Chapter 4

The text came in just as she was stepping out of the shower.

Her phone buzzed twice on the marble counter, screen lighting up under the soft glow of the bathroom lights.

She grabbed it lazily with one hand, still drying her body off with a towel in her other hand.

UNKNOWN NUMBER:

I know you have seen the video I sent, Elena.

If you don't want your husband and the whole damn city to see it, meet me tonight. Midnight.

The address is below. Come alone.

And come wet.

Elena stared at the screen, naked and dripping, then slowly smirked.

No fear. No panic.

Just a rush.

“Who the fuck was this? Why did he keep sending me anonymous messages?”

They saw her. That meant they were watching. That meant someone out there wanted her - bad enough to play dirty.

She bit her lip, heat blooming between her legs again. It hadn't even been 48 hours since Ava had her moaning in her dressing room like a slut, and now this?

She didn't know if she should feel turned on or insulted.

Maybe both.

“Come wet, huh?”

Elena laughed to herself and tossed the towel aside.

"Be careful what you ask for."

Leonard wasn't coming home tonight.

Something about a late fundraiser dinner and staying in the city overnight. That meant she had the house to herself. No excuses to make. No stories to cover. And best of all - no fucking questions.

Her daughter, Sophie, wouldn't be back for another two weeks either. At twenty-three, she was finishing her last semester at Columbia, smart as hell and thankfully blind to what her mother really did when no one was watching.

Or maybe she knew everything that was going on.

Elena had no interest in being a "good mother or wife" tonight.

She walked into her closet and pulled open the mirrored doors, eyeing her options with a hand on her hip.

The red dress caught her attention instantly.

It wasn't subtle.

Satin. Skin-tight. That shade of red - the one that made men stop and stare. The dress Leonard told her not to wear to formal dinners because "it's distracting."

She picked it anyway.

The V-cut neckline dipped low, showing off the heavy curve of her breasts. The sweetheart shape gave it that innocent twist, if innocence meant someone begging to get their bra ripped off in the backseat.

She pulled it on, smoothing it over her wide hips, letting it hug her fat ass like it was sewn on her body. She turned sideways in the mirror, checking the view.

"Shit," she whispered to herself with a grin. "I would fuck me."

She sat down at her vanity and took her time doing her makeup. Soft, dewy skin. A warm smoky eye.

Nude glossy lips that made her look like she had just been kissed.

Then came the hair.

She left it down - long, dark waves falling over her back like a waterfall.

No updos tonight.

Let whoever this mystery man was pull it when he got desperate enough.

She slid her feet into a pair of nude stilettos with red bottoms, the ones that clicked extra loud on hardwood. The ones Leonard said made her look like a "club girl."

Perfect.

She stood back and looked at herself over one last time.

Hair falling in waves.

Boobs pushed up and out.

Ass sitting right.

Legs long and bare.

Perfume - soft vanilla and musk — was misted over her chest, thighs, and neck. She didn't drown in it. Just enough for a man to lean in and want more.

Then she grabbed her purse. Small, black, and classy.

The kind that held a lipstick, a card, and maybe a condom — but only if she was feeling hopeful.

She stared into the mirror and tilted her head.

"Who are you, baby?" she whispered, thinking of the text again. "You like watching, huh? Let's see if you can handle what you saw."

She took a breath. Hold it in for a second.

Then she smiled.

And walked out the door.