Lying with Kaeso was different from what I’d had with Travin, to say the least.

Last night. Gods, it was just last night? What in all the hells was I becoming?

I pushed harder against Kaeso, fingers digging into his back as he moved inside me. Again and again, I guided him behind me, whispering demands into the dark. “Harder.” “Faster.” “Don’t stop.” I needed him to become something he wasn’t. I needed rough, feral, real.

Kaeso tried. Bless him, he tried.

He fucked me like a man with something to prove, hips slapping against the backs of my thighs. I arched my back and reached up, tugging my thick curls forward so he could see.

“Pull,” I growled. “As hard as you can.”

He hesitated, hands trembling, before finally grabbing a fistful and yanking. A weak gasp left his mouth as he thrust deeper. Better. Not perfect, but better.

“I—” he panted, voice breaking. “Lo—”

“No.” I spun under him and slammed my mouth against his, cutting the word off before he could say it. That stupid, sweet, useless word. I didn’t want love. I was sick of it.

Sliding down between his legs, I took his him in my mouth and pushed until I choked. Gagged. Spit dribbled down my chin as I forced it into the back of my throat.

He floundered. It was adorable, really. He was unsure what to do with his hands while I worked him over like he was just a vessel for release. I wanted him to feel used. Hells, I wasn’t feeling anything, so he might as well get a taste of it.

Eventually, I climbed back up, shoved him flat, and sank back onto him, grinding my hips in a rhythm meant to break both of us. His hands found my breasts, finally, and I didn’t stop him. I let him squeeze, grope, try.

I came. Hard. So did he.

But that was just the start.

I kept going. Moving him from position to position, using his body like a poor imitation of what I really wanted. I scratched, bit, and snarled. Every once in a while, I got a glimpse of something animal in him. But it wasn’t Travin.

It never could be.

Kaeso was too sweet. Too kind. He wanted to give me love.

Useless. All of it. I didn’t want any of it.

So, I used him until the sun threatened to rise. We took little naps between sessions. Then I’d stir, grab his shoulders, and ride again.

We ended up in the usual tangle, limbs, sweat, and shame. But this time, I didn’t want to stay.

I rolled off him, body aching in places I didn’t know could ache, and started gathering my clothes.

“You could take your time,” he said, voice soft and sheepish, propped up on one elbow with that same boyish grin I used to adore.

I scanned the room for my shoes. “I already have.”

He chuckled weakly. He knew. Of course, he did. There was something he needed to say. Something we’d both known was coming.

I sighed. “What is it?”

“Lierin Reyora.”

Just like that.

That was all he had to say.

A name I knew. A family I knew. Another half-noble girl with a tight dowry and a nicer reputation. She was clean, pretty, not too sharp around the edges, and the politically safe version of me.

“Okay.” I lay my head back on his shoulder. “What else?”

“Service. In the Imperial Legion.”

Of course.

That had always been the plan. At least the one that included me back when the plan was first made. He would marry me, serve the Empire, and return with stories and gold. But that was before.

Now, he was leaving. He’d found someone better. And I was just the girl he used to love.

I let out a breath. Not sadness. Not a surprise. Just... inevitability.

The kind that hollows you out slowly, over the years.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. Barely audible.

“Don’t be.”

I slipped out of bed, yanking on layers I couldn’t bring myself to tie properly. Every piece of fabric clung to skin still sticky with his cum and my sweat. It reeked of last chances.

He sprang up when he realized I wasn’t staying.

My gaze landed on the way his lean body moved, the muscles I used to trace with my fingers like they were sacred. But now?

He held out the pouch.

Not on the dresser. Not left near my boots. Just... held it out.

And just like that, he broke the spell. Our little lie.

The gold was supposed to be stolen. I wasn’t supposed to take it out of his fucking hand!

He handed it to me like I was a servant. Or worse.

The shame came hot and fast. But I still took it.

I always did.

The weight in my palm was familiar now. His coin. My silence. Our arrangement, unspoken but understood.

He thought he was helping me.

Really, he was making me forget I was already selling myself.

I’d already sold myself, sure, but now he made it official.

I told myself I’d do anything to help my sister. And I had. That was the line I repeated like a prayer. I made it sound noble in my head. But the truth waited nearby, always ready to gut me.

Kaeso had been bringing me gold twice a week for four years. They were coins Cypress never saw, money my mother and Clara never asked about. It paid for food, kept the roof from rotting, covered my midwife’s bitterflower tea, and slowly, so slowly, stacked up toward Clara’s freedom. He let me pretend it was theft. But we both knew better.

Bless him, my stupid, sweet boy. I wanted to love him. But today was a reckoning.

I couldn’t even glance at him. His whole form felt like a fucking stain in my vision. I gathered my clothes and boots like they were armor and bolted, bare feet slapping too fast down the stairs.

He was leaving. Marrying another girl. Marching off to play hero in the name of the fucking Empire.

No more visits. No more whispered lies. No more gold.

The support I had come to rely on… foolishly, stupidly… It was gone. And with it, the illusion I clung to like a child with a broken toy.

I was not Jolana, the daughter. Not Jolana, the sister. Not Jolana, the provider. I was Jolana, the whore.

I had refused to see it. I told myself it was different because he was kind. Because we loved each other once. But that didn’t change what it was. He gave me gold. I fucked him. End of story.

He thought he was helping me. But really, he was just polishing the bars of my cage.

Cypress didn’t force me into this. The Duke didn’t. Not even my father.

I did it. I sold myself. Not all at once. No, I sold myself piece by damn piece. I called it survival.

And I hated myself for it.

Travin, you fucking bastard. You didn’t turn me into this. You just made it impossible for me to keep lying about who I was.

