Page 6 of Room Nine: For Their Eyes Only

But what’s the harm in taking a peek?

Chapter5

There’s a difference between pretending and performing. Pinky is more than my alter ego. She’s the person I aspire to be.

She’s wild, carefree, and lives by her own rules.

She’s not me—not yet.

But one day soon, art and life will meet. Vivienne and Pinky will violently crash like atoms and fuse to form something new. That day is near. There’s an energy in the air, a palpable buzz filtering through my soul, urging me to take a chance and shake things up.

I’ve felt it before. Shortly before my move, days before all hell broke loose, my mother revealed my father’s plans to marry me to a man named Alexei Grinkov. Typically, I take everything she says with a grain of salt, but I couldn’t ignore the sinking feeling I got when I visited my father the next day. He was secretive, moody and refused to look me in the eyes.

I didn’t want to believe it, but my intuition has rarely steered me wrong. His strange behavior made it impossible to ask him directly. If my mother was right and he knew I’d learned of his plans, he might have taken drastic measures to keep me from fleeing. I couldn’t take that chance.

Leaving New York was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. This is the first time I’ve ever been on my own, paid my own bills, and made decisions without consulting my parents. My mother knows I’m safe, but I refuse to tell her where I am. I don’t trust her to keep the information to herself or not to use it as a bargaining chip against my dad.

I love her, but her priorities are out of whack. She’ll swear to anyone who listens that she fought to keep me safe from my crazy father but was bullied into giving me up. I was twenty when I realized her actions had nothing to do with protecting me. First, she hid me from my father as retaliation for his abandonment. She wanted to be his queen, the woman behind the powerful pakhan—cherished, spoiled, and wealthy beyond her wildest dreams. But he was tired of her antics, and her plans fell through, leaving her a bitter woman. Everything she did and put me through was done entirely for selfish reasons.

My maternal grandmother told me the truth. She said I lived a precarious existence under my mother’s care. Fortunately, my circumstances improved when my father paid her enough money to start a new life in Europe. He forced my mother to give him full custody, and bought her a house in France to ensure he’d know where to find her.

I love my father, but life as the only daughter of a pakhan isn’t a walk in the park. He had enemies on every street corner and feared I’d become the victim of misplaced retaliation. His overprotective nature made sense, but his fears made it impossible for me to breathe. I lived a sheltered life, smothered by the weight of my father’s overzealous attempts to keep me safe. It warped my brain and made me the stir-crazy girl I am today.

I lived twenty-two years like a Russian Rapunzel, doing nothing without a gang of escorts packing enough heat to fight a war. It was claustrophobic and maddening. I spent most days choking on my tight leash, foaming at the mouth for the tiniest bit of freedom. By the time I left, I was sure I was only months from losing my mind completely.

For these reasons, I won't ever go back to the way things were. I don’t care if I lose my trust fund or spend the rest of my life on the run. The only person who determines my future is me.

For once, I’ll choose what I want when I want it—or I won’t choose at all.

I wander into my bedroom and slide open my lingerie drawer. After four months on the job, I’ve acquired quite a collection. Vivienne prefers a sensible pair of cotton panties. I recently found some adorable ones that denote the days of the week. They’re comfortable and nostalgic. I’m pretty sure I wore similar ones when I was a kid. Pinky likes satin and lace sheer enough to show a hint of nipple. It’s best not to show too much on a live stream. If they want to see the girls in all their glory, they need to fork over five hundred dollars for a private session.

If that makes me a sex worker, then so be it. It’s an honest day’s work, and I have bills to pay.

The alarm on my phone chimes, and I turn my head to check the clock on my nightstand. I have fifteen minutes to doll myself up before my live stream begins. The best platforms thrive on consistency, and I’ve made it a point to be punctual.

Tonight, I’m reading a passage from a daddy romance, a wide-age-gap love story about a college freshman who hooks up with a man thirty years her senior. She claims to only want an experienced man to show her the ropes, hoping he’ll teach her things a guy her age would know nothing about. Much to her surprise, he rocks her world and persuades her to return for more. And more. And more. Apparently, he’s got great stamina for a man in his forties.

What can I say? It’s a work of fiction.

I tell myself I’m playing to my audience, giving them what they want, whether I enjoy the content or not. Many of my subscribers are older men fantasizing about recapturing their youth with a much younger lover. It’s important to feed that erotic escape by acting like I’m just as into it as them. That’s what I told myself in the beginning. But now, I’m not so sure. Lately, I’ve found myself attracted to older men. Does that mean I have daddy issues? It doesn’t matter. It’s too close to showtime to shrink my brain with this nonsense.

The clock ticks close to seven, and these invented distractions have gotten me behind schedule. Instead of opting for the pink lace I have laid out on my bed, I lift my hair into a messy top-knot bun, remove my cotton bra and slip on a tight, cutoff shirt emblazoned with the words Baby Girl. It works with my Friday panties, and when I top off my ensemble with knee-high socks, I look like a dirty old man’s dream.

This should horrify me, but like I said, image is everything. I have a part to play, and if staring at a naughty schoolgirl gets them off, who am I to judge?

Besides, behind a mask of anonymity, I’m not afraid to get in touch with my sexy side and embrace my inner tramp. God knows she’s kept her cool long enough, and this is the only time I let her out to play.

I turn on my bedroom camera and adjust the ring light toward the headboard, allowing me to recline into the pillows while I read. The first half of my story draws a crowded room of fevered followers, chiming in with comments ranging from compliments on my outfit choice to offers from potential sugar daddies. Their praise makes me nervous, but I clear my throat and continue, hoping to finish the first chapter without laughing.

A succession of pings makes my eyes drift to the tiny box notifying me of incoming private messages. The first few are the usual suspects, men who want me to finish the story topless but settle for a sheer blouse or a thin tank top that highlights my nipples. I’m not comfortable showing too much skin yet. If they want to take out their cocks and jack off while I read, they’re more than welcome to pay me five hundred to feign excitement.

I scroll through the requests and spot someone new. Andrei43 appears on my screen with a slightly blurry photo, nothing more than a few words highlighting his profile and a date signifying he just subscribed today. I zoom in and make out a pair of steel blue eyes that make my heart skip a beat, but they quickly disappear into the darkness. He adjusts his posture and angles the camera to cut him off at the neck. I only caught a quick glance, but he looked older and damn good for his age. He looks familiar but I can’t put my finger on who he resembles. I know it’s going to bug me for the next hour. Have we met before?

His chiseled jaw poking out from the top of the screen is sprinkled with salt-and-pepper stubble, making him look powerful and distinguished, like a sexy senator or CEO. The butterflies fluttering wildly in my roiling belly make my trembling finger hover over the button before finally accepting his message.

Andrei43: Are you free to talk? I’d love to get to know more about you.

I smile at the words, unsure why I’m excited to talk to someone I’ve never met.

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