A/N: Ana's point of view (finally). And others.

Happy Day 7 of NaNoWriMo! According to my chart, I should've written a total of 23,334 words by midnight tonight. Cue insane laughter. Quick and dirty. Excuse the dust.

Some readers were upset about Ray leaving his death benefits to Carla; I will reveal his motives a few chapters hence. For those of you who hate Ray, you haven't seen anything yet. There's a phenomenon that I've found with certain stiff-necked people. Once they get an idea into their heads, they will even make up reasons, often out of whole cloth, to preserve their beliefs, even if they are faulty and unreasonable. Their ignorance becomes self-sustaining.

Guest: I stand corrected; Carla's illness would've qualified her for Medicaid, but she didn't want ordinary treatment, she wanted extraordinary, experimental measures. And she knew just which buttons to push. More on that later.

hummergirlnv (Guest): Not to worry, Christian will soon make his appearance. His backstory will be almost the same.

FSOGFanFictionAddiction (Vvn Noel): Jesse really does care about her, but he's still a flesh and blood man, capable of making mistakes. Case in point, his whole relationship with Elena. But he's not cruel. Jess is proof that age and wisdom can trump youth and skill. With Jesse, Ana will find that respite. Jesse is the laid-back sort. He would've left Christian alone. He had made the decision to live and let live, but Christian drew first, then second, blood. Draco Dormiens Nunquam Titillandus.

Velosews: You speak the truth; Ana's screwed either way. Sins of the fathers.

Inspiration Song(s): The Sundays - Here's Where The Story Ends, Madonna - Material Girl

AnaPoV

But the idea of marrying him and allowing him such intimacies did bring one rather huge problem into bold relief.

I had never had sex before. With anyone, not even myself. I didn't even own a vibrator or a dildo. And date? Pfft! Not a serious one. When would I have had time? Kate had tried to set me up a few times, but I didn't have time to pull out the fuzzy pajamas and Ben and Jerry's when shit inevitably hit the fan. I couldn't afford to get my heart broken.

Almost every time I spent time with someone of the opposite sex, I made sure that it was in a large group, precluding any type of real intimacy or pressure. I barely let Jose take me for coffee or tea. Even then, we went Dutch. And I definitely wouldn't go to a club alone with a man. High school had been more of the same.

My mother's reputation had preceded her, and everyone expected me to put out because, of course, Carla had.

Needless to say, I didn't receive too many offers once guys realized the opposite was true. I was called Sister Rose for a couple years afterward. The irony wasn't lost on me. It didn't seem fair to be tarred with such a nasty brush, but that was small-town life, especially in Montesano. Gossip was the byword. Up till now, my only kiss had been between me and he-who-must-not-be-named. And that was certainly not consensual.

I became angry at Carla all over again. Everything about her infuriated me. It was one thing to sacrifice myself for someone I loved, but I despised her. She had already taken so much from me. And I hadn't experienced enough of life to know what I was missing? What if I married Jess, then fell in love with someone else? I had never taken my hair down, kicked up my heels and had fun, partied until sunup, or cast away my inhibitions into the ether.

I had been so busy being responsible, trying to succeed in life so I didn't have to live the way Carla did, going from man to man, and being a man-pleaser. I had never had a chance to live my own life. WSU had just been camp. Because since I came home, it's like Ray expects me to never leave. When does it get to be about me? Was Jess taking advantage of me, too?

What do you do when your world has stopped turning? Everyone else's life had gone on while mine stalled.

I decided to go shopping early in the day. I'd ordered breakfast which I quickly ate, letting Carla know that her order would be coming up soon. Carla was eating very small, bland meals these days. She shouldn't have eaten that rich meal last night. Despite the thickness of the walls, I heard her rededicating her food to the porcelain god all night. Her already meager diet had to be further curtailed due to all the medications.

