Ghosts of the Footbridge, Part 1

And though you seek in garments the freedom of privacy
you may find in them a harness and a chain.

VP and BP Standings
Erin - 69 VP - 4300 BP - 1 Achiev
Claire - 57 VP - 7200 BP - 2 Achievs
Marissa - 56 VP - 4300 BP - 1 Achiev
Liesa - 54 VP - 2900 BP - 2 Achievs
Emi - 44 VP - 3750 BP - 1 Achiev
Dawn - 36 VP - 4500 BP - 1 Achiev
Sam - 29 VP - 4550 BP - 2 Achievs
Norah - 27 VP - 4050 BP - 2 Achievs
Chloe - 8 VP - 2975 BP - 1 Achiev
Riley - 6 VP - 4300 BP

Andy jerked awake, gasping for air that wouldn't come, his hands reaching for something that wasn't there. Water filled his lungs—no, not water, just the heavy weight of Erin's breast beneath his cheek, her fingers tangled in his hair. He blinked rapidly, fragments of the nightmare still clinging: Laura's laugh as they raced bikes down Miller's Hill dissolving into her scream at the bridge; her small hand in his on their eighth birthday blurring into that same hand disappearing beneath churning water. The priest during the funeral, snippets of words from the eulogy, a poem by some Sufi mystic about windows. Through it all, someone had been watching from the riverbank—faceless, motionless, just a dark silhouette against the trees. The same presence he'd felt at the edge of every happy moment since. Even now, as morning light filtered through the curtains and Erin's warmth anchored him to reality, he could feel those eyes somewhere in the shadows of the room.

He lay there a while, breathing with her, taking inventory of his body and the weight of her beside him. J-cup breasts, he thought, and wondered what sadist had invented a measurement system that made sense to absolutely no one. He could feel the warmth of her skin and the subtle pulse where her heart lived, and for a second it was enough to just exist, no past or future.

Erin’s grip in his hair told him she was asleep for real, not faking it. Carefully, he eased out from under her, moving in millimeters, worried that any sudden motion would break whatever spell held them together. She didn’t stir; instead, her lips parted and she let out a soft, breathy snore, the kind of sound that used to annoy him back when they dated and now made his chest squeeze in nostalgia.

He slid off the bed, feet hitting the cool marble, and grabbed a shirt from the floor, a pair of sweats from the wardrobe. He saw Katherine waving at him with a little smile, though she still looked tired. Could she even get tired? Andy crossed to her, then paused, searching for the right greeting. “Morning,” he said in a low voice, voice rough.

Katherine pointed at him, then at the bed, then tilted her head, raising an eyebrow in silent inquiry.

He hesitated, then shrugged. “I’m fine,” he lied in a whisper, which made her silently sigh—a full-body, theatrical sigh—and shake her head. She mimed “talk” with her hands, then pointed to her own heart, then back to him.

He considered the request—Katherine's silent, insistent prod—and exhaled through his teeth, scrubbing his hands over his face. He knew what she wanted. After sixteen years, he was supposed to have moved on; after sixteen hours, the dream still clung to him like pond scum. “Bad dreams,” he said, shaking his head. He gave out a long, slow sigh that she mirrored in sympathy.

A single, delicate shrug. It wasn't nothing, her gesture said. She mimed hugging herself, then pointed at him, then toward the balcony. As if to say: go outside. Breathe.

He did. He crossed to the sliding doors, careful not to wake Erin, and slipped out into the salt-cool morning. The air had that strange, end-of-summer clarity—every line of the resort's terrace perfect against the sea, every sound (the waves breaking on the shore, the caw of a gull) painfully crisp. Andy gripped the iron rail and stared at the waves, letting his mind run the same old circuit.

It was supposed to get easier. He'd been told, over and over, by the professionals and the friends and the well-meaning strangers: time blunts everything, even the sharpest loss. But it didn't. It just layered on new pains until the original wound was buried in scar tissue so dense he couldn't tell where it started. That was the secret no one told you: sometimes the past didn't recede; it just kept finding new ways to crawl out.

He closed his eyes, replayed the moment on the bridge. The words he could have said, the gesture he could have made, the one thing he could have done differently to save her. He'd made a whole religion out of regret, and even after telling Erin last night—even after seeing how it landed, not as an indictment but a benediction—it still gnawed at the bone.

A hand on his shoulder, light but insistent.

He didn't startle. He'd felt Erin's approach in the prickle of hair at his nape. She came up behind him, utterly unconcerned with her nudity, breasts flattened gently to his back, and hugged him around the ribs.

"Didn't mean to wake you," he said, voice low.

Erin shook her head. "You weren't loud. I just missed your heat."

He let her press into him, let her be the anchor. After a minute, he said, "It's stupid, but I can't get it out of my head. After all this time, I still hear the splash. Still feel the river on my skin."

Erin's chin nestled into the top of his shoulder. "It's not stupid."

He tried to laugh. "I told you last night to hold me to the truth. I'm not sure I was ready for it to boomerang like this."

