who thought he owned her—that he could take what he wanted.


    “They have my name, my number—my body.” My voice breaks. “How much longer before they have my address, too?”


    I’m shaking now, and Sydney reaches for something off-camera. A tissue. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. Maybe I’m more like Mom than?—”


    “I’m sorry about ming all this on you,” I cut her off. Her tears are my kryptonite. Always have been. “It’s not your fault. I was the idiot who sent the damn boudoir shoot to the whole frigging office. That’s on me.”


    “I’m still sorry about the photoshoot.” She sniffs. “You were just so beat up after the whole ordeal with Drew. And you looked so lost… and sad. I wanted to give you back some confidence.”


    “I know.”


    “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”


    She blows her nose into the tissue and tosses it aside. Her mascara is starting to run.


    Suddenly, I see what’s hiding under the makeup.


    My chest tightens. “Is that a bruise on your cheek?”


    “No.” The deniales way too fast.


    And now, I see the whole picture.


    Full face of makeup.


    Tweety Bird pajamas.


    She’s hiding in her room, covering bruises, probably waiting for Paul toe home.


    “Did that fucker hit you?” The wordse out in a growl that would make Oleg proud.


    “I fell,” she lies. “It’s nothing.”


    “Bullshit.”


    “It’s not a big deal. Honestly, I started it this time. It was my?—”


    “You two got in a fight, so you deserve to get your face bashed in? Syd, that’s crazy.”


    “You’re being dramatic.”


    “He hit you,” I hiss. “Remember when Dirk hit mom? Remember what we vowed to each other then?”


    “This is different.”


    “Leave him! Leave the bastard ande to Florida. We can find jobs together. Get a ce. We’ll figure it out.”


    For a beautiful moment, I can see it.


    Our own apartment with working A/C and a door that’s never been kicked in. Jobs that don’t require taking our clothes off or sleeping with the boss. Pizza nights on Fridays. Drinks on Saturdays. Taking turns cooking and doing dishes.


    “This is the dream,” I whisper.


    It’s always been mine, anyway. While Syd dreamed about gold and diamonds, I just wanted to be with her.


    But her face is hard now. Distant.


    “I can’t even afford the ne out of here. And it’s not like you can wire me the cash. You don’t have savings or a job.”


    “I’ll find another one,” I argue. “I’ll save up. I’ll?—”


    “I swore to myself I’d never be broke again.” She touches her ne like a talisman. “Things with Paul aren’t perfect, but he gives me whatever I ask for. I have beautiful clothes and a nice life.”


    “And designer makeup to cover the bruises on your face. How nice.”


    Her lips snatch together. Even her makeup can’t hide how red her eyes and nose are.


    “We have our issues like every couple, but one day, he’ll marry me. One day, everything will work out.”


    She’s wrong. Dead wrong. But I swallow the words. Speaking them would only widen the growing chasm between us.


    Her lower lip trembles. “I know you don’t understand, but not everyone can afford to be as brave and strong as you, Sut.”


    Am I brave?


    Am I strong?


    I don’t know anymore. All I know is that I would do anything—anything—to save my sister from bing our mother.


    I’d sign my soul away to Satan himself if it meant giving Sydney the security she’s always craved.


    She spent her entire life protecting me from the worst of Mom’s choices.


    In the process, she forgot to protect herself.


    “The only reason I’m as brave and strong as you think I am is because of you.” I have to fight back tears of my own.


    Her face cracks for just a second before sheposes herself. She pushes away a tear like she’s ashamed of it, being gentle with the bruised side of her face.


    “I need to go clean up. I can’t be seen like this.”


    Trantion: Paul can’t see her like this.


    Seeing what he’s done to her will only set him off again, like it’s her fault for bruising under his fist.


    “I’ll call you in a few days?” Her voice is soft.


    I swallow down a sob. “You better.”


    She blows me a kiss and, with a click of a button, her image disappears.


    Suddenly, my shitstorm doesn’t seem so apocalyptic. Notpared to what Sydney’s facing.


    I power my phone back on, wading through the flood of new messages.


    Drew’s name appears, but I ignore it.


    My ex is the least of my problems.


    Maybe there’s a normal guy in here offering cash for pics. How many nudes would it take to buy a ne ticket? First andst month’s rent on a two-bedroom?


    I’m still doing the math when I see another name.


    I open the message with a shaking hand.


    OLEG: Looks like you’ve gone viral, princess. I can offer security, protection, and a quiet ce to stay at my condo. All you have to do is sign the contract and my driver will be there in the morning to pick you up.


    The contract is still sitting in the middle of my bed.


    A million dors is a hell of a lot more than half a month’s rent.


    I was willing to make a deal with the devil to save my sister.


    Now, the question bes: Is a contract with the Beast better or worse?