Sawyer
It is 8:05 p.m.
I take a deep breath and step into the opulent halls of the Baroque Hotel, my eyes scanning the room for Ethan. I refuse to allow him to publicly humiliate me in front of his cronies. Nor will I allow him to offer me up to his perverted friends.
I may be trapped in his twisted game, forced to endure his torment and possibly even sleep with him, but I will not let him drag me any deeper into the mire. I didn't choose to be his fucktoy; I had no other choice. And the deal was to be his w***e, not some shared buffet.
I will not accept any modifications to our initial agreement. It's degrading enough as it is.
I spot him at the bar, a solitary figure nursing a glass of whiskey.
“Hi…” I mutter, approaching him cautiously.
“You're late” he spits out, not bothering