She kissed the point where his spine met his skull. "You want to talk about it, or you want distraction?"

He thought. "Little of both," he admitted.

Erin grinned into his hair. "Good, because I'm not sure I could distract you for long. Not unless you help me process this." She turned him gently to face her, then brushed the sleep-creases from his cheek. "You're still carrying it," she said, searching his eyes.

He didn't look away. "You mean guilt?"

"No," she said. "The sense that if you ever put it down, you'll lose her. That the pain is the only way to keep her close."

He blinked, surprised. "You're more of a therapist than Marissa."

"God, don't compare me to her," Erin said, but there was no heat in it.

He shrugged, and she folded herself against his chest, arms caging him tight. The effect, even now, was a shock to his system—the raw intimacy of it. For a minute, they stood that way, Andy's chin resting on top of her hair, his arms enveloping her, the sea air threading through the silence.

Erin said, "Can I confess something?"

"Of course."

"It's this—" she gestured down at her naked body, at the impossible chest and the smooth, unblemished skin, the bright shock of freckles across her nose. "I hated it at first. I was humiliated. But now—" She laughed, uncertain. "Now it's almost a relief. To be seen and not have to hide anything. I don't have to put on the armor. I don't have to dress up. This is just… what I am now. I don’t understand how I could be so okay with it right now, less than a day after… you know?"

He searched her face, saw the honesty there. "I think it’s your previous transformation,” he admitted. “You remember, Easing a Troubled Heart? It’s supposed to soothe you when I hold you. I’ve done a lot of holding you last night. I don’t know if it’s permanent, but… it’s like quickfire therapy, it seems. And as for what you said… I think it's beautiful," he said, and meant it.

She smiled, bashful and coquettish. "If you keep saying things like that, I'm going to have a hard time keeping my hands off you."

"I wouldn't mind," he replied, his voice low and inviting.

She shook her head, a soft blush spreading across her cheeks. "No, you don't get it. It's not like before. This new transformation—the no-clothes thing—it's like being on a hair-trigger. Every time you look at me..." She paused, her breath hitching as his gaze drifted over her body. Her nipples stiffened, and she squeezed her legs together, feeling the wetness already growing between her thighs. "My body reacts. And because I’m nude, you—" She playfully poked him in the ribs. "You never stop looking."

He couldn't help but stare, his eyes tracing the curves of her body. "That's not my fault. You're—" He stopped, and she arched a brow, waiting.

"Go ahead. Say it," she urged, her voice a sultry purr.

He took a breath, letting the truth spill out. "You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

She flushed, not with embarrassment but with a primal, animal pleasure. "You're making it worse," she said, but her tone was anything but upset. Her legs squirmed, trying to alleviate the building ache.

He leaned in, kissing the corner of her mouth, his hand cupping her cheek. "Is that what you want?"

"Not here," she whispered, glancing at the open balcony, then at the half-shuttered windows where Katherine's painting overlooked the bed. "But I don't want to wait, either."

He let her pull him inside, both of them half-laughing as they tripped over the threshold. The bed was still mussed from their earlier entanglement, but neither cared. This time, however, Andy took command. He gently pushed her onto her back, his eyes roving over her body, taking in every inch of her. Her nipples hardened further under his gaze, and she could feel the wetness dripping from her, her body more than ready.

He straddled her, his knees on either side of her hips, his hands pinning her wrists above her head. He leaned down, his breath hot on her ear. "You have no idea what you're doing to me, do you?"

She bit her lip, a soft moan escaping. "Every time you look, I get wetter. Every time you touch, I feel like I'm going to come undone." She arched her back, pressing her breasts against his chest. "My whole body is rewired. Even if I could still wear clothes, I’d be a sopping mess every time you and I would go out together. Hell, every time you so much as gave me a hug and a kiss."

He reached down, his fingers tracing the curves of her body, lingering on her hips, her thighs, before finally slipping between her legs. He felt the wetness there, and a low growl escaped his throat. "Show me," he said, his voice commanding.

He entered her slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. He set the pace, a steady rhythm that had her gasping, her hips bucking against his. He leaned down, his mouth capturing hers, his tongue exploring, mimicking the actions of his hips. She wrapped her legs around him, urging him deeper, her body meeting his thrust for thrust.

Time seemed to stand still as he rode her, his body commanding hers, drawing out every ounce of pleasure. The room filled with their sounds, their scents, their lovemaking a symphony of sensation. He could feel her tightening around him, her body coiling like a spring. He leaned down, his teeth grazing her nipple, and she came undone, her orgasm crashing over her in waves.

He rode her through it, his own release building. When he finally came, it was with a roar, his body shaking, his hips jerking against hers. He collapsed on top of her, his body slick with sweat, his breath ragged. She stroked his hair, his back, her touch gentle, soothing.

"You okay?" he asked, after a while, his voice a soft rumble against her chest.

She smiled, her body still tingling with aftershocks. "Never better." She laughed into his skin. "You know, this stamina thing is a double-edged sword."

He smiled, feeling energized, not even a whisper of exhaustion in his muscles. "You can tap out any time."

