| 9 | The Seductress

[ S E R A P H I N E ]

My mind won't stop racing. All this overthinking is making me dizzy again. The dim glow of my night lamp doesn't help much.

I need four more hours of sleep, but my brain won't give it a rest now that I'm all alone again. I'm back here in my quiet apartment, my body tired as ever, but my swirling thoughts are too loud to shut off.

“Ugh.” I don't think I'll make it through this week in good health and sane. I wanna blame Dominico...even though it's not really his fault.

The guy's just trying to help. My conscience keeps reminding me to thank him again for keeping his pervy father away from me and for escorting me off that yacht, and then driving me back to the country club.

But is it all an act? Does he have ulterior motives? Or he's just a decent human being I luckily bumped into?

The latter seems true, but my gut still says it's a bit of both. I can't think of a particular reason why Dominico thinks being my protector (and fake boyfriend?) will do him any favors.

Fake boyfriend. I'm now "dating" the one and only Dominico Tomassini.

What's really his plan? We'll lie to everyone about seeing each other, then make up some story a few weeks later about why we broke up? Or a few months later?

Ridiculous... All of it just sounds too good to be true. Who in their right mind would actually fall for that bullshit?

I lie on my back, snuggling under my blanket as the midnight sky darkens, my legs having a hard time staying put. I'm still trying to digest the whirlwind of events the past two nights.

My brain keeps replaying the scenes. They linger like a heavy fog. Dominico's confusing words keep intruding on my thoughts, and I can't unsee his face in my mind.

That obnoxiously beautiful face...

My shrill ringtone pierces the silence when I try to close my eyes, the brightness of my phone screen drawing shadows on my plain walls. I take a deep breath and put my phone on my ear. “Hey, Dad.”

“Hi, honey. Were you asleep?”

“Not really,” I sigh, rubbing the corner of my eye. “Woke up an hour ago. Any word from the bank?”

“Yeah. About that...” Daddy Raffy murmurs in his comforting baritone that holds a hint of concern.

“Dad, how much?”

“They sent another email. I mean, two. We were really hectic at the clinic, so, I, uh, only remembered to check my inbox when I got home.”

“So did they send it? The new balance?”

“Yeah. I, um, think they sent all the attachments I requested.”

“Dad, just tell me.” I hold my breath. I know he's just stalling. I'm just not sure why. It's not like I'm gonna scold him for encouraging my mother to get another bank loan. It was more or less a mutual decision, if my gut is right.

“It's almost at, um, eight now, including the interest.” My dad lets out a heavy sigh on the other end.

My breath catches in my throat. "Eight hundred thousand?" I nearly shout. My stomach flips as the weight of his words settle heavily on my chest.

“That's, uh, excluding the new loan your mom recently got.”

Good grief... So now we owe the Tomassinis almost 800 grand? At this rate we'll be owing them a million euros by the end of the year.

Shit. We're definitely in neck-deep shit.

I palm my face, waiting for my dad to elaborate as a heavy silence hangs between us. I want to call up their financial advisor and vent my frustration on the guy. But I don't think it'll make a difference. “How did it get this bad, Dad?” I ask while my chest aches somewhat, my fist almost trembling.

“I'm sorry, hon.”

Sorry? Does he mean he expects me to pay off half of their debt to the Tomassinis?

“I... We barely managed to pay off half of the principal last year.”

“And now it's drowning us,” I finish his sentence. I sigh out loud. Now I feel like the room is closing in around me.

“Sephie, don't stress yourself about it too much. We're fixing the costing, your mom and I,” my dad replies with more certainty. “We're doing another sweep of our expenses at the clinic.”

“Fine.” I doubt it'll pay off eight hundred thousand in debt before it becomes a million euros, but, I know I won't be helpful if I keep lecturing them about their money problems. “I just can't stop thinking about the interest, and how we're gonna pay off all of it, before it gets even worse.”

“I know. I know. Thank you, hon. I know you're, uh, doing your best to help.” His tone turns calmer and encouraging. “We appreciate the sacrifices you're making.”

Tears well up in my eyes, but I fight them. I bury my face in my pillow just so he won't hear me sniffling. I clear my throat when the other line falls dead silent.

While he explains the rest of the bank's latest emails, I open another app and do a quick fund transfer. “Dad, I just sent you money, to cover the other bills.”

“Oh. I just received the notification,” he mutters in a somber voice. “Thank you, honey.”

The lump in my throat grows at the mix of sadness and embarrassment in his tone. I don't wait for him to awkwardly say goodbye. I say it first and hang up on my father.

“Crap.” I drag myself out of bed, stupidly asking myself why I just sent him all the money I've made over the weekend, including what's left of my salary two weeks ago. I will most definitely lose my shit if he bothers the Tomassinis again for another loan.

It's depressing how I still don't have the means to give my parents a better life. A great life free of debt and the demands of living in this country. But I'll figure out a way. I always do.

They're the only family I have. We don't have any close relatives here in Italy who can help us out of our debt problem. We're gonna get through this.

It's just money. I will help them out of this mess. One way or another.