I left, credit card burning in my purse, to head to the shopping district. I went to town. Everything I could think of, I bought. New trendy jeans, and shoes! A few of the ladies had even talked me into heels. They were saying "wow, look at your long hair!"

Especially once I unfurled it and they saw my waist-length, mahogany hair which was rather healthy except for a few split ends. Tops, skirts, and dresses for every occasion. Which meant that they definitely didn't belong in Montesano but, still, I took them all.

Finally, I looked over and saw the dress. And by the dress, I meant it was amazing. It was white, lacy, stretchy, and form-fitting. And the sales associates, once they got a gander of my find, encouraged me to try it on. I didn't have to be persuaded. And when I did, it was a perfect fit! Soon, a pair of 4-inch heels followed, while I took practiced walking in them in the dressing room, making sure I wouldn't topple over in them and faceplant like a clumsy giraffe.

That's when they taught me the secret of walking in heels. The model walk, placing one leg in front of the other, which gave me a subtle hip swing.

Seeing me in the dress, they encouraged me to get the proper foundation undergarments which was very humiliating for me. I was measured properly for a bra as they claimed that my present bra just simply did not fit. Underwear, stockings, and a corset, along with thigh highs and garter belts. They even encouraged me to go next door to the jewelry store to purchase a few signature pieces that would really make my outfits pop.

I felt a little guilty once she mentioned jewelry. Hesitantly, I made the call.

"Jessie, I'm at the mall and they encouraged me to go to this jewelry store next door. I know that that would be too much money but I just thought I would tell you."

Please say no, please say no. Looking at the dress. Please say yes…

He laughed. "You haven't checked the balance on that card I gave you yet, have you? Go ahead and break the bank. I'm good for it. Seriously, I want you to splurge. This is important to me," he insisted.

With that, any guilt I felt was ameliorated. With help from one of the shop assistants, I bought a few smaller, tasteful yet inexpensive pieces with diamonds and sapphires.

"You should totally go out and rock that dress, Ana. Consider it advertising for us," the sales associate encouraged.

It looked surprisingly like a very risqué wedding dress. With strategic cutouts in the lace and, if it looked saucy on the hook, it looked downright sinful on me.

Taking the lot I arranged to have it and the rest sent to the hotel. There was no way I could cart all that out of the store. Not unless I took some guys with her to carry at all. I had never shopped that much in my life even when I went to school. I felt like I should be carting it all off in a steamer trunk.

I wore one of my new outfits out of the store. The ladies had helpfully discarded the clothes I had been wearing. When I reentered my hotel suite, the atmosphere felt different. Heavier and more oppressive. Carla looked up at me in surprise, telling me that I'd had some packages delivered. I rolled my eyes in disgust when I realized that Carla had rifled through my shit.

"What I get is none of your business and obviously, the packages were for me."

"Well, I was just making sure that everything was delivered properly," she excused.

"Well, that wasn't your concern, but thank you all the same," I replied. I went downstairs soon after, desperately requiring the spa package Jess had suggested. The concierge, seeing my new outfit, was quite helpful this time, suggesting one of the more upscale spas: Esclava. I'd spent enough time with José to comprehend that esclava meant slave, but I guess we were all slaves to beauty one time or another. He even made me an appointment for one o'clock because he claimed it was impossible to walk in off the street.

I was to have my hair and nails done, then a pedicure, a wax (ouch! ow! fuck!), and a facial. I had been a wax virgin, but now I totally commiserated with that poor bastard who screamed like a bitch in The 40-Year-Old Virgin.

When my hair was done being conditioned and my hands received a paraffin wax, my feet were massaged and my nails were buffed to a perfect shine, I ended up with a French manicure with light makeup, my hair curled into beautiful ringlets all over my head, and even then my hair trailed to the middle of my back. Thanking then tipping all the people who had worked this miracle, with ready cash I had at hand since Jess was footing the bill for everything, I'd ended up giving over $300 in tips.

