He leaves

Nick finally pushes himself off the bed, legs a little unsteady after the marathon. He grabs his scattered clothes, pulls them on without rushing, and pockets his phone—hours of raw footage safely stored.

Michelle doesn’t move. She’s curled on her side amid the wrecked sheets, eyes glassy, body covered in bruises, bites, dried cum, and fresh leaks. Her breathing is shallow, almost mechanical.

He stands over her for a moment, smirking down at the ruin he made. Then he hawks and spits one last thick glob onto her face—it lands on her cheek and slowly drips toward her parted lips.

“Check your phone later, slut,” he says coldly. “I’ll send you the highlights. You can watch them while your husband’s asleep and remember who really owns you now.”

He grabs his backpack, slings it over his shoulder, and walks out without looking back. The door clicks shut behind him.

The hallway is quiet, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead. He turns toward the elevator—and stops.

Ten feet away, pressed flat against the wall beside a housekeeping cart, is a young Asian woman in the hotel’s uniform. Early twenties at most, petite, black hair tied in a neat ponytail, big dark eyes wide with a mix of shock and something else. Her cart is loaded with fresh towels and mini-shampoos, but she’s clearly been standing there a while—long enough to have heard everything through the thin walls.

She realizes she’s been caught and freezes, hand half-raised like she’s about to knock on a door that isn’t there. Her cheeks flush deep red, and she quickly looks down at her shoes, pretending she wasn’t listening.

Nick’s pulse kicks up again. Adrenaline, exhaustion, and that lingering predator high all mix together. He takes a slow step toward her, eyes raking over her body—the way the uniform skirt hugs her hips, the slight tremble in her legs.

He could walk away. Go home, shower, act like a normal rich kid again.

Or…

He could push his luck one more time.

His tongue touches the corner of his mouth as he weighs it, staring at her bowed head, the way she’s clutching the edge of her cart like it’s a shield.

The hallway stretches silent around them, waiting for whatever he decides.