Research

The following few days passed in a whirlwind of lectures, assignments, and quiet but mounting stress. You and Liam had fallen into an unspoken rhythm—studying by day, sharing quick meals between classes, and devoting late evenings to researching Damian Kane.

His name had become a fixture in your daily conversations, a shadow that loomed over every free moment. Damian Kane wasn’t just another man; he was a titan in his field, a self-made billionaire who built his empire on innovation and ruthlessness. Every article, interview, and profile painted a picture of a man who valued precision, power, and efficiency above all else.

“He doesn’t even smile in photos,” Liam noted one evening, flipping his laptop screen toward you. The image showed Damian at a tech summit, standing among other industry leaders. Even dressed in a tailored suit that probably cost more than your rent for the year, Damian exuded a cold, calculated energy.

“Yeah, not exactly the warm and fuzzy type,” you muttered, jotting notes in a spiral-bound notebook.

Your research had uncovered the details of his meteoric rise: the son of middle-class parents, Damian had clawed his way to the top through a combination of raw intelligence, relentless ambition, and an uncanny knack for taking calculated risks. Now, at just 32 years old, he controlled one of the world’s largest venture capital firms and was regarded as one of Ares’ most loyal mortals.

“Why does he even host these events?” you asked, scanning yet another article about his recent appearance at an exclusive corporate gala.

“Networking, obviously,” Liam said, leaning back in his chair. “Big fish like him don’t just hang out for fun. These events are business opportunities—ways to find investors, form alliances, or scope out competition.”

You sighed, setting down your pen. “So, what are our options for getting in?”

“Well, there’s this charity gala coming up next month,” Liam said, pulling up a webpage. “It’s technically open to the public, but tickets are ridiculously expensive. Like, ‘sell-your-kidney’ expensive.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Great. What else?”

“There’s a corporate mixer next week, hosted by one of his subsidiaries,” Liam continued. “Invite-only, though, and it’s for business professionals. We’d have to fake credentials just to get through the door.”

“And if we got caught?”

“Probably blacklisted from every event in the city,” Liam said with a shrug.

Your stomach sank. So far, every option seemed either impossible or way out of your league.

“What about this?” Liam said, pulling up another article. The headline read: Damian Kane to Host Exclusive Soirée for Prospective Partners.

“‘Prospective partners’?” you echoed, leaning in to read over his shoulder.

“Yeah, looks like he’s looking to expand his portfolio,” Liam explained. “He’s inviting entrepreneurs and investors to pitch their ideas. It’s basically a glorified audition, but if we could get in…”

You frowned. “What would we even pitch?”

“That’s the problem,” Liam admitted. “We’d need to come up with something that sounds convincing enough to get you invited.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” Liam said with a smirk. “I’m not the one Aphrodite put a target on.”

You leaned back in your chair, staring at the ceiling. The idea of attending a high-profile soirée hosted by Damian himself was daunting enough. But pitching a fake business idea to one of the sharpest minds in the industry? That felt like a disaster waiting to happen.

“We need a plan,” you said finally. “Something airtight. If we screw this up, we’re done.”

“Agreed,” Liam said, typing furiously on his keyboard. “I’ll start looking into what kind of pitches he usually goes for. You should think about how you’re going to present yourself. First impressions are everything.”

You groaned again, sinking lower in your chair. “This is going to be a nightmare.”

“It’s not that bad,” Liam said with a grin. “Besides, if anyone can pull this off, it’s you. It's just another trial.”

“Right,” you said dryly. “Another trial. No pressure or anything.”

Despite the weight of it all, the faintest spark of determination flickered in your chest. You had no idea how you were going to navigate this next challenge, but one thing was clear: failure wasn’t an option.

As the evening stretched on, the two of you continued to strategize, tossing ideas back and forth and trying to piece together a plan that didn’t feel entirely doomed. By the time you finally crawled into bed, your notebook was filled with scribbled notes and half-formed ideas, and your head was spinning.

Damian Kane might be one of Ares’ most favored mortals, but you weren’t about to back down without a fight.

That evening was quiet except for the faint hum of the dorm heater. You sat cross-legged on the couch, absently twirling a cherry lollipop in your mouth, the sweet tang a small comfort against the storm of thoughts in your head. The lollipop had become an unspoken companion during moments like this—when stress, confusion, and frustration all melded into a single unrelenting pressure.

Your outfit was functional, chosen more for comfort than style, though the fit felt slightly off as always these days. A soft, gray hoodie hung loosely over your frame, paired with a pair of well-worn joggers that had started to feel a bit snug around the hips. Underneath, however, was a different story: a simple but supportive pair of black panties that clung a bit too comfortably to curves you didn’t want to think about, and a bra that had started to pinch no matter how you adjusted it. You’d finally begun to believe it wasn’t shrinking like you told yourself—it was you who was changing.

Liam was at the desk, rifling through notes on Damian Kane. His laptop screen glowed with yet another profile of the elusive CEO, his sharp features and cold demeanor staring back at you both.