"Not a chance," she said, rolling him off and snuggling against him. "But you have to let me catch my breath. I don't want to combust before breakfast."

They lay side by side, arms and legs tangled, the air between them thick and sweet. Andy noticed, absently, that Katherine had shifted again. The girl in the meadow was flushed, hair wild, mouth open in a rapturous gasp, her eyes fixed on the two of them. He smiled, then looked away, not wanting to intrude on her pleasure.

Erin saw it, too. "Does she… ?" Erin trailed off, then grinned. "Guess we're not the only ones."

He nodded, then said, "You ever think you'd be this unguarded?"

She thought about it. "No. I used to be the opposite. Every emotion had to be screened and edited and made acceptable. I was a master at hiding. Even with you, sometimes."

He was quiet, letting her speak.

"I think I did it because I was scared," Erin said, voice softer. "Scared of being rejected, or of being too much, or of losing everything. Now it's just—gone. The fear. Maybe I should thank the Hotel for that."

He squeezed her hand, lacing their fingers together. "You don't have to thank anyone but yourself."

She looked at him, eyes clearer than he'd ever seen them. "That's not true," she said. "It's you. You're the difference."

He shook his head, but she wouldn't let him deny it.

"You think you're weak," she said. "You think you're broken. But you're the strongest person I've ever met. You survived something that would have wrecked anyone else. And now you're making a life, not just for you, but for everyone who needs you." She touched his cheek, thumb brushing the line of his jaw. "That's more than enough. That's everything."

He wanted to tell her how much it meant, but the words caught in his throat. So he just lay there, letting the weight and the hope settle side by side, and for the first time in years, he let himself believe it might be true.

They stayed that way for a long time, the sun climbing higher, the future still terrifying but—maybe—a little less impossible.

When they finally dragged themselves out of bed, it was well past breakfast hour and the Suite smelled of sweat, sex, and faint notes of Erin’s favorite shampoo. She padded naked to the kitchen, pouring herself a mug of coffee, and only when Andy joined her did she seem to remember her state of undress. She looked down at herself, shrugged, then grinned at him over the rim of the cup.

"I keep expecting to get used to it," she said, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "But I'm not sure I ever will."

Andy tried not to stare, but it was an exercise in futility. The effect of the transformation was, if anything, even more dramatic in the morning light—her breasts so prodigious they almost had a physics of their own, her waist drawn tight above gently flaring hips, legs sturdy and strong, still bearing faint traces of last night's explorations. She caught him looking, and a visible shiver ran through her body.

"You're making this worse, you know," she teased, her nipples visibly hardening as his gaze lingered. She pressed her thighs together. "A girl needs a little plausible deniability. At least pretend I'm not walking around with my tits out."

He grinned, leaning back against the counter. "I could pretend, but it would be a lie."

She stuck out her tongue, then bit her lip as his eyes tracked the movement. Her breathing quickened. "Thanks," she said, voice lower now. "For not making it weird."

He closed the distance, wrapping his arms around her. She gasped softly as his eyes met hers, her body trembling against his. "It's not weird. It's you."

She sighed, then rested her cheek against his chest, hiding her flushed face. "You know, I used to have a recurring nightmare? I'd show up to school naked, but no one noticed. Now it's like the opposite. When you look at me, I can feel it everywhere, like electricity. It's overwhelming." She winced. “I mean, everyone will stare. Damn it, you’re getting me wound up again already!” She giggled, not at all upset.

He stroked her back, feeling her arch slightly into his touch. "I'll be your shield, if you want. Or your distraction."

“Or my Master?” she said, mocking the formal title with an exaggerated bow.

He rolled his eyes, but the effect was charming, not condescending. “If that’s what you want.”

She shook her head, then kissed his chest, above his heart. “I want you to be you. That’s enough.”

They held each other for a long moment, the world outside the kitchen irrelevant. When she finally pulled away, her eyes were brighter, the worry drained.

“You know what’s crazy?” she said. “You’re right, that Easing a Troubled Heart thing? It’s real. When you hold me, I can feel the anxiety drop, like someone turning down the volume on a stereo.”

Andy smiled, pleased. “That’s good. I was worried it might just make you sleepy.”

She laughed, then looked up at him, serious for a moment. “I hated the idea of being needy, or of needing anyone. But this—this is nice. It’s like you’re the missing half of the equation.”

He kissed her forehead, then walked over to the den, where a plush toy sat on the end table—a two-tailed fox, stitched in oranges and reds, with a mischievous glint in its glass eyes. He came back and handed it over to her.

“Here,” he said, handing it over. “It was a gift from the Mistress of another season. Supposed to soothe negative emotions. Consider it a portable me.”

Erin examined it, running her fingers over the seams. “What’s her story?”

Andy shrugged. “Her name’s Harper. She and hers got it much rougher than us. Incompetent Host, set them up to fail, I think. One of her Contestants fled due to **** by another. Ended up here, somewhere. I don’t know where, Arabella took her in. Harper sent me that plushie during the first round of fan mail. She said it’d help any of you who needed it, and I would like you to have it, for now. For good luck, if nothing else.”