With a bounce in my step, I exited the building, almost bumping into an older platinum-blond woman with her hair cut into a razor-cut bob. I quickly apologized and excused myself as the woman sneered at me. Fuck you very much too, lady.

ElenaPoV

I exhaled a breath of relief when the bitch who had almost bumped into me passed by, exiting my salon. Christian was expected in less than half an hour, and there was no fucking way I wanted him to catch a gander at that sweet, young piece of flesh. She was perfect for him: the hair, the eyes, the body, hell, even the clothes. Everything about her screamed perfection.

Christian would take one look at her, snaffle her up and run to the hills. It was just as well that they would never meet. I could only hope that the woman didn't live anywhere near Seattle.

As the girl walked away blissfully unaware, two drivers almost collided while trying to catch her attention. She didn't even notice. The obliviousness of youth. If I'd had that type of pull when I was younger, I would be the billionaire by now. Youth was wasted on the young, I thought scathingly.

Almost to the minute, Christian, my protégé arrived. As I'd thought, he quickly got down to business, inquiring about a new sub. And of course, I had my answer prepared for him.

"Christian, I didn't think it was possible, but you've run through positively every brunette submissive I have on my books," I lied. "Either change your preference or go without. What do you think of redheads? Or, hell, I could find a woman of any hair color and simply dye it. We do own salons."

"No hair dye, no implants, none of that fake shit. I want natural!" he stated obstinately. Has he always been so obnoxious? I thought I'd drilled that petulance out of him years ago.

Really? That meant he wanted young, too. Because nature and gravity are not our friends. Why did it matter whether the rug matched the drapes if it was all going to be waxed off by the time he saw it? It's not as if he has fucked a woman who hasn't been waxed from the neck down in years. Besides, he barely kept some of his subs long enough for the hair to grow back!

He didn't even like Brazilians. Why did he give a fuck if their hair color was natural? It's not like he would ever take any of these whores out in public. But that was Christian Grey. Even the curated playthings with whom he shared his desperate dark, quick and dirty sexual encounters had to meet his exacting standards.

I was sure I'd have it all. Money, power, and Christian. I wasn't training him to be a Dominant, I was training him to be my Dom. It was almost in my grasp; I felt it.

The only sticking point had been Linc. If I divorced him, I wouldn't get much unless I could prove some fault on his part. An ironclad prenup made sure of that. Christian was so desperate to become a Dominant, to finally be in control.

I couldn't be the sub he wanted. I was married; I didn't have the flexibility or availability to do what he demanded. Training him to be a Dom was the only power I had. Thankfully, he was too reclusive to seek out other BDSM mentors. Otherwise, he would've known that my methods weren't ethical.

When Linc came home early from his business trip, probably anxious to get his fucking dogs out of the kennel, he caught us mid-scene, and everything went to shit so fast, I was forced to scramble and settle for whatever I could get. Fucking Linc!

I had tried so hard to goad him, but he wasn't budging. Nothing I said could touch him. He was in his happy place. He didn't care about me or even the fact that he caught someone fucking me in his house. I thought maybe if he had hit me, I'd have been able to salvage something from this fiasco. Instead, he told me how it would be, and how quickly and cheerfully he would divorce me. I wished he was dead.

I realized I couldn't afford to really anger him now that I knew his response wouldn't be physical. It would be nothing less than total financial ruin and emotional evisceration. If he outed Christian or me, we would both be in even deeper shit, and that was before he had found out about the money.

I had been hoping if he ever found out about the hundred thousand dollars, it would be long after the divorce was final. However, a few weeks before the final decree came through, I had been invited to a meet and greet with Linc and his attorney, Daniel MacGuire, Esq. He had always despised me, and the hatred was mutual. He was the main reason the prenup was as tight as a tourniquet.

My lawyer and I entered the conference room at Lincoln Timber headquarters. Linc and Daniel completely ignored my bruises and that I'd come in using crutches. Neither man stood up or offered me a seat.

"So, not going to stand up when a lady enters a room?" I sneered.

