It's not what you think

Avery's eyelids fluttered against the glare of a ruthless sun. Heat clawed through the half-drawn curtains, dragging her from sleep's feeble grip. A smirk played across her lips, a plan already simmering in her mind.

She snatched her phone from the nightstand, thumb-jabbing at Xavier's contact like a promise of chaos. She dialed his number, but the call failed. A beep, then silence. She tried again. Same damning beep. Frustration knotted in her chest; she tossed the device aside.

"Fuck this," Avery hissed under her breath, the words sharp and bitter.

She got up and went into the bathroom. The room echoed with the hiss of running water as she stepped into the shower, shedding her nightwear like an old skin. Water pelted her flesh, yet it was nothing compared to the storm brewing within. Her plan was going as planned; she was receiving Xavier’s empathy.

She dressed to kill—or rather, dressed to fuck—she slipped into a dress that left little to the imagination. Hems rode high. Curves hug