Erin hugged the plush to her chest, the absurdity of the gesture not lost on either of them. “I’ll take all the luck I can get.”

He watched her, then said, “You know, I didn’t sleep as well as I thought I would.”

She looked up, alarmed. “Was I snoring?”

He shook his head. “No, I just—I thought your transformation would give me a perfect night’s sleep, but I kept waking up. Bad dreams, mostly. Maybe I wasn’t on your breasts long enough.”

She grinned, then waggled her eyebrows. “I can help with that.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Right now?”

She considered, then nodded. “One for the road.”

They barely made it to the bedroom, giggling and half-tumbling, Erin’s bare feet thumping softly on the Suite’s hardwood floor as she tugged him behind her. Somewhere along the way, Andy realized she was actually leading him—decisively, purposefully, with a kind of hunger in her eyes that was both new and familiar. He’d seen this look on her face once or twice before, after a second shot of whiskey or a particularly hard-won victory, a glint that said she was about to do something she’d never dared, and God help anyone who stood in her way. This time, she was stone sober, every nerve in her body alive and singing, and Andy knew without a doubt she intended to devour him.

She pushed him down on the bed, straddling his hips with a confidence that made him dizzy. He watched as she positioned herself above him, and for a split second he glimpsed the uncertainty that still lived in her—was she doing it right, did she look ridiculous, would he laugh at her? But then those doubts vanished behind the thrill of the moment, and she sank down onto him with a gasp, the sensation making her shudder from head to toe.

Andy grabbed her hips instinctively, intending to guide, but she batted his hands away with a playful slap. “Not this time,” she said, her voice husky and serious. “Let me.” She started up a slow, grinding rhythm, her hands braced against his chest, her hair falling around her like a coppery halo. Andy had never seen her like this—completely unguarded, selfish in the best possible way, soaking up every drop of sensation as if she’d been starving for it her whole life.

He lay back, letting her set the pace, marveling at the way her transformed body moved. Her breasts, impossibly full and sensitive, bounced and jiggled with each thrust, their motion mesmerizing. He watched as one hand drifted up to cup them, squeeze, pinch at a nipple, and the way her head lolled back and her eyes fluttered closed told him just how much she was enjoying it. For Andy, the pleasure was almost secondary to the sight of her pleasure, and he found himself grinning like an idiot, utterly lost in the spectacle.

They moved together, the tempo growing faster, more frantic, until she was gasping with every breath, her nails digging into his chest. Andy could tell she was close, but she was determined not to let herself go until he did. He tried to hold back, wanting to make it last, but something in her expression—the way her teeth dug into her lower lip, the wild focus in her eyes—pushed him past the point of no return. He groaned, feeling himself tip over the edge, and the sound of it must have been enough for Erin, because she came seconds later, collapsing onto him with a choked-off cry that was equal parts laughter and relief.

For a long moment they just lay there, her body limp and heavy on top of his, breasts pressed between them, skin slick with sweat. He could feel her heartbeat racing against his, her breath hot on his neck. Eventually she rolled off, but not all the way—she scooted down, nuzzling the side of his hip, then propped herself up on one elbow and surveyed the situation with a scientist’s curiosity.

She reached down and wrapped her hand around him, marveling at how sensitive he was, still twitching in the aftershocks. “You always get this hard after?” she asked, voice slurred with wonder.

He nodded, dazed. “With you, yeah.”

She grinned, apparently delighted by this, and pressed her cheek to his thigh. For a while, she just held him, as if listening to the blood pounding through his veins, then, on a whim, she scooted further down and nestled his still-half-hard dick between her breasts. She squeezed them together, trapping him in a pillowy vise, and looked up with a devilish smirk.

“I always thought these things were for feeding babies,” she said, wiggling her chest and making him moan. “Turns out they’re good for other stuff, too.” She began to work him with a rhythm that was both playful and shockingly effective, the sensation unlike anything he had felt before. She watched his face, clearly enjoying every second, relishing the power she had over him. It didn’t take long—he was already on a hair-trigger—and when he came again, it was with a helpless groan, spilling across her chest and neck in a hot, sticky wave.

She looked down at herself, then back at him, a mixture of pride and disbelief on her face. “See? I told you I could learn to like this.”

10-time Combo! +5 VP
Titjob! +3 VP
Pearl Necklace! +2 VP

Andy laughed, surprised and a little awed. He reached for a towel from the stack by the nightstand—Arabella’s foresight, as always, impressively on-point—and gently wiped her clean, taking his time. She leaned into his touch, eyes closing as he worked, her entire body radiating a lazy, satisfied warmth.

When he finished, he pulled her up to lie beside him. She curled into his side, head on his shoulder, arm draped across his chest. They stayed that way for a long time, letting the afterglow wash over them in gentle waves. Andy felt something inside himself loosen, as if a knot that had been there for years was finally starting to unravel.

He turned his head and kissed her temple. “I’m proud of you,” he said, and he meant it.

She snorted. “For what, being a pervert?”

