Dr. Josephs, my second favorite person on this planet and my gynecologist, has finished his exam. I sit up shakily and close my legs. They tremble slightly from the cold cushion of the examination chair. I bite my lip as the feeling of urinating slightly crosses my mind; my nose runs from the cold room, causing a frenzy inside of me. Without hesitating, Dr. Joseph hands me a box of tissues. I use them gratefully and place the soiled ball of tissues in the trashcan.

I take the hand sanitizer from my overpriced, custom-made Pearl Montgomery purse and squirt the liquid into my hand. I groan absentmindedly as the liquid cleanses my hands.

I'm somewhat of a germaphobe. I hate dirt and grime, filthy dishes. They make me want to vomit.

That thought alone raises the hairs on the back of my neck, which causes me to gag slightly. I swallow and shake my head rapidly, attempting to rid my brain of the obsessive thoughts intruding on my fragile mind.

Once I'm calmer, I thank him and hurriedly make my way out of the room.

"Remember you have another appointment next month, on Wednesday." Dr. Josephs calls on my way down the hall. I walk towards the receptionist's desk, but before I can speak, she raises a finger and taps her ear. I sigh, grateful, and make my way out of the office.

I make my way down Grand toward Everett Park, stationed a block away from the infamous Everett Park & Co., a multi-billion dollar conglomerate enterprise. It ranges from eco-renewal and manufacturing to publishing for the New York Times.

I gaze at the massive structure briefly before noticing the hecklers across the street. One of them notices me and makes their way over. They have a large white sign in their hand stating the unfortunate truth about the entertainment business and the death of Bessie Jackson, a famous singer and songwriter who was sexually assaulted and beaten to death.

It somewhat amuses me that these people think that any of the executives care about her or what happened. It didn't occur at Everett Park, so why should they take any interest in the situation? That would only get them into a shit-ton of trouble with the rest of the entertainment business. They really don't need that.

Aside from Fragment Water, Heating, and Cooling, they're the biggest company in Boston, Massachusetts. Just by the sound of it, that's obviously not a company that people are begging to work at.

"Ma'am!" the heckler says as he finally makes his way across the tumultuous road. "Do you agree that Bessie Jackson deserved to die?"

I still, my heartbeat ceasing. The only movement coming from the chaotic wind blowing my perfectly curled hair across my face. I feel my face redden as darkness approaches, but before darkness prevails, I inhale, easing the darkness away.

I gasp aloud, attempting to regulate the air throughout my lungs. Unfortunately, it takes a second, giving the rest of his posse a chance to cross the street towards us.

I groan and roll my eyes. I feel as if my world is spinning out of control, and there's nothing I can do about it.

Fuck! I just want to go home.

Thankfully, before the hecklers can begin their torment, a police officer runs over and sends them running back across the street.

I turn toward the friendly officer and find that he's smiling widely. His overly friendly demeanor takes me aback. He looks me up and down before looking back toward the hecklers, who have resumed their heckling across the street. To my surprise, two security guards from inside the company exit. What took them so long?

I noticed offhandedly that no one had emerged from inside Everett. It's Friday, a work day. Even though I have work today, I decided to take the day off to run errands. Thankfully, my boss, Colleen Pierce, doesn't mind what I do as long as I finish my work on time.

"T-Thank you," I whisper.

He nods, his eyes wide with excitement. "No problem."

My insides knot and my lips curl into an uneasy smile. He somewhat reminds me of Johnny Sins in those horribly acted pornos he stars in, where his eyes bug out; he's incredibly cringeworthy and awkward. Yet, somehow, there's something else there… lingering. Something destabilizing.

I shake my head, attempting to rid myself of the anxiety-inducing thoughts, and thank him once more. I hurriedly make my way across the street and into the parking garage. Sensing something, I whirl around and look frantically.

Nothing.

I sigh and clasp my chest, my keys slightly digging in between my breasts. I get into the car, which is already turned on, and put on my seatbelt. I back out and head onto the road, heading home.

Once I get home, I head straight inside. I place my purse on my newly furnished couch and head up stairs and into my room. I quickly put on something more comfortable: a black Maggie Short Set from FashionNova, and a pair of black Teagan Flat Sandals.

