Tell that to my wife

You don’t scramble for your clothes or look flustered; you simply stand your ground, your expression unreadable. “If you need something from the resort, Lauren is right down the hall.”

Skylar lets out a soft, mocking chuckle, taking a slow step into your bedroom anyway. Her ice-blue eyes remain locked on yours, entirely unfazed by your lack of a reaction.

“Oh, please, I don’t need Lauren,” she scoffs, her slow vocal fry trailing through the quiet room as she closes the distance between you, her manicured fingers twisting a strand of her bleach-blonde hair. “And I don’t need Jaxson anymore either. I already told you, he’s a total zero. But I do need to fix my weekend numbers, and frankly...” She lets her gaze drop down your chest again with a knowing smile. “...I think you could help me pivot my brand into something much more mature.”

You take a deliberate step back, creating a hard physical boundary between you. “Skylar, you’re a guest at this resort, and more importantly, I’m a happily married man. My wife is literally in the next room.”

“So? What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her,” Skylar purrs, rolling her shoulders back as she steps right into your personal space, completely ignoring the warning. She tilts her head up, a smug, transactional look in her eyes. “Look, I’m not asking for a whole relationship. It’s just a blowjob, Mark. A single, quick scene. If you play your cards right and let Paige film it, that little bit of footage could easily net you a thirty-five thousand dollar cut from my premium tier rollout next week. Think about it. Thirty-five grand for ten minutes of your time.”

You look down at her, a flash of pure disbelief crossing your mind at the sheer, cold transactional nature of her reality. You let out a short, humorless breath and reach for the clean flannel shirt on your shoulder, slipping your arms into it without taking your eyes off her.

“You should go talk to Lauren about that,” you say bluntly, fastening a few buttons with an unshakable calm. You gesture toward the open hallway, fully assuming that invoking your wife’s presence will put a swift, definitive end to this entire ridiculous proposition. “Go on. Tell her exactly what kind of ’premium content’ you’re wanting to produce with her husband, and see what she thinks.”

“Your WIFE,” Skylar scoffs, rolling her eyes “is busy playing therapist to my useless assistant.”

She takes a slow, predatory lap around the foot of your bed, her gaze never leaving yours. “Besides, I don’t want to talk to Lauren. I want to talk to the man who actually does the heavy lifting around here.”

She stops just a couple of feet away from you, the scent of her expensive perfume mixing with the clean steam of your shower.

“Look, let’s cut the corporate hospitality act, Mark,” Skylar says, her voice dropping into a confidential, low rumble. “Jax is out of the picture. His brand is dead, and quite frankly, so is his bank account. But my numbers? My numbers are peaking because of the drama. I still have a whole weekend of prime lighting, a private cabin, and a massive audience waiting for exclusive content.”

She leans in a fraction closer, her ice-blue eyes flashing with intense greed and confidence. “I’m looking at you, and I see potential. Real potential. We pivot the brand. You play the rugged, dominant mountain guide who takes what he wants. We film a few high-tier, explicit scenes over the next forty-eight hours, and I will split the weekend’s premium revenue with you fifty-fifty. You could easily make double what this cheap resort pays you in a year, just for one weekend of work.”

Before you can even absorb the sheer absurdity of her pitch, you see another figure appear in the doorway.

Paige stands, with a scowl on her face, her hazel eyes wide with a mixture of shock and sheer panic. She looks at you, half dress, and then at Skylar standing impossibly close to you. A bright, furious flush hits Paige’s cheeks, but for the first time all weekend, she doesn’t shrink back. She steps right into the room, her voice shaking but fiercely determined.

“Skylar! What the hell are you doing?!” Paige demands, her hands clenched into tight fists at her sides.

Skylar snaps her head around, her face twisting into an expression of pure, unbothered disgust. “Paige? Who told you that you could just barge in? Get the fuck out and go back to the kitchen.”

“No! I’m not going anywhere!” Paige shots back, her voice rising as months of pent-up resentment finally boil over. “I saw you sneak down the hall, Skylar. I knew exactly what you were going to try to do!”

Paige turns her gaze entirely to you, her expressive hazel eyes pleading with you to listen. “Mark, do not listen to a single word she says! She is lying to you. She is trying to absolutely rip you off!”

“Paige, shut your pathetic mouth right now,” Skylar hisses, taking a threatening step toward her assistant.

“No, Skylar! I’m telling him!” Paige yells, refusing to back down. She looks right back at you, the words tumbling out in a **** rush. “She just told you she’d split the revenue fifty-fifty, right? Mark, she doesn’t even own her own brand anymore! Jax signed a predatory management contract six months ago, and their primary agency takes seventy percent of everything they make before it ever hits her account. On top of that, she’s over fifty thousand dollars in credit card debt. If you film anything with her, she will use your face for clout, lock you out of the payouts, and you won’t see a single dime!”

Skylar’s face turns a dangerous, mottled shade of crimson. Her carefully managed influencer facade completely shatters, exposing the vicious, **** fraud underneath.

“You ungrateful, plain little bitch!” Skylar screams, her voice cracking as she loses her mind. “I pulled you out of obscurity! I pay your bills! You are nothing without me!”

“You haven’t paid my salary in two months, Skylar!” Paige fires back, her tears finally spilling over, though her posture remains unbroken. “I’m done. I am officially quitting. You can shoot your own stuff, you can try to scam whoever you want, but you are not going to ruin a good man who literally just saved Jax’s life!”

With a guttural screech of pure, unadulterated rage, Skylar snatches her phone off your nightstand where she had casually set it. “Fine! Screw both of you! You’re dead to me, Paige! Good luck getting back to the city without my car!”

Skylar storms out of the bedroom, slamming the heavy wooden door behind her so hard the framed mountain prints on your wall rattle. Her furious, heavy footsteps stomp down the hallway, followed a moment later by the violent crash of the cabin’s front door. She is gone.

The sudden, ringing silence drops over your bedroom like a heavy blanket.

Paige stands by the door, her chest heaving as she lets out a long, trembling sob, the adrenaline finally leaving her body. She covers her face with her hands, utterly mortified to be standing in your private bedroom while you are still shivering in a towel, yet looking incredibly relieved to have finally broken her chains.