Chapter 1

Ella

It feels so weird,standing at the top of the staircase, fresh back from my trip to Sydney to see my parents, my suitcase by my side as I open my bedroom door. My life here, in this crappy shared house, is almost over. There will be no more piled up pans in the kitchen. No more grimy showers with mould all over the walls to contend with. No more limescale around every single tap and plughole in the place.

I've got an afternoon packed full of apartment viewings tomorrow, now I can finally afford to get out of this shithole.

It's still hard to take in the reality. My life has changed so much it's unrecognisable from just a few months ago.

My name is still Ella Jane Edwards. But another character has been added to the mix.

I'm not just Ella anymore. I'm a kinky goth mantrap called Holly, too – a persona I never imagined I'd be taking on.

You see, Holly is a prostitute.

A very kinky, very filthy, very well-paid whore.

That's right. Me, sweet little Ells, is a prostitute known as Holly now. Or, more politely putting it, an entertainer. That's what the official job title says. An entertainer working in client PR.

Polite or blunt, though, it doesn't really matter, does it? I fuck people for money, and I love it. It's a billion times better than slaving my ass off for minimum wage in a store where nobody gives a shit. My clients appreciate me a hell of a lot more than my managers ever did, and I have a whole load of five-star reviews to prove it.

The memories of before I left for Australia are all still so vivid. The clients I met and performed for. Everything from being chased through a park and bundled into the back of a van, pretending I wasn't expecting it. Playacting that I didn't want it, with my pounding heart in my throat. Being worshipped like a goddess by a guy who loves feet, after being beaten into blissful subspace in a dungeon by a Master, to dressing up for a Daddy, and being eaten out right in the heat of my period. So much craziness, and so much fucking fun.

So, why waste any time before getting back to it?

Tonight, Holly will come back to life with a bang. Literally.

I've been booking proposals all the while I've been away. Being back in London and ready to resume them feels amazing, but I'm already missing Mum and Dad so bad it hurts. Waving goodbye at Sydney airport felt like hell, and keeping my working life secret from them was getting harder and harder every day. So many times they quizzed me on my exciting new job role, wanting to know all about it, and so many times I nearly broke and told them, wanting to blurt out the truth and set it free. But what would I have said?

I don't really work in PR, I'm a sex worker. I have a filthy profile on an underground website, and a ‘naughty list' of the services I'm prepared to offer. I have a lot of ticks in the checkboxes, believe me. I'm dirtier than you could ever imagine. They call me Holly when I'm working, not Ella, and they pay me for being a slut, at their service. Don't worry, though. I'm turning out to be the very best slut and I really do love it!

Sure, I can be as proud of myself as I like in The Agency circle and in my own mind, but in front of my parents… no. They'd never understand. To them I'm still their sweet little darling, with angel eyes – gothic choker around my throat or not.

Talking of The Agency circle… I check my phone as a message pings. I'm already grinning as I click to read it.

Back at your place yet? Is it good to be home?

I've been messaging Josh – the entertainer Weston – every day since The Agency Christmas party before I flew out to Sydney.

Yeah, I'm back in my room. I wouldn't say it's good. Kitchen looks even worse than when I left it, which is saying something. I haven't even braved looking at the bathroom yet…

I wait for his reply, staring at the typing icon.

Not long left now. You'll be in your very own penthouse suite before you know it.

I hope so, I type, with a fingers crossed emoji.

My friend and fellow-entertainer Ebony is coming with me to view the places on offer tomorrow, once I'm done with my proposal, and no doubt she'll be quizzing me hard about Josh, as well as giving her opinions on interior decor.

I don't quite know what I'll say to her. I'm still churning over the answers myself.

Am I addicted to the real Josh, or to Weston, the hardcore entertainer? Is this real, or am I projecting the love of my life onto a man I barely know?

This could easily have red rebound flags flapping in the wind all over it from the word go.

I've never really done dating. Not since I was a teenager in love with Connor – my only ever partner before he left me for a groupie called Carly last October. I guess I have her to thank for the opportunity of being Holly at all, since I'd never have fucked anyone else if Connor hadn't left me high and dry, with nothing but pasta and debt to my name.

She's welcome to him. The wannabe rockstar can have someone else cheering him along on his road to glory. More fool her.