I wiggle my feet as my newly painted French tips add to the cuteness of the outfit. I walk toward my mirror and look myself over. I grab the hair tie wrapped around my wrist and place my hair into a high ponytail. I let my escaped tendrils of hair fall from the sides of my face. I notice my sideburns have grown pretty long, as well. The entire look is cute and subtle.

I shake my head, embarrassment washing over me.

I reapply my Ilia—Arabian Knights Lip Tint and rub the residual color off with my finger. I grab a tissue from my nightstand and hastily wipe my finger. I look down and find my finger is tinted in red. I groan and roll my eyes, and quickly make my way into my personal bathroom.

I wash my hands harshly and apply as much soap as humanly possible. I throw the empty bottle in the trash and scrub vigorously. Once it's suitable enough, I turn off the water and grab a black hand towel.

If there's any residual tint, which I doubt there will be since I scrubbed the shit out of my hands, then I don't want to see it.

I throw the used hand towel in the hamper and rush down the stairs. I make my way into the kitchen and grab a granola bar. I noticed the half-eaten granola bar that I left on the kitchen island this morning. Before I went to my appointment, I needed something in my system before I left.

Scowling, I grab my purse, shoot Bonita, my housekeeper, a text, and run out the door. Turning the lock, I see my next-door neighbor, Jonathon, leaving his house across the street. We make eye contact, and the immediate rush to my sex sends me into a tizzy.

Around the same time last year, Jonathon and I had a rendezvous. His wife was away on a business trip. She's a local model for a small, independent modeling company that no one's ever heard of or will ever hear of. Ever. And during this time, we fucked everywhere. On his couch, in their bed, even in his office. It was only for a week, but it was by far the best sex that I've ever had.

It's only happened once in the three years I've lived in my home, but I will never forget him. Also, I'm pretty sure the neighbors started to catch on. I had gone there every day for a week. And to my surprise, his wife never caught on. I can't even remember her name. Ginny? Gina? Something unflattering and tasteless.

It only takes five minutes to get to the Farmer's Market on 40th North Street. Actually, it only takes me three minutes in my AUTOart Lamborghini Urus Gloss Black. I'm a slow driver in a fast car.

I park the car in one of the vacant slots and get out. Locking the car twice, I make my way over to the entrance and grab a pen to write my name down. I see Pearl a couple feet away talking loudly on her phone. She seems upset. The usual. I shake my head and make my way towards her.

Thankfully, this is the third week that the Farmer's Market has been open, so there aren't as many people in attendance.

Pearl holds up a long, thin finger in my face. I can see her perfectly-shaped coffin nails pointing straight up. They're unsettlingly long. I don't even keep my nails that long. Also, mine aren't coffin-shaped. They're stiletto-shaped nails. Perfect for my short fingers.

I roll my eyes.

I've always hated my fingers. They're fat and short. Gross.

I bite my lip and decide that I'm already a bit too anxious. I grab the anxiety pills from my purse and pop two into my mouth. I close the cap back on the bottle and shove it back into my purse. I swallow the pills in a second. No need for water, but the aftertaste is absolutely fucking disgusting.

I scowl and look around frantically. I feel the bile rising in my throat. I find a bottled water stand a couple of feet away. I dart towards it, forgetting all about Pearl, and grab a bottle. Without hesitation, I open it and take a large swig. The warm liquid oozing down my throat makes me gag, and I almost puke the water right out. It takes all of my effort not to vomit.

But unfortunately, the water doesn't do the trick as the taste continues to linger on my tongue. I throw the bottle on the ground and dig around in my purse until I find a box of mints. I immediately pop two mints into my mouth, moving them frantically over my tastebuds, attempting to rid my mouth of the horrendous taste of those pills.

A couple of seconds later, the taste ceases.

I sigh and close my eyes, the feeling of nausea subsiding.

Once I'm finally calm enough to focus, I take out my wallet—but before I can grab the money, Pearl hands the tender a one-hundred-dollar bill.

"Keep the change," she says, rolling her eyes at me.

I sigh, embarrassed, and follow behind her.

Pearl decided that the farmer's market wasn't the best idea, so we decided to go to Salvatore's, the exclusively inclusive restaurant that has a five-star rating.

It's absolutely perfect. The food is Divine, and the service is phenomenal.

