Her phone pinged. She glanced over, expecting an update from Willow, but it was a text from her sister.

I’m engaged. Congratulate me.

Eden stared at the words, waiting for them to change.

I’m engaged. Congratulate me.

Seconds ticked by. Reality drip-fed into her brain. Sienna and—

Don’t.

—that man were getting married. They were doing the thing Eden had been terrified of since she was fifteen. She laughed, a high, wheezing sound that scared her more than the text.

I’m engaged. Congratulate me.

Then she was on her feet, fumbling for her YSL purse. She pulled out her vape and sucked like the watermelon smoke gave life.

This isn’t a big deal.

I’ll kill him.

Mum and dad…

Don’t care.

Should have told…

They knew. No one cares.

Fucking Jesus. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

Drinks. She needed booze. She threw a coat over her lingerie and headed down the street. The guy at the liquor store looked at her like she was a weirdo, but he grabbed a bottle of Malibu from the top shelf for her just the same. Eden drank as she walked back to her apartment, vaping between swigs. Her phone buzzed.

Fine. Don’t congratulate me. We’re having a party at mum and dad’s next Sunday. Wear a dress.

A dry sob escaped Eden’s mouth as she climbed the stairs to her apartment. It was almost nine. Willow would be over soon, and her apartment was still a fucking mess.

Cancel. Bail on him.

But she couldn’t do that. They were finally going to live out his fantasy. The culmination of weeks of work… and she wanted to see him to bury her face in his chest and cry like a little bitch.

“Fuck you,” she hissed to no one. “Fuck everything.”

She opened the door to her apartment and the filthiness struck her anew. There were clothes everywhere, old takeaway bags, boxes from when she moved in six years ago. Once Willow came in, he’d think she was disgusting. He might never want to see her again. But maybe that was a good thing. She’d already grown way too soft on his watch. Wanting to cry all the time and almost giving in.

Instead of cleaning, she retreated to her bed, put on Charlotte de Witte, and drank Malibu from the bottle. Every sip reminded her of Sienna.

An uncertain time later, there was a knock on her door. Eden sat upright, vape sliding from her belly to the floor. Her head was fuzzy, her mouth dry. She ran her tongue over her teeth, trying to get in character. She was Jenna Glass, a down-on-her-luck cam-girl who needed money. She’d concocted a plan to let a desperate fan visit her, despite the obvious flaws in said plan.