Chapter 29

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Laura

“ G reat work, guys,” I muttered as I walked my cameraman and the latest “Victim” to the door. He’d been an easy guy to dominate, responding to every command like I was a queen. But once we were done, an odd sense of sadness filled me, and I couldn’t quite put my finger on the reason.

I closed the door with a soft click, leaning against it for a moment as the muffled sounds of Phil and “Mike” faded down the hallway. The apartment was silent now, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the distant sirens of the city below. I turned my gaze to the bed in the middle of the living room, its rumpled sheets and twisted restraints a glaring reminder of the work I’d just finished.

This wasn’t what I’d envisioned for myself, back when I still believed in things like white picket fences and happily-ever-afters. Back when I thought Mr. Right was waiting for me just around the corner. I’d spend my days crafting speeches on Capitol Hill, changing the world one piece of legislation at a time, with a sweet, loving husband waiting for me when I got home.

I sighed, crossing the room slowly. Regret wasn’t the right word—I’d seen too much, learned too much to regret the choices I’d made. But there was something hollow in the air tonight, something that made me pause as I passed the bed, kicking off my stilettos and peeling off the purple vinyl mini-dress that clung to me like a second skin. It landed in a heap on the floor, a shiny, crumpled thing that felt as lifeless as I sometimes did at the end of a shoot.

Barefoot and in my slip, I opened the door to my walk-in closet. I avoided the gleaming racks of leather and latex, the neatly arranged stilettos, and instead reached for the farthest corner, where my real wardrobe lived. My fingers brushed past blazers and jeans, skimming over sensible cardigans and work flats, until they hit the cheap plastic of an old garment bag.

I pulled the bag from its hanger, unzipped it, and there it was in all its horrifying glory: the bridesmaid dress. Chartreuse taffeta shimmered under the dim light, a hideous, monstrous creation with puffed sleeves, lace trim, and a bow so enormous it could double as a flotation device. The skirt flared out like a parachute, and the sequins scattered across the bodice caught the light in the most offensive way imaginable.

I carried the dress to the bed—my proper bed in my bedroom, not the one I used for filming in the living room—and sat down with it draped across my lap. My fingers stroked the fabric, catching on the rough taffeta and the scratchy lace. It was objectively hideous. Even the memory of it made me smile and cringe at the same time.

But I loved this dress. I loved it in the way you love something that breaks your heart a little every time you look at it. I loved it because it reminded me of the last time I let my guard down. The last time I followed my heart, not my head.

I chuckled, smoothing a hand over the absurd bow. “I’m probably the only bridesmaid in the world who actually loves her dress,” I murmured. But it wasn’t because it was beautiful. It wasn’t. God, it wasn’t.

I loved it because it reminded me of Seth. Of that summer. Of the one time in my life when I believed in the fairytale, even if it ended in the most humiliating way possible.

I closed my eyes, still running my fingers over the fabric, and for a moment, I was back at that wedding. Back when I still thought love could be something more than a lie.

The dress sat heavy in my lap, its gaudy taffeta glowing faintly in the soft light of my bedroom. I ran my fingers over the monstrous bow, the lace trim that scratched at my skin that summer day so long ago. The fabric was softened with age, but the memories hadn’t. They hit me as sharply as they always did, and I let them come, pulling me back to the beginning.

I’d met Seth at the rehearsal dinner. He was a groomsman, standing near the bar with a drink in hand, his laughter ringing out above the chatter of the room. He had an effortless charm, the kind that seemed impossible to resist. And God, those emerald green eyes. They’d locked onto mine across the room, and that was it. One look, one crooked smile, and I was done for.

Seth made everything feel easy. Talking to him was like breathing. He’d ask a question and actually listen to the answer, something most men didn’t bother with. By the second day, I was hooked, even though I tried to convince myself I wasn’t. I’d always been practical, cautious even, but with Seth, all of that fell away. He made me believe in something bigger, something real. And when I gave him my virginity, it didn’t feel like a risk. It felt like the only choice I could make.

That night was everything romance novels said it could be. Gentle. Passionate. Perfect. My friends had warned me about awkward first times, the pain, the clumsiness, but with Seth, there was none of that. He made me feel like I was the only woman in the world, like he saw all of me and wanted me. For the first time in my life, I felt truly beautiful.

The next few days were a blur. Wedding rehearsals. Parties. Stolen moments in quiet corners. Nights in his hotel room, wrapped up in him like nothing else mattered. I let myself believe in it, in him, in the possibility that maybe this was what love was supposed to be.

And then came the night that shattered it all.

We were in his room at The Plaza, tangled together in the dim light of a bedside lamp. I remember looking at the clock—twelve-oh-nine. The hands felt frozen, as if even time knew what was about to happen. The knock came then, softly at first, almost hesitant. We ignored it. Who wouldn’t? It was late, and we were lost in our own little world. But then the knocking grew louder, more insistent.