He shook his head. “For being you. For not running away from it.”

She kissed him, slow and sweet, then said, “Go shower. You smell like sex and guilt.”

He did as told, and when he emerged, Erin was already dressed for the day. Which is to say, she wore shoes and a smile, and nothing else. She had the fox plush tucked under one arm and was humming a song he didn’t recognize.

He paused, watching her for a moment, amazed at how something so simple—just a person, a body, a familiar face—could make all the difference in a world designed to strip you of identity.

She caught him looking and winked. “Don’t stare too hard, or I’ll drag you back in there.”

He made a show of averting his eyes, then said, “Well, maybe another time.” He grinned at her.

She nodded. “You got it.”

He left her in the kitchen, sipping on her coffee while he went to get dressed. In the bedroom, he glanced at Katherine’s portrait. The girl in the meadow looked different today: her hair windblown, her face relaxed, her smile—yes, it was a smile now—gentle and sly.

Andy crossed to the painting and saluted, awkward but sincere. “Morning,” he said.

Katherine raised her hand, mirroring his gesture. She pantomimed applause, then pointed at him and at the door, then gave him a thumbs up.

He laughed. “You approve?”

She nodded, then mimed a heart with her hands.

He shook his head, amused. “You really want me to be happy, don’t you?”

She shrugged, as if to say: who wouldn’t?

He studied her for a long moment, then said, “I wish you could join us.”

She shook her head, a soft, dismissive motion, then pointed at him, then at the world outside the canvas. Go, her gesture said. Live.

He did. He dressed in the usual uniform—polo, jeans, sneakers—and made his way back to the living room. "Ready?" He asked Erin.

She nodded. "Let's go face the first day of the rest of my life." She slipped a hand into his, pausing at the door. “Oh, and Andy?”

“Yeah?”

She hugged the plush to her chest. “Thank you. For everything.”

The main dining room was a fishbowl of tension. Andy could feel it before he even rounded the corner: the hush of **** civility, the clink of silverware too carefully placed, the way every voice hovered half a step above a whisper.

Riley was there already, hunched at the end of the table, a fortress of black coffee and scorn shielding her from the rest of the world. The rest of the women clustered at the other end, as if her anger were a kind of radiation they could only survive at a distance.

Claire, Dawn, and Emi occupied the nearest cluster. Claire scribbled in her notebook, long pale ears flicking as she tracked every movement at Riley’s end of the table. Dawn’s bunny ears vibrated with low-level panic, but she managed a brave face, whispering suggestions for breakfast activities with increasing desperation. Emi’s six arms curled in and around herself, two hands knotted at her waist, two more fidgeting with the sugar packets, and the last pair sketching Riley’s profile with quick, nervous strokes.

Emi leaned in to Claire and Dawn, her voice almost too soft to hear: “I don’t know how to talk to her.” She jerked her chin toward Riley. “I keep remembering the last time I saw her. She cried so hard at the funeral that her Mom had to carry her out.” Emi’s arms all seemed to agree, wrapping her tighter.

Claire wrote something, then nudged the page toward her friends. Dawn read it aloud, squinting: Venomous body language. All armor, no exit. Claire’s eyes flicked up to meet Andy’s as he entered, then back to Riley, the implication obvious.

Dawn whispered, “Do you think she’ll stay mad forever?”

Emi shrugged, glancing at Riley, then away.

Chloe was next down the table, conspicuously wedged between Marissa and Liesa. Chloe looked like she wanted to crawl into a teapot and stay there, but every time she started to slouch, her L-cup breasts reminded her of her new center of gravity and bounced her upright again. She tried to eat a fruit cup, although having received an ill-placed compliment by Dawn when she walked into the Hall, her face glowed scarlet, but she managed a fragile smile.

Liesa, at the end, was the only one eating with real appetite. She gnawed on a croissant, then buttered a second one for Chloe, as if food could build a shield against emotional blowback. “Is like family dinner,” she said, brightly, “if family hates each other.” No one laughed, but the line deflated some of the tension, and Chloe actually giggled, just once, before she caught herself.

When Andy and Erin entered, the room fell silent. Erin, still completely nude, strode in like she owned the place. She didn’t try to cover herself, but she didn’t flaunt it either—just moved with the unhurried confidence of someone who’d decided not to give a single fuck, at least for the next hour. Andy trailed in her wake, feeling eyes on him from every corner.

All eyes were on them as Andy and Erin took their seats. He had forgotten, briefly, what it felt like to be the main attraction in a room full of beautiful, brilliant, possibly-deranged women. But this was different: the tension was so thick you could have sliced it with the butter knife by Emi's hand, if only she hadn't bent it nervously into a modern sculpture already.

Riley ignored them, fingers wrapped so tight around her coffee mug that Andy thought it might shatter. She stared out the window, jaw set, refusing to acknowledge anyone’s presence. A muscle in her cheek ticked every few seconds.

The rest of the table—Claire, Dawn, Emi, Chloe, Marissa, Liesa—pretended to be invested in breakfast, but their focus ping-ponged between Riley and Andy like a high-stakes tennis match.