You're out on a proposal tonight, right? I type to Josh.

I've got two, actually. One dirty quickie, then onto the main event. It's going to be a rough one. I'll be feeling it for days.

Another bout of weird hits my guts. I'm talking to a new guy I'm schoolgirl crazy over about how he's going to be fucking people later, like it's the most natural thing in the world.

How about you? he asks. You're booked tonight too, aren't you? That was ambitious.

Or stupid. I get a lurch at the thought.

I had motive in my madness. The client is into somno. He wants a sleeping beauty to slip into bed with while she snoozes, oblivious. I guessed I'd fit the bill just perfectly after my flight.

Cool, Josh replies with a wink emoji.

Coolthat I'm getting fucked by a stranger in a hotel room tonight. Damn, it's so strange.

There are so many questions I want to ask him about the clients he's going to be with later. What are they going to be doing to him? What does a rough one mean?

He pings me another message through.

You'll be a sleeping beauty, pretending or not.

Thanks, I reply, and almost go for the heart emoji, but avoid it. Too soon. Much too soon. We're still at the grinning face stage, or occasionally heart eyes. No full-on heart emojis yet.

Another message comes through.

Tiff says somno is a great choice for night one, BTW. She's pissing herself, given how knackered you are.

Ah, so he's with Tiff. Creamgirl. The idol I've been looking up to ever since I saw her profile on the entertainers list. No surprise since they live in the same apartment block, over in Belgravia. One of my viewings is in the block across from theirs tomorrow, and it looks amazing… but yet again, is it too close, too soon? An unfortunate coincidence, or destiny calling?

I push the thoughts aside and focus my limited attention on staying awake. Sleep time is for this evening, not for this afternoon. A nap would prove fatal.

I sort out my case, unloading all my clothes, toiletries and trinkets from overseas, which is quite a major job, and quite a boring one. I empty the filter on the washing machine before I dare to put any dirty clothes in there, since the mould would be a lot more toxic than Sydney sweat. The whirring rhythm of the washing machine spin doesn't help my energy levels, but I do my best to stay conscious, I even stick my head out of the window to get some fresh air. But it's hard. I'm fading fast.

I'm relieved when a fresh message pings, cutting through my haziness. I expect to see Josh's name, but it's from an unknown number. I sigh out loud, because here we go. Yet again.

Speak to me, please. I made a mistake, ok?! Come on, Ells, please. Just hear me out. I'm begging here. I love you.

This one has plenty of heart emojis after it. Another message from Connor the jackass. He must have texted me on at least ten different phones these past few weeks.

No, I reply, just like that. He can moan and mewl and apologise all he likes. He can write lyrics about how love is life, and life is gone as much as he wants to. I'm not interested. It's another great reason to get out of this shithole. He won't know where I am, so he won't be able to turn up with another crappy bunch of flowers.

It'll be a good thing, to be free of running into him at my front door, but that doesn't mask how it feels below the surface. Underneath the trapdoor of I'm over it, the betrayal still hurts like hell.

I go back upstairs to my room, remembering all the times that Connor and I have been in here, together, pondering how great our life was going to be once he'd made it. Once he was a rockstar with a massive record deal and a billion fans all screaming his name. I barely had ten pounds in my bank account through most of it, but I never thought that mattered. I'd have given Connor my last penny.

I feel a little twinge of sadness. So much has happened here for me. Loving Connor, then losing Connor. Meeting Ebony and her setting me up with The Agency – the best friend I could ever have. Becoming an entertainer and earning the cash of my dreams. Having ambition. Living a life. Finally creating dreams of my own.

Meeting Josh at the Christmas party.

Yet soon I'll be leaving this cheap little cocoon of a room behind me, on to pastures new.

I'm not the same old Ella anymore. That Ella has morphed and changed, and emerged like a butterfly from a putrid chrysalis.

I'm Holly the budding hardcorer now, and Connor is done for me. I block his latest number, tossing my phone to the side. Falling for Josh, a fellow entertainer, might have red flags flapping all over it, but he'd have to be one hell of an asshole to top my betrayer of an ex.

I grin at the thought of taking his renowned cock, and exploring the depths of his hardcorer skills, but I've got another cock to be focusing on in the meantime.

Time for my next proposal.