Wiping my eyes dry with my sleeve, I stand in front of my vanity mirror and hastily put on makeup. Time to try my newest look:

A new wig with long burgundy locks. This cost me a hundred bucks last week. But this one doesn't look too synthetic. My strawberry blonde and platinum wigs look much faker.

After taking my skimpiest lingerie out of my closet, I put on a white butterfly mask to hide my nose and mouth. A poor attempt to mask the fatigue etched on my face. But at least it's cheaper and more breathable than the others.

Darn. I look like a single mom pushing 30. Probably why Dominico doesn't find me hot or even remotely attractive.

But I shouldn't care. I don't. I really don't. Why would I?

Whoever he dates or finds attractive is none of my business. What I want to figure out is if he's thought his plan through...

To what extent does he expect me to act like I'm the new woman in his life? Is he actually serious about the “relationship” we'll be faking for everyone to see and gossip about?

Or he's just really bored and wants to play stupid games with strangers who are indebted to him?

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[ Baby, if we're going to do this seriously, set them to private. All of it. Or just delete them. ]

Received 04:19

[ What? All of my pics? No. I can't do that. ]

Sent

I glare at my phone while obsessively back-reading the first parts of our conversation, waiting for another response.

Thankfully “Angelx30” doesn't plan on ghosting me. Quite the opposite, actually. The guy wants something more. Something I'm not sure I'm prepared for.

When he makes me wait another minute, I rush out of the bathroom and set up my makeshift shooting rig. Every part of me feels tense. I'm unsure about where our conversation is going.

Is he wasted? Or high as a kite? It doesn't feel like I'm talking to the same mysterious, secretive, witty and funny Brit-Italian guy who subscribed to me a week ago.

For one, he just sent me a video. First time ever. Secondly, he keeps calling me "baby" and the way he talks to me has become oddly possessive.

Although it's not what I asked for, he sent me a ten-second video of him touching himself in a dark bedroom to prove he's actually a grown man and completely alone. Not a glimpse of his face, though. But I'm pretty sure it's a real video of himself.

“Angelx30” sent it about an hour ago. After the "how are you's" and the fairly annoying "wyd" messages, now we're discussing an exclusive online sugar dating arrangement I'm not sure is actually plausible. The terms include:

1) he won't show me his face no matter what

2) I can't ask him to send me photos and videos of himself ever again

3) our sugar baby-sugar daddy arrangement will strictly remain online and private for now

4) if we ever do a meetup, he'll be the one to decide where and when

5) I can't date or entertain any romantic advances from other people online or in real life

If I agree to all of his terms, I have to stop posting public content online and will only send all of my new content to his account. In return, I get a regular allowance of 5,000 in cash, excluding the gifts he will send me via mail.

5,000 euros per month. No more. No less.

I stand next to my small closet, talking to myself in this dim corner of my room and pondering his last message. “You've gotta be kidding! You did not just unsend the only video...” I scoff at my phone and stifle the urge to hurl it across the room.

The jerk actually deleted the video. Why? Because he thinks I'll leak it? Upload it on social media or something?

Do I seem the type of person who would do that? Well, now I have a good reason not to take his proposition seriously. After I toss my phone on the console, I strip off my sports bra and dress up in my brand new see-through lingerie.

Why does he want me to delete all of my public posts? Is he seriously asking me to lock my profile? Just because he says so?

What about my other subscribers? I can't just block them all. That's so unfair.

I've waited months and quite literally worked my ass off just to gain a hundred loyal followers. I can't just ghost my other subscribers and leave the platform. If he wants me to produce new content for him and only him, I should at least have a say in our terms and conditions.

I heave a sigh and grab my phone while my outfit barely covers my lady parts. We're settling the rules first. There needs to be some balance.

I won't do everything he says. I'm no pushover.

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I'm going nuts.

Maybe it's the stress and exhaustion. Or my low self-esteem. Or plain desperation.

Or all of them? I really can't tell anymore. All I'm sure of right now:

More content equals more money. The sexier, the better. Of course my most loyal subscribers like my demure but raunchier snaps way more.

Perhaps they're mostly men, but I don't really mind the stats and demographic. As long as their donations and other gifts help keep a roof over my head...

While enjoying my privacy and appreciating my quiet neighbors, I've tried old and new poses, most of the time just spreading my legs for the camera. Each click and snap is a compromise with my own dignity. A transaction for survival in this complicated world that just feels so cruel and unforgiving at times.

But it's the easiest way to earn real money right now without having to go out and deal with people on a daily basis. It helps pay the bills, and I get to choose when and where I work, because I'm my own boss.

As I go over and edit my photos, I grapple with the almost surreal juxtaposition of selling pieces of myself to people whose real names I don't even know.

It's degrading, but also empowering. In a way. Or am I just in denial that I'm losing control of my life?

Also likely. Then again, this is all temporary. Just a means to an end.

Of course I still wanna take a different path, one where my worth isn't measured in payments for my almost naked photos. A path where I can thrive and maximize my true potential so I can give my family a nice, quiet, picket-fence life without hundreds of thousands of debt haunting them every single day.

But for now, this is my reality. And this is the path I'm choosing.

I'll just suck it up until I can't anymore.

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