Darkness engulfed this immense and polished room. We were standing and facing each other. His eyes were serious, even brooding. I was clueless as to what he was feeling. But in the heat of the moment, I leaned onto him and lovingly held his head for a kiss. But he turned away his head, rejecting my advances. My heart was shrouded in pain.
"I can't do this," Ezra Churchill muttered in his cold and distant voice. "My heart belongs to somebody else." He told me a bitter truth.
"I don't understand," I cried as I asked him. "But what about our pact?" My voice quivered.
"I'm afraid I have to break it," he cruelly told me. "You can't be my mate anymore because I'm not in love with you."
I see. How fickle of him to change his mind? But there was nothing I could do about his decision. He was the Alpha; he could do whatever his heart desired. Whether or not it could hurt someone's feelings, he didn't mind at all.
Tears welled in my upturned dark eyes. I silently said goodbye to his refined face, framed by his long, straight, pale blonde hair. Departing from his bedroom and, altogether, his palace and running into the woods was my solution. The woods led to my studio apartment. Heading and finding myself at home, I slept in my small room.
My name was Phoebe Moore. I was the lady of the night. Don't get me confused with the type to work in a house of ill repute with a proprietor and manager. No, I worked independently, utilizing my own time and managing my own finances.
However, I was not very good with money. Squandering money at gambling houses was my favored pastime. Money-related games were not my strong suit, either. I mean, I won numerous times in poker and roulette, for those were my favored games. But I also lost myriads of times in those. Despite losing several times, I still engaged in gambling. I was, in the simplest terms, a gambling addict.
What did I do with the monetary prizes I won from gambling? Aside from food and beverages, which I obviously needed to survive every day, I bought myself stylish but affordable clothes, shoes, bags, accessories, and jewelry. Of course, given how irresponsible I was in my finances and that this type of job was not completely lucrative, since I was just a low-level harlot, I could only afford fake jewelry and bags. I never minded wearing those anyway. Cheap as I was, I deserved cheap things.
Now you may be wondering why and how I became a harlot. Back when I was living with my family, I was never properly loved. My mother constantly told me that I was hideous. My father always branded me as mediocre and often prided himself on the fact that my cousins and my siblings were more intelligent than me. It's all just because their grades were higher and their academic achievements were more impressive than mine. I was consistently the second honor student in my class. My parents were not proud; they expected me to be the first honor student instead.
I asked myself, what did beauty mean? Why did my mother tell me that I was unattractive? What kind of parent was she to criticize me that way? What did I do to make her say that to me on a daily basis? One Friday evening, I was relaxing after the challenging final exams. I watched a music channel on television. Videos of scantily clad pop stars singing and dancing to their upbeat songs bombarded my vision. Their faces and bodies looked alluring to me. I had no idea why.
I looked up the word "beauty" in the dictionary. It said, "a noun to refer to someone or something that attracts the eyes. Someone or something that is appealing. Someone or something that is beautiful."
As curiosity pulled my mind like a magnet, I searched on the internet for examples of a beautiful person. There were many examples and variations that represented a beautiful person. But I noticed something they had in common. Or at least, what you could consider "traditionally beautiful." Someone who fits the famous Golden Ratio is beautiful. But since I was a girl, soon to be a woman, I focused on a woman's required physical traits: an angelic face, a shapely body, and clear-as-glass skin. Things that were plastered all over magazines and billboards. Things I never had. However, to save me from disappointment, one quote appeared in the article I perused.
"You can be beautiful if you are confident." That quote inspired me. Confidence would be my power from then on. It's what I truly believed—confidence in myself.
Inspired by my concept and belief of traditional beauty and captivating allure, I would emulate the beautiful singers I saw on television. I imitated the way they sang and danced. Using my extra allowance, I bought revealing attire, fancy jewelry, and good-quality makeup at a nearby store. Even though I didn't look exactly like them, I wanted to be like them. Desiring to be beautiful became my obsession.
I studied applying makeup through makeup tutorials online. At first, I struggled with doing my own makeup, occasionally overdoing it. My mother even told me that I looked like a drugged zombie. But eventually, I learned how to do my makeup. Dressing up and getting dolled up made me proud of myself. My face was adorned by makeup when I went to school every day. But my makeup was natural and subtle, so none of the teachers scolded me.
When I was in college, I wore gothic makeup because the professors didn't care about that, and the university was lenient and let their students express themselves freely. On November 25, on my 18th birthday, I drank, smoked, and danced in a club with my school friends. I got a pink butterfly tattoo on my ribcage made in a reputable tattoo shop by a famous tattoo artist. It was also at that age that I chanced upon something thin, rectangular, and glossy in my brother's bed. Tempted by the sight and my imagined taste of the strawberry-flavored vape, I went there to steal it. But instead, I chanced upon an adult magazine. I took the magazine. As I opened and perused the thrilling and titillating magazine, it also opened up my mind and created in it a world of ideas and possibilities. But I chose one:
My decision to post nude photos of myself online and create an account on an adult video platform.