“So,” Liam began, not looking up from the screen, “we’ve established that the so-called Vanguard Gala is the best shot we’ve got at meeting him. The other events are too exclusive—or too risky to fake our way into.”

You nodded, pulling the lollipop from your mouth with a small pop. “Right. And we know he’ll be there because he’s hosting it. But how do we get in? It’s invite-only for prospective partners.”

“That’s where it gets tricky,” Liam said, leaning back in his chair. “We’re going to need you to look the part, and I mean really look the part. These aren’t casual mixers—this is a high-profile soirée with industry giants. Everyone there is going to be dressed to kill.”

You frowned, letting the lollipop rest against your tongue as you mulled it over. “And by ‘look the part,’ you mean I’ll have to—”

“Go full glam,” Liam interrupted. “Dress, heels, accessories—the works. No offense, but you showing up in joggers and a hoodie isn’t going to cut it.”

The thought made your stomach twist, and not just because of how foreign it felt. “That’s... going to be expensive,” you said finally, shifting uncomfortably.

Liam hesitated before responding. “Yeah. It is. Which means we’ll probably have to dip into our savings.”

You paused, pulling the lollipop from your mouth and narrowing your eyes at him. “Our savings? Liam, that’s for emergencies. Rent. Food. You know, important things.”

“This is important,” Liam said, turning to face you. “If we don’t nail this trial, none of that’s going to matter because you’re going to be stuck like this forever.”

You felt your cheeks flush—not from embarrassment, but from the frustration bubbling under the surface. “I get that, but it’s not just my money, Liam, it's yours too. I can’t just let you throw everything away on designer dresses and heels for me.”

“I’m not ‘throwing it away’, Lucas,” he said, his voice rising slightly. “This is an investment in getting your life back. If you don’t look perfect, Damian’s not going to give you the time of day.”

“And what if we spend all this money, and it doesn’t even work?” you shot back. “What if _I _screw this up and I’m still cursed and not only am I broke, but you are too?”

Liam ran a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated but trying to stay calm. “Do you have a better idea? Because right now, I don’t see another option. And I'm not letting you convince me otherwise.”

The tension between you hung thick in the air, neither of you speaking for a long moment. Finally, you sighed, slumping back against the couch. “Fine. But we’re keeping a tight budget. No blowing everything on one stupid outfit.”

“Deal,” Liam said, though his tone still held an edge of irritation.

The conversation shifted after that, the tension slowly dissipating as you both focused on the task at hand.

“So,” you said, steering the topic back to the soirée. “We’ve got to figure out how to actually approach Damian once we’re in. We can’t just walk up to him and start talking.”

“Right,” Liam said, his frustration giving way to his usual thoughtful tone. “He’s going to be surrounded by people all night—other investors, CEOs, maybe even his inner circle. We’ll need a reason to get close to him. Something to make him notice you.”

“Like what?” you asked, twirling the lollipop again.

“That’s what we’ve got to figure out,” Liam said, tapping a pen against the edge of the desk. “Maybe we play up the ‘business partner’ angle. Pretend you’re there to pitch something innovative.”

“But I don’t have a business, let alone an innovative idea,” you pointed out.

“Then we fake it,” Liam said simply. “We’ll come up with a convincing pitch—something tech-related, maybe. It doesn’t have to be real, just believable enough to get his attention.”

You groaned, sinking lower into the couch. “This is going to be a disaster, isn’t it?”

“Not if we plan it right,” Liam said, his tone more confident now. “We’ve got just about a week to pull this together. That’s plenty of time.”

Plenty of time to make or break everything, you thought, the weight of the task settling heavily on your shoulders.

But as daunting as it all seemed, there was a tiny flicker of hope buried beneath the anxiety. Maybe, just maybe, you could pull this off.

---

The dorm was eerily quiet that night, save for the soft hum of the heater and the occasional muffled shouts of students down the hall. You lay sprawled on your bed, one arm thrown over your eyes, trying to block out the dim glow of your desk lamp. But it wasn’t the light keeping you awake—it was the nagging churn of emotions that had been building since earlier.

Liam had gone to bed hours ago, his back turned to you. He hadn’t said much after dinner, and neither had you. The air between you had been heavy, awkward, and… guilt-ridden.

He wanted to spend his savings—for you. To buy you dresses, heels, makeup, whatever Aphrodite demanded you wear to these absurd events. You’d argued, of course, but Liam had been firm in that calm, stubborn way of his. And though you hated to admit it, he was right. Without a polished appearance, there was no chance you’d get close to Damian Kane.

Still, the thought gnawed at you.

You rolled onto your side, tugging your blanket up over your chest. The faint sensitivity of your chest was a constant reminder of how much your body had changed. Another thing you refused to address head-on. With a sigh, you shifted again, your thighs brushing against each other beneath the covers. The unfamiliar softness there sent a faint jolt through you, your body suddenly hyper-aware of itself.

And then there was that feeling.