I've only been here a few times with my father. I've always ordered the same thing—cheese ravioli, boiled, not fried, and a glass of chardonnay. I'm not much of a drinker, but when I do have alcohol, I prefer to have something light. And with my anxiety, a girl can't be too careful.

Pearl orders the filed fish with a side of cooked peppers.

Her eyes widen as her margarita comes. Pearl is different. She's insanely rich, insanely beautiful, and insanely thin. She's around five-foot-ten and one-hundred-and-twenty-five-pounds. And about one point above anorexic.

But her looks aren't everything. She's also insanely good at business. She has her own fashion brand where she makes clothing, shoes, and even handbags, including the one I have hanging on the back of my chair. She's so famous that her name is used for her branding.

I giggle in disbelief. Unbelievable!

I still can't believe she's one of my best friends. I have a small circle of friends; I've known Pearl since high school. She wanted to go into the fashion industry. She's always had a sense for fashion. However, I've always wanted to go into a career where my associates degree would be of use. I decided to become a paralegal for a large law firm.

Edmund and Sons Law Firm is a huge legal firm situated in the middle of the city. I've worked as a paralegal for three-years now. I've just turned twenty-four-years-old and I have a good job, I'm making good money, and I'm stable.

I've always had issues with mental stability. Ever since I was young. Living with my father, Edmund, didn't help. My father is the CEO of the law firm that I work for. I got the gig from him and I've never been happier. My boss, Colleen Pierce is a great attorney. Absolutely amazing! She has a ninety-eight percent succession rate. She's the best in her field, and the best part, she's female.

My mouth begins to water when our food arrives. The waiter sets the food down carefully in front of me and smiles. I give him a greedy grin and place my napkin in my lap. Grabbing my utensils, I dig in.

Delicious!

I swallow and groan aloud. Fuck! This is good.

Pearl's food arrives a couple of moments later, and she is not happy. She has her arms crossed, a finely shaped brow arched to the stars, and a scowl that would scare the meanest of men.

I look around nervously. The waiter gives me a nervous glance and immediately begins to apologize profusely.

She raises her hand in the air, effectively silencing him. His lips quiver nervously. He looks as if he's about to cry.

"Just don't!" She shouts.

The entire room quiets.

Shit! Why this? Why now? God! Why me?

I clear my throat and wipe my mouth with my napkin. I lean back awkwardly, knowing damn well there's no way in hell I can finish my meal. Damn!

Out of nowhere, the head chef makes his way over to us, hearing the commotion. I roll my eyes, embarrassment enveloping me. I raise my hand, and she begins yelling at the head chef.

"Can I get a to-go box? Please?" I ask the scorned waiter.

He nods and makes himself scarce.

I bite my lip as I hear my phone chime. I grab my purse and take a second. My boss, Colleen, left me a message. I sigh and call her back.

"Finally!" She says, exasperated.

"W-What's wrong?" My nerves are now rattled.

"Well, the Deacon case has been reevaluated. There's a hearing next Wednesday," her voice trails off as she walks farther away from the phone. She's obviously multitasking at the moment, distracting her from the topic at hand.

I turn around and find that Pearl and the chef are still occupied. The waiter makes his way over to me and places the empty, white foam box on the unoccupied table I've walked towards while escaping all the drama.

I smile and roll my eyes as he scurries away.

I sigh, waiting for Colleen to pick the conversation back up. I decide not to hang up, knowing that if I do, I'll get an earful when I get to work tomorrow.

When she doesn't answer, I walk back towards the table. Thankfully, they've stopped arguing. Pearl is calm and enjoying her meal. I decided to finish mine, as well.

After lunch, I call Colleen back. At some point, our call got disconnected. I bite my nail and wince as my acrylic nail digs into my nail bed.

I have to go to dinner with my family tonight at my father's estate. We live on a large property in Wellesley Hills, Massachusetts. It takes about half an hour to get there on the I-90 going west. I hurriedly make my way over to Purity Nail Bar to get a fill. It takes them an hour and fifteen minutes.

Not too shabby!

I give my nail tech, Maddie, a twenty-dollar tip, wave to Ming, and make my way out.

I smell the air as it blows against my face. I need to head home and shower. I get into my car and get a text from Colleen. She has more notes for tomorrow's hearing. She sends them to me via Docs. I save them and put a reminder on my phone to read them later.

