No, Isabel refuses the selfie

“No,” Isabel said firmly, her arms crossing tighter over her chest. “You’re not taking a selfie.”

Victoria blinked, clearly not expecting refusal. Her glossy lips parted, then pressed into a thin, annoyed line. “Wow. Okay. So you don’t trust me?” Her voice held the airy lilt of someone used to always getting her way.

“It’s not about that,” Isabel murmured, but her tone lacked conviction.

Victoria rolled her eyes. “Fine. Whatever.”

The elevator dinged, doors opening onto the third floor. Victoria strode out with the confidence of someone whose father held a seat on the company board. Isabel followed, her bare feet silent against the polished floor.

Just as she stepped forward, Isabel felt a sharp snap at her back. She gasped. Victoria had reached behind her and flicked the clasp of her bra with a careless smirk. The hooks tore loose, the elastic slackening.

“Oops,” Victoria said lightly, her voice dripping false innocence. “Best of luck at the lost and found.” Her heels clicked away, leaving Isabel standing in stunned silence.

Her bra hung precariously now, the straps sliding with each breath, her bare back completely exposed. Only gravity and the slightest friction held the cups in place. If she moved too quickly, it would fall.

Panic surged. She clutched at the fabric, fingers pressed to the cups to hold them steady. Ahead stretched the hallway to the Lost and Found closet.

On either side of that hallway were boardrooms, their glass walls revealing long tables, executives, associates, and interns in the middle of live meetings. Conversations drifted faintly into the hall, a reminder of how thin the barrier was between her and disaster.

If she tried to walk upright, every eye in those rooms would see her half-naked form. There was only one option. She crouched low, then lowered herself fully to her hands and knees, crawling beneath the level of the windows.

The carpet scratched her palms and knees. Each forward motion tugged the bra further, sliding it from her shoulders. She held it with one hand, trying desperately to keep it in place, but crawling made it impossible to keep steady.

The straps slid down her shoulders, useless against the pull of gravity. Before she could grab them, the bra slipped free, collapsing into the carpet behind her like shed skin.

Isabel froze. Her chest was bare, her D-Cup breasts hung heavy and unshielded, the cool air of the hallway washing over her skin. The sudden chill made her gasp softly, every inch of her body alive with awareness. She dropped low against the carpet, arms wrapping tight across her front, but there was no mistaking it: she was topless.

A sick weight settled in her stomach. She was crawling across her office building in nothing but her underwear. If anyone in those boardrooms turned their head, if anyone left a meeting early, they would see everything. Not just the outline of her body through thin fabric, but her actual skin, the most private parts of herself exposed under fluorescent light.

Humiliation scorched her cheeks. She tried to press her chest closer to her knees, anything to feel less revealed, but crawling made it impossible to stay fully covered. Every forward motion seemed to exaggerate the movement of her body, her awareness of how much was on display clawing at her nerves.

From the boardroom to her right came a muffled laugh, followed by the scrape of a chair. Isabel’s blood went cold. They were finishing. Any second now, the door would open, and she would be caught half-naked on the floor like some nightmare brought to life.

“No, no, please,” she whispered, her throat tight, panic thick in her chest.

She shoved herself forward faster, abandoning the bra completely. It lay in the middle of the hallway like damning evidence, but she couldn’t stop for it. She needed to get out of sight before the meeting emptied. I was better they find a bra than an almost naked almost manager.

Her palms burned against the carpet as she scrambled toward the corner. Every inch forward seemed impossibly loud, as though the whole world could hear her crawling. The air was colder here, seeping into her bare back, and she swore she could feel it sinking into her skin, making her hyperaware of her own nakedness.

Finally, she rounded the corner. Her back hit the wall and she pressed herself flat, breath ragged. The boardroom door clicked open behind her, voices spilling into the hall. She clutched her arms tight across her chest, her heart hammering. As the palms of her hands rubbed against her bare nipple, they hardened to the chill touch.

She had escaped. Barely.

But the reality struck with crushing ****: she was standing topless at work. Her back bare, her breasts only hidden by the way she held herself. She couldn’t stop imagining what would happen if anyone found her like this; the shock, the whispers, the ruined career.

And yet, under the fear, an even stranger current buzzed. Every sound was sharper, every shift of air on her skin more electric. The situation was unbearable, humiliating, terrifying. But her body refused to let her forget it was also real in a way that made her pulse quicken and her breath catch.

Swallowing hard, Isabel **** her legs to move. Her only shield now was the thin cotton of her underwear, worn and basically see through if the light hit wrong. That was all that separated her from complete exposure as she reached the Lost and Found door and curled her fingers around the knob.

What waited behind it was the only thing between her and disaster.