Page 127 of High Reward

It’s an easy task, the second outfit Zara put her in is a purple lace bodysuit that accentuates her perfect curves.

“I wish everyone were as natural as the two of you,” Zara says with a smile.

Zara moves around us, adjusting angles, offering direction, and firing the camera. It’s clear she finds joy in the task, and I’m grateful she was here for us to ask.

She asks us to shift positions again, and Grace’s hand finds my hip, steadying herself as we rearrange. There’s something unique in this experience of being seen through another woman’s eyes. It’s collaborative and effortless. Not like I’m an object being displayed for someone else’s consumption.

For years, I performed. Posing for red carpet galas and press events, always aware of the cameras capturing images that would be dissected and critiqued. And they were all controlled by Phineas. I knew exactly which angles he preferred and just how much smile was allowed before I was accused of flirting with a reporter.

That level of control was why I sought out a boudoir photographer in the first place. I wanted images that I controlled. That made me feel powerful. And yes, I hoped they would entice my husband into loving me more. In the end, that backfired.

This is different.

“Lili, can you put your hand on Grace’s waist? Good. Now, both of you, close your eyes for a moment.”

I close my eyes as Grace’s breath flutters against my neck. My pulse slows.

“Now open them and look at each other.”

When I open my eyes, Grace is already watching me. Her expression is tender, unguarded. I don’t have to perform for her. I don’t have to be anything other than what I am at this moment.Something tells me the image Zara just captured is going to be one of my favorites.

“Let’s try something else,” Zara says, lowering the camera. “Lili, I want you on your back on the bench. Grace, you’ll be leaning over her like you’re about to kiss her.”

I move to lie down, the velvet cool against my exposed skin. Grace positions herself above me, her hands bracing on either side of my shoulders.

“Perfect. Now arch your back slightly, Lili. Like you’re reaching up toward her.”

I arch.

And the world tilts.

The studio lights are a blur as the velvet beneath me becomes a set of expensive sheets, and Grace’s face above me fades into a memory I wish I could bury.

Phineas is standing over me holding the photographs I’d just gifted him for Valentine’s Day, his face red with rage as he jabs a finger at the photographer’s watermark. It belonged to a man with kind eyes who’d made me feel beautiful for a couple of hours without ever touching me once.

“You let him see you like this?”

His voice was deathly quiet. That was always so much worse than the yelling.

“It was professional, Finn. Nothing happened.”

“Nothing happened.” He repeated the words like they were poison. Then he pulled me off the bed by my hair.

The scars on my thighs came later. After he’d locked the bedroom door. After he’d explained in detail what happened to wives who let other men see what belonged to him.

“Lili?”

Grace’s voice cuts through the fog, and I shake off the memory of Phineas sinking his teeth into my thighs until I bled.

I blink and realize my face is wet. Tears stream down my cheeks, ruining the makeup Zara applied earlier. My chest heaves with sobs I can’t control.

“Hey. Hey, I’m right here.” Grace’s hand cups my face, grounding me. “You’re here with me. You’re safe.”

I try to speak, but only a gasp escapes. My body trembles against the bench.

Zara appears in my peripheral vision, camera lowered. “That’s enough for now. Let’s take a break. We don’t have to talk about what happened in your head just now, but you can if you want to.”

Her voice is calm and professional. No judgement. No pity. Just concern for my well-being. It’s easy to see how she would have been such a successful escort.