Current location: Victoria's Secret, 5th Avenue
Current mood: hostage with a corporate Amex and a death wish
Current blood pressure: 911 please
Y/N has been in the dressing room for exactly 47 minutes.
Same number as the elevator trauma floor. Coincidence? I think not.
She keeps popping her head out like a horny whack-a-mole:
"Bestie does this one scream 'marry me' or 'sugar baby who gets a birkin for christmas'?"
I'm camped on the pink velvet bench outside the fitting rooms, drowning in fourteen lace sets that cost more than my organs on the black market.
The sales girl (name tag: Destiny, RIP) keeps giving me the "are you trafficking her" side-eye.
Finally Y/N struts out in set #15: red, strappy, basically dental floss with ambition.
She spins. "Rate it one to ten for Alexander's cardiac arrest."
I don't look up from my phone. "Negative five. Your left boob is trying to secede from the union."
She gasps and scurries back inside.
Destiny whispers, "Is she… always like this?"
I slide her a crisp $100 from the black card. "Therapy fund. Take it before we both unionize."
Two minutes later Y/N reappears in a baby-pink babydoll so sheer it's basically plastic wrap.
"Bestie hold my phone, film me walking, I'm sending it to Alex right nowwww!"
"You're in public."
"It's called foreplay, Riley 🥺"
"It's called a felony, open your eyes."
She hits record anyway and starts cat-walking toward the mirror moaning "Mr. Blackwood" under her breath like a haunted furby.
The entire store freezes.
An actual grandma drops her purse and yells "JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH."
Security starts power-walking over.
I grab Y/N's wrist, yeet every single set into Destiny's shaking arms, and hiss:
"Ring it ALL up. We're leaving before we're on the 6 o'clock news."
Total: $31,847
Alexander's card: didn't blink
My soul: crying in the corner
We're three steps from freedom when Y/N skids to a halt in the PINK section.
"Bestie LOOK!! Hoodie that says 'Mrs. Blackwood' in glitter!!"
It's a plain pink hoodie.
She's holding a bedazzler gun she definitely stole from the craft aisle and is already spelling it out on the floor like a serial killer.
I'm on voice note in the group chat whisper-screaming:
me: send an ambulance
sarah: again??
me: she's making herself a fake marriage certificate on a $60 hoodie
kevin from it: PICS OR IT DIDN'T HAPPEN
me: already filming for blackmail purposes, adding y'all to the dropbox
Security finally reaches us.
Security guy: "Ma'am you can't—"
Y/N spins, flutters wet lashes, full baby voice activated:
"But my fiancé owns the building and he said I can do whatever I wantttt uwu"
Security guy looks at me for confirmation.
I flash my Blackwood Enterprises badge like a death sentence.
He sighs the sigh of a man who wants to quit retail forever and waves us through.
We leave with seventeen bags and one dripping-wet glue "Mrs. Blackwood" hoodie.
In the town car Y/N is vibrating like she snorted pixie sticks.
"He's gonna propose tonight, I can FEEL it in my coochie."
I stare out the window. "Pretty sure he just wants to see the merchandise before delivery."
She gasps, hand to chest. "Riley!! That's the most romantic thing anyone's ever said!!"
I age ten years in one breath.
We pull up to Blackwood Tower.
Two Men In Black™ are waiting at the private elevator.
They take the bags without a word.
One looks at me:
"Miss Quinn, Mr. Blackwood requests your presence upstairs."
Y/N squeals so loud the lobby chandelier shakes and grabs my hand.
"Bestie you're meeting the penthouse!! This is huge!! We're basically sisters now!!"
I look at the security guy.
"Is there… an exit strategy?"
He doesn't blink.
The elevator doors close.
footnote:
if i don't update tomorrow just know i've been disappeared for knowing the penthouse wifi password
tell kevin the plant i left him my 401k
and tell y/n the hoodie looks great
(lying is easier than therapy)
*************
The elevator opened straight into the penthouse and my jaw physically dropped.
Black marble, floor-to-ceiling windows, one single orchid that probably has its own trust fund.
It smelled like money and whatever cologne costs $800 an ounce.