The sunrise painted the cobblestones in gold and blush, but I saw none of it. My feet stung. My lungs burned. I wanted to go home. I wanted my father to be waiting by the door, promising everything would be okay, that we’d leave this cursed town and start over somewhere far away. That I didn’t have to drag myself back to that inn in six hours and smile for people who saw me as nothing more than tits and ass.

I crept inside as quietly as I could, praying no one would see me.

But coffee had already been brewed.

Mother was waiting.

She stood in the foyer like a queen, pushing her ridiculous serving cart ahead of her like she was hosting nobility.

She smiled at me. Mother had an entire arsenal of smiles. Some for combat, some for compassion. This was a new one I needed to catalog once I knew what she was up to.

“Well,” she said, her tone dry, her eyebrow raised, “I’m a bit behind on fashion trends, but I’m fairly certain a lady’s meant to wear her boots and lace her dress when strolling about.”

She was the more refined version of Clara. She was graceful, severe, and always composed. Her hair, darker than mine, curled around her shoulders in perfect defiance of the day. Her arms were strong, and she wore patience like armor. This wasn’t her first scandal.

“You clearly haven’t seen the high street this season,” I said, pasting on a smirk. “No one’s lacing corsets anymore. It’s all about the scandalous collapse.”

She sighed, brushing past me with the cart. “At least you’re home safe. Come on, then.”

She rolled it into the sitting room. It was normally a forbidden zone unless we were receiving guests or dying. The fact that she was using it now meant this wasn’t a casual coffee. This was a tribunal.

She sank into the largest chair and gestured toward the cart.

“Cream. Just a splash. One sugar.”

I raised an eyebrow but didn’t argue. I set my boots by the door and padded over. Her posture was perfect. Her expression was unreadable.

“You’re not dressed properly to serve,” she said flatly. “Either lace up or take it off.”

Of course.

I peeled off the dress and draped it neatly over the chair. There I stood, barefoot and in my underthings, preparing coffee as though I hadn’t just sold myself for coin.

I handed her a napkin and fixed her cup. She got a splash of cream, one sugar, and I stirred exactly six times.

“Please,” she said, once served. “Join me.”

I poured my own, sat across from her, and matched her posture out of instinct.

She took a long sip before speaking. “How’s Kaeso? I hardly see the boy anymore.”

And there it was. The opening cut.

My stomach twisted. She knew. Of course she knew. She had spies in every parlor, market, and laundry line in the city.

“Well…” I hesitated. I could lie. I really, really could. But I was too tired. Too raw. “Betrothed.”

She nodded. “That’s what Blossia told me. They’re announcing it later today. I assumed he’d tell you last night.”

Tears hit me before I could stop them. My throat closed. I slipped down from the chair and folded into her lap like I was twelve again. She held me, rocking gently, her hand smoothing my hair.

She knew. She’d been waiting all night. Probably kept the coffee warm just in case I needed her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I love you. You’ve done more than anyone ever could’ve asked. You deserved better.”

“Do I?” I croaked. I sat up and reached for my dress. I pulled out the pouch and dropped it on the table.

She didn’t flinch. Just looked at the bag, then back at me. “Are you sad that he’s leaving? Or that this is?”

“Neither,” I said. “There was a line. I swore I wouldn’t cross it. And then I did. And I didn’t even notice when it happened.”

She tilted her head. “You think you sold yourself to him.”

“Didn’t I? Just because I loved him once doesn’t change the fact that I took his money and let him inside me.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” She slid down next to me, her tone more tender than I could take.

We were on the floor, half-dressed, crying over lukewarm coffee like two fools from a tragic play.

“That’s really what you think?”

“What else could it be?”

She sighed. “You’ve been spending too much time at that damn tavern. Love is love. Even when it’s complicated. Even when it’s paid for.”

I frowned. “He gave me gold.”

“To help you. Because he couldn’t do more.”

“I loved the idea of him,” I muttered.

“The idea?”

“That someone might love me. I wanted to believe that I could still belong in a world where love wasn’t transactional. But I can’t. Not anymore.”

She didn’t argue. She just looked sad.

And that was worse.

I straightened, scooped up my cup, and drained it. “We’re running out of options. I left that tavern with a gold and six coppers. Biggest night I’ve had in years.”

“We could sell some furniture. Or your father’s sword.”

I laughed bitterly. “This furniture isn’t worth the wood it’s made of. And the sword? It stays. When he comes back, it’ll be waiting.”

Her expression darkened. “If he comes back.”

The words hit me like a slap.

No.

He was alive. He had to be.

“Don’t say that again.”

“But if he—”

“Then get used to being the mother of a couple of whores! Because that’s where we’re headed. The Duke isn’t collecting. He’s watching. He’s enjoying every slow, humiliating moment as we slip lower.”

I was yelling now. Unapologetically.

“This house isn’t even worth The Debt. He keeps us here because watching us crumble is better than paying. And I’m running out of things to give.”

She didn’t say a word.

I left her there, storming toward the cellar door.

“Jolana!”

It was Clara, descending the stairs, robe half-tied, worry plastered across her young face.

I paused, suddenly ashamed of how I looked, how I sounded, how broken I must have seemed.

“Hi,” I said, weakly.

“Are you okay?”

Was I?

I had tried to protect her. Kept her from the worst of it. Hid the truth. Lied and smiled and sacrificed.

But I couldn’t protect her anymore.

If she was going to survive, she needed more than me bailing water from a sinking boat.

She needed a new damn boat.

“No,” I said. “Not really.”

And I descended into the bath, ready to scrub what little was left of myself clean.