Claire scribbled something in her notebook, then nudged it across the table to Dawn and Emi. Dawn’s ears snapped forward as she read, then wilted in distress. Emi, seeing the reaction, let her six arms hover protectively over the page. Andy caught a glimpse: Wound so tight she’ll snap if you say the word ‘accident’. Claire had illustrated it with a tiny bomb, fuse burning down.

Dawn whispered, “Maybe we could play cards after breakfast? Or volleyball?” Her ears flicked, picking up every sound, and her smile was so determinedly cheerful that Andy wanted to reach over and muss her hair in solidarity. Seeing her next to Claire was odd, both of them with ears that reflected their emotions now.

Emi said nothing. She kept her eyes down and two hands fidgeting, but the other four were busy: one folded napkin into origami cranes, another refilled her juice, two more worked in tandem to sketch Riley’s profile, down to the tension in her brow and the faint red under her eyes.

Chloe was clearly still mortified. Her enormous breasts **** her elbows wide, making even simple tasks awkward. Each time Andy or anyone else looked her way, she blushed so fiercely it was as if her blood pressure was measured by Pantone.

Chloe leaned over to Marissa, voice low, “Do you think she hates us? Or just Andy?”

Marissa shrugged, then caught herself—her new transformation meant even a casual word could spike arousal, so she kept her voice barely above a whisper. “Hate’s easier than sadness,” she murmured, and Chloe shivered, eyes glazing for half a second before she snapped herself out of it.

Liesa was the only one eating with focus. She tore into a baguette, dunked it in coffee, and even offered a chunk to Chloe, who took it gratefully. “You know, is not so bad,” Liesa said. “If you ignore all the—” she twirled her hand in the air, indicating both the tension and perhaps Riley’s existence. “In Belgium, family fights are sport. Winner gets first pick of desserts.”

When Andy tried to sit, Erin patted the chair next to her and gestured for him to take it. She sat cross-legged, ignoring how the posture drew everyone’s attention to her body. He complied, and immediately felt the mood shift further; with Andy and Riley on opposite ends of the table, it felt like a ceasefire line had been drawn. He tried to act like this was normal, but every atom in the room vibrated with unspoken history.

For a while, nobody spoke. The only sounds were cutlery, the flutter of pages as Claire wrote, and the occasional soft whimper from Chloe when Marissa’s voice drifted across the table. It was an awkward, highwire silence, and it stretched until even Riley seemed about to break from the tension.

It was Sam who did, striding in with wet hair, looking more put together than anyone else. “Morning, all,” she announced, grabbing a mug and pouring herself a coffee. She scanned the room, clocked the hostility, and then smiled, eyes warm and steady. “Hey, Andy, you want to step out for a sec? I could use some help with the espresso machine.”

Andy nodded, grateful for the excuse, and followed her out to the hallway.

She led him just far enough away that they wouldn’t be overheard, then turned, arms folded. “How you holding up?” she asked, tone gentle but not pitying.

He shrugged. “Better than expected. Erin helped.”

Sam grinned. “Yeah, I suspected. I bet you helped her too.” Her smile faded. “Listen. I know you’re probably not eager to talk about it, but… Riley’s out for blood, isn’t she?”

Andy nodded, not bothering to soften it. “Yeah. She’s been waiting sixteen years to tell me what she really thinks.”

Sam sipped her coffee, then made a face—too bitter—and grabbed a sugar packet from the counter. “You going to talk to her?”

He shook his head. “She doesn’t want that. If I say anything, it’ll just make things worse.”

Sam considered, then asked, “What actually happened, Andy? With her and Laura, I mean.”

He didn’t answer at first, but Sam waited, unflinching. So he gave her the abridged version, focusing on the parts he remembered—Chloe’s kiss, the rumors, the fight, the river, and how after Laura’s ****, Riley had cut off contact with everyone. “I think she blames me and Chloe,” he said. “But mostly me. She thinks if I’d handled things better, Laura wouldn’t have died.”

Sam’s face softened. “You know that’s not how grief works, right?”

He nodded. “I do. But knowing doesn’t help.”

She looked at him, steady and kind. “Well, for what it’s worth, I don’t blame you. And neither do the others. Riley can hate you all she wants, but we’re not going anywhere.”

He looked away, suddenly unable to meet her gaze. “Thanks.”

Sam nudged his shoulder, then grinned. “Now come back in. I think Marissa’s about to read a quote from Nietzsche at the table, and I need to make an announcement before existential dread settles in.”

He laughed, and the tension broke.

When they returned, Marissa and Liesa were debating something philosophical, Liesa growing more flushed and squirming with each of Marissa’s arguments, while Claire and Dawn had drawn up a round-robin tournament bracket for beach volleyball. Riley remained a black hole at the end of the table, but her fury had lost a bit of its momentum. Sam clapped her hands. “Attention, please! You’ve been preparing last week, and this is the time of your challenge! Game session, tomorrow, here in the Banquet Hall, after lunch. Bring your best game!” A sparse chorus of cheers rose from the scattered women, quickly shut down. Sam blinked. “Now that went down like a ton of bricks.”

