In the bathroom, the water cascaded down her body, following every curve.
Phoebe closed her eyes, letting the hot water pour over her for what felt like an eternity.
Finally, she turned off the faucet and took a deep breath, staring at her reflection in the mirror as she forced a smile.
"It's only a year," she whispered to herself. "It'll pass quickly."
Her eyes stung with unshed tears.
The thought of becoming his mistress was like a knife twisting in her chest.
In her world, especially in art schools like hers, many were willing to sell their bodies to wealthy businessmen in exchange for a life of luxury. She had always looked down on those who took that path—yet here she was, finding herself in the same situation.
A one-night stand. Being kept. These modern, shameful realities