I get to my father's house around six. Dinner starts at six-thirty. I'm right on time. I hand my coat to Ramona, my second favorite person on this planet, and give her a hug.

"How are you?" I say, tightening my grasp.

"I'm fine. How are you?"

I pull back and smile. "I'm fine. We have a hearing next Wednesday at ten. Private." Her eyes widen, her mouth agape. "Apparently, the case is about a rich tech mogul—a rape case," I whisper the last sentence.

Her eyes widen to an unnatural degree.

I nod. "'Mhmm."

"Josephina!" my father calls.

I roll my eyes and make my way into the dining room, where I find my entire family sitting quietly. I take my seat and cross my legs. One of the cooking staff makes their way into the room and places a glass of white wine in front of me. I thank him and take a tentative sip.

"Yum," I murmur.

Licking my now lubricated lips, I take another drink—larger this time, but with the same reaction.

Crisp and cool.

"Yes, the mogul is rich. Like mega-rich," Joseph, my father's eldest son, says.

"He did rape her. I can just tell. There's no way in hell he didn't tap that," Byron, his second eldest, says, laughing sardonically.

It sends chills down my spine. I shudder slightly and take another sip of my wine. I swallow loudly, calling the attention of my father. He gives me an unreadable look, his blue eyes narrowing slightly.

I decided to take my leave and head to one of the many bathrooms down the hall. I head to the second bathroom because it's larger and farther away from the dining room. I close the door softly behind me and take a seat on the toilet lid. I hold my head in my hands and whimper softly.

My family is absolutely ridiculous. I wasn't born into this family, well, not biologically. I was adopted by Edmund when I was only seven days old. The minute he signed his name on my adoption forms, I was immediately thrust into the world of corruption, manipulation, and fucked up white people.

One of the many issues I've had to overcome while being apart of this family is the difference between my skin and the rest of my families. I am a black woman with chestnut skin and long curly hair. When I was twenty-one I went through a hair transformation. I started taking pills for alopecia—it caused all my hair to fall out. Two months later, my hair grew back, thick, long, and straight.

I feel a sense of embarrassment and remorse, especially when another person of the same race asks me how I got my hair so long or if my hair is real. Obviously, I can't tell the truth, but I also can't lie to them. It can be incredibly difficult to navigate situations like those. I've always hated dealing with my hair and talking about it.

Deciding that I'd done enough wallowing, I stand up, wash my hands thoroughly, and make my way back to the dinner. By the time I make my way back to the table, our food has been served. I moan and lick my dry lips. The matte lipstick not helping with the dryness.

My favorite food has been brought before me.

Clam Chowder!

I bite my lip and take my seat. I place my napkin on my lap, grab my single utensil, and take a bite of my food. Mhmm. Yum. I chew and swallow and immediately take another bite, then another, and another. Before I knew it, I'd finished my meal. I down the rest of my wine and wipe my mouth with my napkin.

I turn towards Father, who's giving me a look of awe and disappointment.

I fold my napkin on the table and stand up.

"Thank you, father. The food was amazing, as usual." I smile and turn toward Victoria, my sister, for all intents and purposes, and give her a look. She returns the favor with her own annoyed look. "I'll see you at the hearing next Wednesday."

They lead me to the foyer and help me with my coat. I give Ramona a big hug, swaying back and forth before pulling back and kissing her on the cheek. When I walk out, the cool night breeze hits me like a wave. I smile, feeling hopeful, and make my way back home.

I'm a block away from home when Colleen calls me. I answer and yawn.

"Sorry!" I say, self-conscious.

"No. I'm sorry. I should've called you earlier, but I was busy getting everything ready." A moment goes by before she speaks once again. "I need you to come into work. I know I'm sorry, but I really need you."

I sigh and yawn once more.

"O-Okay. That's fine. I'll be there soon."

I turn back around and head back to the office.

I enter the lobby and smile at Phil. Dayjanay has clocked out by now and is probably at home asleep, which is exactly where I should be right now. I swipe my keycard in the biometric entry holder and enter the elevator. I press the button to my floor and ascend.

The bell dings, and the doors open. I walk out and find the entire floor is empty. I look around, confused, and make my way to Colleen's office. I knock and wait a couple of moments. No response. I knock once more and wait a few moments. When she doesn't answer, I open the door and peek my head around. No one's here.

