Page 1 of Sexted By a Stranger
Chapter 1
Sheila
My footsteps echoed hollowly against the metal stairs as I made my way through the elegantly appointed employee corridor. Pushing open the enamel glass door beneath the flickering neon "Celestial" sign, an odd sense of calm washed over me.
"Sheila?" Madeline looked up from behind her desk. Her silver-gray bob swayed slightly with the movement, and the diamond studs in her ears caught the light, throwing tiny rainbows across the wall.
She set down her lighter. "What are you doing here? It's not your shift today."
"I know, Madeline." My voice came out steadier than I'd expected. "I need money. A lot of money."
Madeline's expression shifted instantly. "Leon?" she asked softly.
I nodded. Madeline was one of the few people who knew about my family situation. Three years ago, when I'd shown up desperate and out of options, she'd taken a chance on me. She'd kept me in the back—serving drinks, organizing inventory. Safe.
"The doctor says... we need a hundred thousand dollars within a week." The words felt like razor blades in my throat. "I'll do anything. Even—"
"Stop." Madeline cut me off, her voice uncharacteristically sharp. She stood and crossed to where I stood, reaching up to cup my cheek. "Sheila, you're only twenty-two." Her voice dropped low. "Do you understand what you're saying?"
"I do." I met her gaze directly. "Leon's only sixteen."
Madeline's hand fell away abruptly. She turned toward the window, staring out at Manhattan's glittering skyline. "There's a private party tonight," she finally said, and I heard a weariness in her voice I'd never noticed before. "They... like fresh faces."
She moved to her desk drawer and pulled out a manila envelope, sliding it across to me. "This is ten thousand up front. Forty more after the performance. One night, Sheila. One dance."
The envelope felt like it was burning my fingers. I stared at the club's gold-embossed logo—an eagle with spread wings.
"Go to the dressing room," Madeline said quietly. "Nana will help you get ready."
In the backstage dressing room, Nana—the club's star stripper—was perfecting her signature cat-eye liner in front of the vanity mirror.
"New girl?" She studied me through the reflection, her red lips curving into a knowing smile.
"Just tonight," I said.
Nana nodded, understanding immediately. She turned to the wardrobe and pulled out a velvet dress. "Madeline called ahead. The clients in the Emerald Room..." She paused meaningfully. "They'll undress you with their eyes before you even start moving."
The dress was deep green, shimmering like liquid jade under the lights. The cut was ingenious—it covered everything thatneeded covering while somehow suggesting far more than bare skin ever could. As Nana tightened the silk ribbons at my waist, I barely recognized the woman in the mirror.
"Remember," she whispered in my ear, "these men pay for mystery." She gave my shoulder straps a final adjustment and left.
I sat in the chair, waiting for showtime. Despite the summer heat outside, my limbs felt ice cold.
Was I really going to do this?
Shame crashed over me in waves. Who was that hollow-eyed woman in the mirror? The pathetic scraps of fabric seemed to mock my desperation, sneering at the $2,347 in my savings account. Mom and I had scraped together every penny over two years. It was everything we had. But against the doctor's cold verdict, it was nothing. Dust.
"Miss Stella," The image of that white-coated doctor adjusting his glasses floated before me again, his gaze behind the lenses calm and cruel. "Leon needs the bone marrow transplant within a week, or... there's nothing more we can do. We'll need ten thousand tomorrow to schedule the surgery. The total cost is one hundred thousand."
One hundred thousand dollars. Seven days.
Those numbers had crushed my world. Mom made less than three thousand a month cleaning offices, and that was when they didn't stiff her on pay. I made maybe four thousand with tips, waiting tables. Even if we never ate, never paid rent, it would take us over a year to save that kind of money. We were a family that struggled to make rent, a family already hollowed out by medical bills.
My phone buzzed. A text from Mom: [Sheila, Leon just woke up and asked when you're coming to see him. Says he wants some of your apple pie.]
The smiley face emoji at the end stabbed into my heart like a needle. Leon wanted apple pie, and here I was, wearing this dress that didn't belong on my body, waiting to go on stage.
No. I clenched my fists hard, nails digging crescents into my palms. I won't let him slip away.