“It’s not you,” Andy suggested, tapping her shoulder and nodding to her right.

At that moment, Arabella swept into the room, radiating the kind of old-money confidence that made everyone instantly more self-conscious. She wore a sunrise-pink dress, hair in an elaborate chignon, and even the shadows seemed to arrange themselves around her. “Good morning, ladies,” she said, then glanced at Andy. “And gentleman.”

She waited for silence, then smiled. “I hope you all slept well. As you know, today marks the start of the third round. Before we begin, a few updates.”

She let the pause build, making sure every pair of eyes was on her—even Riley, who looked up from her coffee with a glare sharp enough to cut diamonds.

“First, I have updated the date night schedule, as our dear Erin has already had her Suite night. There will be a gap in the order, but perhaps it will be filled before the week is out.” Arabella smiled, letting the implication linger. “You may consult the lounge screen for details, but for those who like spoilers, tonight’s guest is Riley. She'll be followed by Dawn, and then by Erin's vacant spot. After that, it's Norah, Chloe, Marissa, Claire, Liesa, Sam, and Emi, all the way to the next challenge day.”

Andy saw Riley freeze, then recover. “I’d rather sleep in the pool.”

Arabella’s voice was soft but unyielding: “You may request a preference, but the schedule is binding. Should you fail to attend, there will be consequences.”

Riley opened her mouth, then closed it, teeth grinding.

Arabella made a polite bow, then swept out as quickly as she’d entered, leaving the room to recover.

For a long moment, nobody spoke.

Finally, Liesa said, “She has good posture. I admire this.”

Chloe giggled, and even Riley looked away, hiding a **** smirk.

Dawn jumped up, clapped her hands, and said, “Volleyball after breakfast! Winner gets first pick of desserts.”

Emi raised all six hands in agreement, and Claire scribbled something—I’m in. But Andy’s on my team.

Andy smiled. It meant something, that all these women stood by him.

Riley stood abruptly, grabbed her coffee, and headed for the door. As she passed Andy, she stopped, just for a second. “Don’t get used to this,” she said, voice low.

He met her eyes. “I won’t.”

She stared at him a beat longer, then stormed out.

The rest of the table watched her go, then turned to Andy. Dawn grinned, Emi smiled shyly, and even Marissa raised her glass in a silent toast.

Erin leaned in, voice warm in his ear. “See? Not so hard, once you get through the morning.”

He grinned back. “We’ll see how I feel after volleyball.”

She gave him a look, full of challenge. “You’re going down. I can be very distracting now.”

He laughed, and in that moment, even with all the history and hurt and uncertainty, Andy thought maybe, just maybe, he was going to be okay.

Riley set a brutal pace, storming down the island’s perimeter trail with the singular focus of someone who’d once run until her toenails turned black just to prove a point. She’d left the harem and their Master in the dining hall, their laughter echoing like knives at her back, and she’d told herself she didn’t care—didn’t care, didn’t care, didn’t care—until the rhythm of it was as steady as her stride and every bit as hollow.

The wind on the south shore hit hard, slapping hair into her mouth and stinging her cheeks until they burned. She welcomed it. The more the elements punished her, the less she felt the scrape of memory. And God, there were so many graves. Sixteen years of them, all orbiting that night at the river, then the impersonal letter, then the hospital corridor with its fluorescent buzz. Three different goodbyes, each feeling like her heart had been ripped out. John's watch still wrapped around her wrist, heavy with each movement, reminding her of the weight of loss.

She ran until the path ended in a thicket of thorns and wild grass. There was no give in the ground, only loose gravel and the uneven rhythm of her own anger. She stopped, panting, and stared at the ocean until the glare hurt her eyes.

The old tricks didn’t work anymore. Running, fighting, the poems she used to write in the margins of her textbooks—all of it felt like she was throwing herself against a wall, just to see if it would break before she did. So she found a new wall: the far end of the pool deck, where the white stone gleamed under the noon sun and the infinity edge looked like it dropped into nothingness.

She climbed the retaining wall and stood at the very lip, arms out like she was about to take flight. If she fell, she’d break something. Maybe that was the point. The surface shimmered twenty feet below, glassy and perfect, taunting her with its absence of pain.

She closed her eyes and let the sun bake her skin, let the heat and the wind strip everything else away. It didn’t help. The memories, and the tears, came anyway.

The day of the funeral, Riley had worn her best black dress, the one with the velvet collar and the mother-of-pearl buttons. It was too small, but her mother had said that’s what girls did for funerals: they squeezed into grief until it left marks on their skin.

She remembered the church, the flowers, the way Andy hadn’t cried once—not even when they lowered the casket. She remembered the look on Chloe’s face, so full of sanctimonious fake sadness, and she remembered wanting to scream at them both, to stand up in front of the whole town and tell them it was their fault. Instead, she’d walked behind the hearse and let her anger calcify, turning bone-white and hard until nothing could get through.