“Seth!” A woman’s voice called from the other side of the door. “I know you’re in there. Please, it’s Katy. Let me in.”

Seth tensed beside me. I turned to him, and the look in his eyes told me everything I needed to know. Fear. Guilt. Panic. He sat up, running a hand through his hair, and for the first time since I’d met him, he seemed completely unsure of himself.

“Laura,” he whispered, his voice shaky. “You need to hide.”

It wasn’t a request. It was a plea. And in that moment, every wonderful thing I’d thought about him, about us, crumbled to dust.

He hadn’t told me about her. Katy. The name felt like a punch to the gut. She wasn’t just some fling or a misunderstanding. She was real, and she was his, and I was nothing more than a temporary distraction.

Still, I didn’t argue. Not because I wanted to protect him, but because I didn’t want her to see me. She didn’t deserve that. Whatever lies Seth had told her, she didn’t deserve to find out like this.

I slipped out of bed and crawled underneath, pressing myself flat against the floor as the door opened. Dust tickled my nose, and my heart pounded so loudly I thought they’d hear it.

“Katy,” Seth said, his voice too smooth, too rehearsed. “What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here?” she snapped. “What do you think, Seth? You disappeared on me. I flew across the country to find you. I had to. You weren’t answering my calls.”

I couldn’t see her face from my hiding spot, but I could hear the pain in her voice, and it made my stomach twist.

Seth stammered some excuse, something about the wedding, and needing space, but Katy wasn’t buying it. The conversation blurred after that, my mind too focused on the weight of my shame. How had I been so blind? So stupid?

Eventually, I heard her say, “Let’s go somewhere to talk,” and Seth’s quick agreement. The door closed, and the room fell silent again.

After they were gone, I crawled out from under the bed. I didn’t cry or yell. I just got dressed, grabbed my things, and left.

That was the last time I saw Seth.

I held the bridesmaid dress tightly against my chest, the stiff taffeta rough against my cheek, and realized there were tears sliding down my face. A bitter laugh bubbled up as I hugged the hideous thing tighter. It was ridiculous to cry over a dress, especially one so ugly it could haunt a person’s dreams. But it wasn’t the dress—it was everything it represented. A time when I’d believed in love. In trust. In people.

I sniffed, wiped at my face, and got to my feet. The dress went back into the garment bag, hidden away in the deepest corner of my closet. Out of sight, out of mind—or at least that was the lie I told myself as I closed the door firmly behind me.

In the living room, the bed still sat there, rumpled and messy, evidence of the workday I’d just finished. But my gaze went straight to the trunk at the foot of the bed, where my phone rested. The trunk was where I kept my “tools of the trade,” and the sight of it always gave me a little smirk. Dominatrix by day, wistful fool by night.

I picked up the phone and absently opened my FantasyFans dashboard. The subscriber count made me smile. More new fans than cancellations—always a good sign. Business was steady, and people seemed to like the content I was putting out. Not bad for a girl who used to dream of Capitol Hill and a white picket fence.

On a whim, I typed in “Lucien Steel” and pulled up Liam’s page. His profile picture made me grin. The guy was stunning—bright green eyes, messy dark hair, and a jawline sharp enough to cut glass. I’d done the right thing by pushing him to lean into his looks and confidence. It was only a matter of time before he became a star in the industry, and I was genuinely proud of him.

But then I noticed something on his page that made my brow furrow. A video. Liam’s face was front and center on the thumbnail, but there was another man in the frame, too. My heart skipped a beat when I realized it was Jack.

Jack? The valedictorian who always had a pile of books in his arms?

I stared at the thumbnail for a long moment, trying to process it. They’d always had this weird energy between them, but I never thought…

Curiosity got the better of me, and before I could talk myself out of it, I hit subscribe. It was only fifteen bucks, so what the hell?

The video loaded, and there they were—Liam and Jack, tangled together in a way I’d never seen before. At first, I was fascinated. Jack, all gruff intensity, and Liam, radiant and open. The contrast was magnetic. And then I noticed something else.

Jack looked at Liam like he was the most important man in the world.

I’d seen a lot in my line of work. People faking it, going through the motions, or putting on a show for the camera. But this? This was different. Jack wasn’t just performing. The way his hands moved over Liam, the way his eyes lingered, the way he kissed him—it was real. Undeniably real. And oh my God, the way they laughed and played was a world apart from most adult content creators.

For the first time ever, I saw actual love in a porn video. Not just chemistry or lust, but love. Damn, it was beautiful.

A soft sigh escaped me as I leaned back on the bed, my gaze still glued to the screen. I felt my cheeks burn and glanced away, setting the phone down like it was something dangerous.

“Fuck me,” I muttered under my breath. “Why can’t I find love like that?”