"Let us know when she comes in and we'll get right on that," Daniel replied.

He leaned forward, handing me three documents. I decided to skim them before handing them to my lawyer. If I wasn't sitting down I would've collapsed. Linc had discovered everything. He had hired a forensic accountant.

The first, and most damning, report documented my unauthorized transfer to Christian. He had credit card records, hotel receipts from Boston and Cambridge, and bills from the clubs where I'd scened. Thankfully, they didn't go that far back, but I realized he already had the bodies, the smoking gun, and my fingerprints. He didn't need the blueprints of the gun manufacturer.

I didn't bother to pass the documents to my attorney. I told him I wouldn't be needing his services and dismissed him. There was nothing he could do to mitigate this situation. I was surprised Linc didn't have police officers or IRS auditors waiting for us when we arrived. I silently signed everything Daniel placed in front of me.

Linc looked at me with pity in his eyes before whispering, "I always knew you were a slut, but I never thought you'd become desperate enough to steal to pay for it. That account you tapped for the money? It was one of the employee pension accounts. Perhaps you should have reserved some of your allowance instead of spending all of it making yourself look like a clown and transforming my home into a whorehouse."

"Christian's worth a thousand of you," I whispered bitterly.

"Think that if it gives you comfort. But with his issues, he'll never be there to keep you warm at night," he countered. "If he really gave a shit, he'd be here right beside you. Goodbye, Lee-Ann."

This was the last place I wanted Christian. Oh, Christian knew I had taken the money, but he didn't know I'd broken the law to get it. He had assumed I gave him the money I'd been saving for my warchest.

I left the building completely demoralized. If not for Christian agreeing to set me up with the first salon, I would've been left completely destitute.

While my injuries had garnered no sympathy from my husband or his lackey, the opposite was true for Christian. It fundamentally changed the way he saw me. If I'd thought our sexual relationship would resume after I recuperated, I was woefully mistaken.

Christian wanted to become a practicing Dom. He may not have realized that he wasn't trained properly, but he understood that having been my sub altered our dynamic too dramatically. He couldn't properly dominate one he had once knelt for.

He wanted another submissive. He didn't see it as personal. As I had often told him, love is for fools. As he was busy outlining what he was looking for in a potential submissive, I found myself offering to vet them. He had a relatively high profile. What would he do, place an ad on FetLife?

When I saw his list of demands, because that's what they were, I was appalled. Petite, long-haired brunettes? Had he liked anything about me? Not personal became my mantra.

I told myself he would eventually get tired of the subs. Especially since he had entrusted me with the duty to select them. It became a self-fulfilling prophecy. More became a dirty word. It was absolute hell, living vicariously through so many other women just to get a whiff of his dominance. I'd had enough. It was time for him to come home. I had let him spread his wings and sow his oats, but I wasn't getting any younger.

After he left, I set my plan in motion. I used my elevator code to enter Christian's apartment. Good! No-one was there. Not even his house manager, which I took as a great sign. I called a sub to help me stage the greatest scene of my life. But not before making sure she had signed an ironclad NDA first.

After a significant amount of work and a recent spa treatment, I was scantily atired, trussed up, and presented to perfection on Christians Saint Andrew's cross. The door had been left open, showcasing me in the corner, the lights shining soft on my body. I hadn't felt this sexy in a long while.

Sure, I had Isaac, but he was a sub and he wasn't really as dominant as I would like. Not as if I would really expect that. Not if he didn't want to get caned to within an inch of his miserable life. Christian didn't share, but this would make him change his mind. Besides, if he finally took me up on my offer, Isaac could be gone in a blink.

I heard the ding of the elevator and got wet instantly. It was a Pavlovian response. Just knowing that he was going to know I was there and come after me was very exciting. I imagined he could smell my enticing aroma. It would have him rushing for the playroom door.