I shake my head and grab my purse, heading back to the elevator, but I hear murmuring coming from meeting room number Two. The door is cracked, and I see Colleen walking around the room, speaking rapidly.

I try to find a better angle and just happen to see Bruce, another paralegal, on his phone, speaking rapidly.

I decide not to bother them and make my way to my desk. I'm situated right outside of Colleen's office. I begin working on the notes and the documents of the Deacon Case. I work non-stop for two hours, and Colleen never emerges from the room.

Around ten, I decide to head home for the night. I shoot Colleen a text once I'm in the car. I really don't want to work any longer. While heading home, I call Sebastian, my ex-boyfriend, and demand sex. He answers immediately and agrees happily.

I keep the door unlocked so he can get in, even though he has his own key. At least, when we're done, I can head right to sleep, and he can leave on his own.

I make my way into the bathroom and brush my teeth vigorously. My teeth feel disgusting, and it's way too late for them not to be brushed. Fuck! I use my ultra-clean mouthwash, letting it burn the inside of my mouth. That's how you know you're clean. And I make my way into my closet and put on something more suitable for the occasion.

The minute we're done, he's gone.

I decide to wear a PrettyLittleThing: Black Lace Scallop Edge Lingerie Set and a pair of and a pair of Black Wide Fit PU Round Toe Ruched Mesh Detail High Heeled Mules.

I put my hair into a messy bun, letting curly tendrils of hair fall effortlessly down my neck. I reapply some Ilia—Arabian Knights Lip Tint. I get a text, and the doorbell rings. I text him back and wait for his impending arrival.

He makes his way into my room slowly. Walking leisurely around my bed, similar to a black panther stalking his prey. I bite my lip and widen my legs. I run my hands down the nape of my neck, sensually massaging my collarbone, riding down to my breasts.

Before I know it, he's on top of me, massaging my ass and gripping my thighs, tightly kneading and pressing his long, adept fingers into my skin. He kisses me softly, his lips graze my neck, and he runs the tip of his nose against my neck and down to my collarbone, nipping and biting as softly as he does.

He flips me over and unbuttons his pants. He rips my panties to shreds. I decided to wear them so they'd be easy to remove. Obviously, I was right.

I hear him spit into his hand and rub his hand over his cock. The squelching noise coming from his dick only turns me on further. I bite my lip and cry as I softly run my fingers across my sex. The wetness coming from me is unbelievable. I'm dripping and oozing like water coming from a spout.

He surprises me by thrusting himself into me.

"Ah!" I groan and roll my eyes to the back of my head.

He thrusts once, twice, three times before swiveling his hips around and around. My inner self begs for him to stop while my libido begs for him to continue. My libido wins as I feel a waterfall of liquid oozing out of me as my orgasm rages.

I shudder and shake intensely as he continues his torment. He flips me over and thrusts into me. I cry and struggle against his grip. He grabs me and pins my arms above my head, holding me hostage.

He chuckles softly, his voice reverberates down my spine, causing me to come anew. Before I know it, everything goes black, the last image is of Sebastian falling on top of me and rolls to my side.

The meeting with Franklin and my other colleagues takes an intermission. Colleen makes her way out of the room, documents in one hand and her phone in the other. I sigh, close my notes, gather my belongings, and make my way out of the room. Sasha Drought, another colleague of mine, follows me out of the room and to my desk.

"Shit! This is a lot of work," she huffs sluggishly.

I yawn and stretch.

Fuck! Last night was amazing! God! I will never get over the amazing sex I had last night.

My stomach growls loudly. I need to eat. Now!

I knock on Colleen's door. She locks her door, obviously busy at the moment; heading to my desk, I write a small note on my note pad and place it in her "attention box."

I grab my purse, phone, and pen and make my way to the elevator. Sasha enters after me. I push the 'G' button, and we descend. The elevator stops multiple times to allow newcomers to enter. By the time we're at ground level, we're squished all the way in the back. My claustrophobia is acting up. I'm about to freak out. I'm grateful when the elevator doors open, and everyone leaves.

I lean against my thighs and breathe heavily, attempting to catch my breath. I walk past Dayjana,y who has a large deli sandwich stuffed into her mouth. Dayjanay and Sasha exchange glances before continuing on their way.

I roll my eyes and laugh.