After that, the years split in two: before Laura and after Laura. The rest of Riley’s life was a string of half-friends and almost-lovers. She’d married too young, she’d loved too much, and every time she thought she’d finally reached the bottom of hurt, the world handed her a shovel and told her to keep digging.

She looked down at the pool again, then at the horizon, and decided not to jump. It would be too easy, and she didn’t want easy. She wanted something sharp, something real.

She dropped down from the wall, landing hard on her feet, and turned to see the big-titted shrink sitting at the edge of a chaise lounge, sunglasses low on her nose, watching her with the mild curiosity of someone who’d seen every flavor of crazy and was always ready for the next serving.

“Nice dismount,” The woman said, her voice so soft it seemed to float on the breeze. “If you wanted to swan dive, you should have asked for a spotter.”

Riley snorted, wiped sweat from her brow. “Didn’t think you’d be the type to sunbathe.”

The shrink shrugged, her gaze following the movement of Riley’s hands. “I’m working on my vitamin D levels. Doctor’s orders.”

“Didn’t know shrinks self-medicated,” Riley shot back, instantly regretting how defensive she sounded.

The woman's lips twitched. “We all have our coping mechanisms.” She patted the chaise next to her. “I'm Marissa, in case you didn't catch the name yesterday. You want to talk, or just make fun of me for the next hour?”

Riley didn’t answer, but she didn’t walk away, either. Instead, she paced the length of the pool, eyes tracking every ripple of water, every glint of sunlight. She could feel Marissa watching her, but it didn’t bother her as much as she’d thought it would.

“You’re not like the others,” Marissa said, as if reading her mind.

Riley barked a laugh. “Because I don’t want to screw Andy Cooper?”

Marissa removed her sunglasses, blue eyes bright in the glare. “Because you don’t want anything. Most of the other women came here looking for something—love, ****, redemption. Even if they didn’t know it. You just want to burn it all down.”

Riley met her gaze, and for a second the urge to snap was overwhelming. But Marissa’s face was too calm, too composed. It reminded Riley of herself, before the world had finished teaching her how to stay silent.

She sat down, perching at the far end of the lounge. “You always talk like this? All therapist-y?”

Marissa smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling. “Less now than I used to. Only when I think someone might actually answer.”

Riley dug her nails into the vinyl cushion, searching for the right insult and coming up short. “I don’t know what you want from me.”

“Nothing,” Marissa said, her voice a whisper. “I just thought you looked like you needed to sit for a minute.”

They sat together in the sun, the silence stretching between them like a rubber band. Riley shivered, feeling a strange fire in her veins. She wondered if Marissa would break that rubber-band silence, or if she was waiting for Riley to snap first.

Eventually, Marissa did. “What was she like?” she asked, voice softer than ever.

“Laura?”

Marissa nodded.

Riley felt her throat tighten, the old anger rising up to smother everything else. “She was everything you think a girl should be. Too good for this world. And they took her anyway.”

Marissa watched her, eyes never blinking. “You think it was his fault.”

Riley let out a bitter laugh. “Whose fault isn’t it? Andy, Chloe, the universe. Maybe mine. Pick one.”

“I’m not here to judge you,” Marissa said, the whisper almost hypnotic. “I just want to know what you need.”

Riley stared at her, trying to find the trick in the question. “I need to not be here.”

Marissa nodded, accepting the answer like it was gospel. “What do you miss most about her?”

Riley thought about it, really thought, and when she answered her voice was raw: “She was the only person who ever made me feel less alone.”

Marissa’s hand hovered, as if she meant to reach out, but she let it drop to the cushion instead. “That’s a hard thing to lose,” she said. The words vibrated, brushing against something in Riley’s chest she’d almost forgotten existed.

“I don’t want your pity,” Riley said, too harsh, but she didn’t take it back.

Marissa didn’t flinch. “It’s not pity. It’s recognition.” She paused, then said, “I lost my parents when I was a teenager. Not the same, but I know what it’s like to keep the pain sharp because letting it dull feels like betrayal.”

Riley didn’t answer. She looked away, watching the waves crash on the rocks below, wondering if maybe that was the point—to keep feeling, no matter how much it hurt.

After a while, Marissa put her sunglasses back on. “You ever want to swim, I’ll spot you. If you want to scream, I’ll listen. If you want to throw Andy off a bridge, I’ll kill you.”

It was so unexpected that Riley almost laughed. Instead, she stood up, dusted imaginary sand from her hands, and said, “You’re weird, you know that?”

Marissa grinned, unbothered. “Takes one to know one.”

Riley didn’t look back as she walked away.

She wandered the island for hours, never returning to the harem, never looking for Andy or Chloe or any of the others. When the sun dipped low and the world went gold, she sat on the rocks above the water and pulled out her husband’s wedding ring.

She let herself remember what it had felt like to be loved without question. But she didn’t want to make herself remember what it felt like to love. There was too much pain, there.

She closed her eyes, let the wind lash her hair around her face, and wondered what Laura would think if she could see her now. She hoped she’d be proud of her friend.

But then, why was she feeling so empty?