Instead, I heard, "What the hell?" as he no doubt went to the kitchen and realized the playroom key was missing. His footsteps, instead of slow and methodical, were a fast tattoo as he ran up the stairs. Seeing me in all my glory. As he entered the room he began cursing like a sailor, hurling abuse at me, the likes of which I had never heard.

He began loosening my restraints, and my blood suddenly rushed to my extremities. Unlike normal, he offered absolutely no aftercare, leaving me to rub my wrists.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" he demanded. "I didn't invite you. And you know this is unacceptable. I haven't thought about you this way in years and you know this. Call whoever it was who helped you, and get the fuck out of my apartment!" he screamed, spittle flying into my face. Then he hesitated, turning to face me again.

"Wait," he said slowly. "How did you set this up? You couldn't have posed yourself like this alone. Did you invite a stranger into my apartment? Is it someone I know? Did whoever it was sign an NDA?"

"Yes," I croaked. This hadn't gone the way I had expected. I'd known he was sexually hungry, practically starving. I had chosen the perfect time for my approach.

"Our friendship is over. And consider this a severance of our partnership."

"Christian!" I cried, reaching for him. Almost as a reflex, he shoved me away, causing me to fall on my ass.

"No! Don't touch me," he growled, his pupils dilated, the grey of his irises a slim ring. His fists clenched. "Get the fuck out and don't come back. You betrayed me."

Instead of the homecoming I expected, I was left in despair as I heard him call his faithful lapdog to come take out the trash, then change all the codes. A lone tear trailed down my cheek.

CPoV

I gave Elena a long, measured glance before turning on my heel, striding away, nodding brusquely at Greta on my way out of Esclava. Elena must be lying. It was as simple as that. Brunette hair is the second most common shade in the world! There's no fucking way the scene was bereft of them. Brunettes were every-damn-where. Look! There's another one! Wait! Three.

By the time I made it to the car, I had passed over a dozen, and by the lascivious way their eyes ran over my body, I knew I could bring at least one of them to heel.

It was obviously a delaying tactic. It had been almost six months since Susannah. It's like she didn't want me to find anyone else. She was trying to persuade me to change my preference. Having a preference was the most normal human instinct I possessed. Was she hoping she could get me to prefer blondes? Blondes were never my type, even when I was fucking her.

Even as a teen, my eyes were drawn toward girls with long, brown hair. At least until Elena trained that visceral response out of me.

Well, might as well work if I can't fuck.

"Taylor, GEH," I commanded.

I was many things, but tonight I was enraged, overwhelmed, and disgusted. My only friend had betrayed me. It was bad enough that she couldn't seem to find me the right sub, but for her to try to top from the bottom in such an underhanded manner, violating the sanctity of my apartment, bringing others with her… It was just the end.

After Taylor had disposed of the trash, I walked out of Escala as if in a daze. Thankfully, I hadn't yet removed my jacket. I ended up walking and walking trying to dilute the rage teeming inside my veins. The only thing that had centered me in the past was fucking and fighting, and I could do neither. The only thing left was liquid luck. And as if on autopilot, I'd ended up outside of a bar.

NOTE: This chapter is dedicated to everyone who has asked if it will be a Christian x Ana pairing. Let's just say Ana is with Jesse now and leave it at that. This author throws rocks and then hides her hands. Nanny-nanny-boo-boo.

NOTE: It's hilarious how many readers didn't want Ana to end up at Esclava. Do y'all think Elena's salons are hellmouths? It wasn't the only salon on the sheet Jess gave her or even the first listed. He didn't care where she went or what services she received. He just went online and looked up salons near the Fairmont and the hospital. It's not like Elena knew of her or her relationship with her ex-husband. Elena just hates brunettes on general principle.

I don't know who said it first, and I'm not going to look because that would require effort.

"Old age and treachery will always beat youth and exuberance." — David Mamet.

"Age and treachery will overcome youth and skill." — Fausto Coppi.

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Thank you for reading.

Nichole Stewart FB