The strange itch that had crept into your nights lately, gnawing at the edges of your mind. It wasn’t just physical—it was something deeper, more unsettling, and frankly, it was a very horny need. Tonight, it was sharper than ever, an unrelenting whisper you couldn’t ignore.

Your gaze drifted to the lollipop stick resting on your nightstand, the faint taste of cherry still lingering on your tongue. You’d gone through a whole bunch of the bag of them in the past week, each one a temporary distraction from the ache that refused to go away.

You hesitated for a moment before sliding a hand into your nighstand, fingers brushing against the smooth, silicone toy hidden there. Your heart thudded a little faster as you pulled it out, the familiar weight of it grounding you.

The blanket rustled softly as you shifted onto your back, pulling it up to your chin as if it could shield you from the vulnerability of what you were about to do.

Your free hand drifted down, grazing over the waistband of your panties. The thin fabric felt cool against your fingertips, and you let out a small, shaky breath as your fingers pressed lightly against the warmth beneath.

Why does it always come to this?

You didn’t want to think about it, so instead, you let your thoughts dissolve, focusing on the slow, deliberate circles of your hand on your female anatomy.

The lollipop stick was back between your lips now, your tongue idly brushing against the faint traces of sugar. But it didn’t take long before the urge to replace it with something else crept in. Without thinking, you slipped let the lollipop stick fall to the floor and slid the toy between your lips, the cool silicone brushing against your tongue.

Your body shuddered as you let out a soft sigh, the sound muffled by the toy in your mouth. It wasn’t just the sensation—it was the strange, inexplicable satisfaction of having something there.

Your other hand slid beneath the waistband of your panties, fingers tracing over the curves you still struggled to accept. The softness there felt foreign, almost surreal, but the warmth that spread through you was impossible to ignore.

Your hips shifted instinctively, chasing the small sparks of pleasure that bloomed under your touch. Every movement felt more ****, more necessary, as you tried to drown out the frustration and guilt with something—anything—better.

The toy slipped from your lips, resting on the pillow beside you, but the thought of leaving it unused lingered in your mind. Your hand hesitated over it, trembling slightly as you considered what you were about to do.

Why does this feel… right?

You swallowed hard, a wave of nervous energy coursing through you. Yet, the itch—the maddening unattended arousal that been creeping under your skin for weeks—was louder tonight. You picked the toy up, fingers brushing over its smooth surface, and your cheeks burned as you took a steadying breath.

The cherry flavor of the lollipop still lingered faintly on your lips as you brought the toy down, letting it graze along the sensitive skin hidden beneath your panties. The moment the cool silicone pressed into you, your body jolted, a small gasp escaping your lips.

It was impossible to think about anything else now.

As you moved the toy over yourself, slow and tentative at first, your mind began to wander. Damian Kane’s name flickered through your thoughts, uninvited and impossible to ignore. You imagined him standing there, cold and calculating, his sharp gaze piercing through you. He’d hate this, wouldn’t he? Seeing you like this, lost in the very femininity he’d scoff at.

But there was something thrilling in that thought, the idea of shattering his perfect image of control.

Your hips tilted up slightly, and the toy pressed deeper, drawing a soft whimper from you. It wasn’t just the physical sensation—it was the flood of emotions that came with it. A mix of frustration, longing, and the strange, forbidden pleasure of embracing what your body had become.

The pressure grew, and your thoughts became a tangled mess of everything you didn’t want to admit to yourself. You thought of Marcus Chase, his grin, the way his hands had felt on your skin, the way you kissed him. You thought of Michelle, her teasing smirk and the taste of her female sex. Each memory sent a fresh wave of heat through you, your breaths coming faster and shallower.

And then, unexpected, came the thought of Liam.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block it out, but his face lingered in your mind. The way he’d looked at you earlier tonight, concern etched into his features. The way he always stayed by your side, no matter how messy things got. You imagined his hands on you, rougher than your own, guiding you past this frustrating edge you couldn’t seem to reach on your own.

The thought made your stomach flip, a strange mix of guilt and something far more dangerous twisting inside you.

You bit your lip as the toy pushed further, your body arching against the mattress. The sensation was overwhelming now, every nerve on fire, and your mind raced with images you didn’t want to linger on but couldn’t let go of.

Your free hand gripped the sheets, knuckles white, as your breaths turned into soft gasps and broken whimpers. The tension coiled tighter and tighter, and you could feel the edge approaching, closer than ever before.

And then it hit you.

The release was explosive, washing over you in waves that left you trembling and breathless. The toy fell from your hand as your body went slack against the mattress, the tension draining away and leaving only the faint hum of satisfaction in its wake.

For a long moment, you just lay there, staring at the ceiling, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. The guilt would come later—you knew it always did. But for now, all you could feel was the lingering warmth spreading through your body, the quiet relief of finally quieting that maddening itch.

You carefully tucked the toy back into the nighstand. The lollipop stick still lay on the floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Tomorrow would bring more research, more plans, more impossible expectations. But tonight, at least, was yours.