We get to Joe's Deli and order our usual. I order a turkey sandwich with lettuce and mayonnaise, and a bag of salt and vinegar chips. I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge and pay for my food. Sasha orders something similar. I decided to wait for Sasha outside.

The door is heavy and jammed. It squeaks as I attempt to pull. I decide to push as hard as I can, and once I do, I fly out of the store. I stumble and drop my food onto the ground before me.

Shit!

I bend down and begin picking up my mess. I barely notice him coming towards me. He's quick and limber. I smell him first. He smells of Forest Axe Body Wash and Cologne. A minty fresh aroma that can make even the gayest of women weak.

My gaze slowly meets his. He's wearing a dark Brunello Cucinelli Suit and a pair of black Dunhill Men's Luxury Evening Lace-Up Oxford Shoes. His entire outfit costs at least sixteen thousand dollars. Maybe even more.

I bite my lip and sit up a fraction. His black Aviator sunglasses mask his face, but even with them on, I can tell he's the most attractive man that I've ever met. His silky-pitch black hair is tousled and shiny, yet silk-like. His body is muscular—no, extremely muscular, with broad shoulders and bulging biceps enveloping his physique. I can see his eight-pack underneath his suit.

He hasn't moved a muscle, and his eyes are still hidden behind his sunglasses. In the matter of minutes that I've gazed upon him, his facial expression hasn't changed. He's stoic and impassive. Unreadable. Yet, even with his sunglasses, I can see the darkness within him.

I bite my lip as he moves into a standing position. My body is situated directly in front of his pelvis. His pants are custom-made and fit him perfectly. Although, a slight bulge is evident within the seams.

My bag of food is placed upright, right where he put them. My hands shake as I pick it up. I look back up at him and give him a sultry gaze. He runs his hand through his unkempt hair, making it messier, but God, is it sexy. He's sexy!

Extremely sexy!

I feel my sex twinge with excitement. My insides alight with exhilaration and sexual prowess. I close my eyes and crack my neck.

Fuck!

The mystery man turns around without saying a word and makes his way into a shiny black Escalade. I look around, confused, and find Sasha standing behind me. She doesn't notice the situation at hand. She's too busy texting her boyfriend.

And yes, I know she's texting her boyfriend. She's always texting her boyfriend. When she's not working, she's texting him.

Colleen keeps me busy for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, I can't get him out of my mind. By the time I finish the day, it's already dark. I check the time. It's eleven o'clock at night. Colleen retires from her office and gives me a look of pure irritation.

I give her a somber look and decide to head home. Sasha decides to do the same and begins packing up her stuff.

I get to the parking garage and look around. Ever since that day with the police officer, I've been on edge. I unlock the door and quickly jump inside. Before the door even closes, the car is locked. I've decided not to turn the car on before I get to it. Someone could hide inside and attack me.

I turn the corner onto Bowdoin Street and pull into my driveway. I turn the car off and grab my purse and notes. I lock the door and walk up the staircase and to my front door.

I forgot to turn on the overhead light before I left. I really need to invest in a sensor. I wouldn't need to remember to turn it on.

I rustle around with my keys, attempting to find the front door key. I accidentally dropped the keys onto the ground, and they made a loud noise, effectively startling me. I curse aloud and attempt to find them in the pitch dark.

I sense him before I hear him. I whirl around and see a strange man standing on the sidewalk right in front of the entrance to my house. My heart stills and my breath ceases, and for a second, I don't know whether to scream or run. The ladder prevails, and I quickly pick my keys up off the ground and attempt to open my door. I drop the keys for a second time as I hear him making his way towards me.

"Fuck!" I scream and instead decide to put in my fingerprint to unlock the door.

Luckily, it works, and I open the door and slam it behind me, locking it as I do. I huff loudly, the beat of my heart thrumming through my ears. I fall to the floor and begin to cry. Tears of hurt. Tears of pain. Tears of fear.

I find myself hyperventilating and run up to my room. I lock my bedroom door and take out my phone. I decide to text Dad.

Me: Help! Someone just tried to attack me and almost broke in.

I hit send and wait for a reply.

I pace my room back and forth and bite my nails frenziedly. I bite so hard that the acrylic nail on my pointer finger breaks off, causing me immense pain.

"Ow!" I cry.

When my father doesn't reply, I slide into bed and cry myself to sleep.