Y/N kicked off her heels and immediately started twirling.
"Bestie it's giving dark romance wattpad dreammmm!!"
She did the full TikTok slow-motion hair flip while filming herself. "Don't be shy, film me for my private storyyy!"
I was too busy having a stroke to film anything.
Alexander appeared from the kitchen area already in a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, looking like the final boss of capitalism.
He didn't greet me.
He just looked at Y/N like she was the only light source in the room, then flicked his eyes to me like I was an expensive appliance he'd ordered.
"Kitchen," he said.
Not a request.
Y/N squealed, grabbed my hand and dragged me.
The kitchen island was bigger than my childhood home.
Alexander was already searing wagyu like it personally offended him.
Y/N hopped onto the counter right next to the stove, swinging her legs.
"Hi Daddy," she sang in full baby voice.
He didn't even look up from the pan. "Behave, kitten."
My soul left my body and floated to the ceiling.
She pouted. "But I missed youuu."
He slid a hand to the back of her neck, pulled her in, and kissed her so hard the stove almost caught fire.
Not a peck.
Full tongue, her legs wrapping around his waist, soft little moan that made the marble echo.
I stood there holding the La Perla bags like a Victorian child who just walked in on her parents.
They kept going.
I cleared my throat.
Nothing.
I tried again, louder.
Alexander finally broke the kiss, but kept her caged against him, thumb brushing her bottom lip.
"Riley. Wine fridge. The 2016 Château Margaux."
I scurried like a traumatized mouse.
When I came back with the bottle he had Y/N perched on the island now, feeding her bites of wagyu straight from the pan.
Every time she chewed she did the little "mmph" moan and kicked her feet.
He wiped sauce from her lip with his thumb, then licked it off.
I aged forty years.
Y/N turned to me with heart eyes.
"Bestie try one!! It's soooo good!"
I opened my mouth, and because I have the survival instincts of a fruit fly, I said:
"Pretty sure this cow had a better life than I do."
Silence.
Y/N's face crumpled instantly.
Her lip wobbled.
Then the tears started.
Big, fat, immediate tears.
"I-I'm sorry…" she whimpered, voice cracking. "When I was little my daddy used to say I wasn't allowed to eat steak because I was too chubby and I just… I just wanted to feel pretty tonight…"
The temperature in the room dropped twenty degrees.
Alexander turned slowly.
His eyes on me were actual murder.
The knife in his hand stopped moving.
The kind of silence that happens right before someone disappears forever.
I felt my life flash before my eyes.
Y/N was full-on sobbing now, clinging to his shirt.
"I didn't mean to trigger her," I said quickly. "It was a joke, I swear—"
Alexander set the knife down very, very carefully.
Then he cupped Y/N's face with both hands, voice suddenly soft in a way that made my skin crawl.
"Kitten. Look at me."
She hiccupped, looking up with wet lashes.
"You are perfect. Every inch of you. Do you understand?"
She nodded, sniffling.
"Yes Daddy."
He kissed her forehead, then her nose, then her lips again, murmuring, "Good girl."
Then, without looking away from her, he said to me:
"Riley. Apologize."
My mouth went dry.
"I'm sorry, Y/N. That was shitty of me. You're not chubby anywhere. You're beautiful."
She peeked at me over his shoulder, tears still flowing, but now with a tiny smile.
"It's okay bestie… I know you didn't mean it… I'm just sensitiveee."
Alexander kept stroking her hair, but his eyes flicked to me again.
"Leave us."
I'll have the driver take you home."
I backed away like I was escaping a lion's den.
Y/N called after me in full baby-voice:
"Text me when you get home safe, okay? Love youuu!"
I fled.
In the elevator down I got a notification.
$15,000 deposited
Memo: "For emotional damages caused to kitten."
I stared at it.
Then I texted the group chat:
me: i just got paid 15k for making the wattpad girlfriend cry
sarah: girl what
kevin: i'm adding "professional tear wiper" to my resume
miguel: you're living the dream
me: i'm in hell.
footnote:
kevin the plant is getting a therapist now
his name is dr. leaf
i'm billing alexander.