Chapter 1
In 2023, it marked the fourth year of legalized sex work in the United States, entering a phase where the adult entertainment industry thrived under the management of Jennings Entertainment. Isolde Fairchild, known affectionately as “Jade” in the vibrant district of Briar, was a sex worker—plain and simple. At 25 years old, she had been in the game for around two years, currently working at the most prominent nightclub in Silverstone, “The Gilded Tavern.” The venue was renowned for its size and influence, drawing in a crowd of seekers of a good time. “Jade, where have you been?” A voice called from the other side of the room. It was her roommate, Lysander Grey, who like most workers, had adopted a stage name for her clientele, while Jade insisted on her real name. Jade stumbled through the door in her high heels, dark circles under her eyes, and let the door slam shut behind her. “Ugh, I need some sleep.” Jade winced, clutching her stomach as she headed for the bedroom. She dumped her bag unceremoniously and curled into bed, her complexion a ghostly shade. “Get up and take your pills,” Lysander said, bringing over some painkillers and a glass of warm water. Jade struggled to open her eyes, eventually sitting up to take the medicine. Lysander’s voice dripped with irritation. “You’re trading your life for money, you know.” Jade had a penchant for money but also valued her life. Yet when it came down to a choice between the two, money often won. “Do you have any idea how much he paid?” she murmured, eyes still closed. “How much?” Lysander raised an eyebrow, skepticism etched on her face. “Ten grand.” Lysander rolled her eyes. “Ten grand? Just to wear you out like this? I’m curious to know who this celebrity is.” With her black hair falling over half her face, Jade fell silent once more. Unlike Lysander, who possessed that classic beauty adored by the club’s middle-aged clientele, Jade was average-looking, albeit curvier, with little in the way of distinguishing features. While she could hold a conversation well, most of her clients were randoms rather than loyal customers. Consequently, Lysander’s income was nearly triple hers. A significant shift occurred in Jade’s life last month. The Madam Genevieve of “The Gilded Tavern” had summoned her to discuss something important. Lord Casper Jennings, head of one of the largest entertainment companies in the country, had built his empire on nurturing talent, creating hundreds of idols over the past few years who ruled the pop culture landscape. Young aspiring idols would start training around the age of ten, often toiling away for six or seven years before being given a shot at debuting. Once they made it, a million fans were not unusual, as their practice sessions were regularly streamed online for fans to witness their progression. But notoriety was the enemy of newly debuted idols. Their contracts included stipulations to stay single and maintain a clean image, which proved difficult given their natural urges. To manage this, the company partnered with clubs to curate a selection of sex workers to help fulfill the idols' basic needs and alleviate stress. Idols were given a catalog filled with profiles and photos, allowing them to choose discreetly. Within the circles of the entertainment industry, this was an open secret. Jennings Entertainment had underground chambers in its facility, aptly named the “Idol Release Guild,” which served as a legal outlet for these encounters—a veritable red-light district tucked away from the public eye.
Chapter 2
Isolde Fairchild had heard stories about this kind of thing before. Lysander Grey, a choice idol of many, had been selected as a regular companion for someone, a “Jasper Goldleaf” enthusiast who paid Lysander based on the number of visits. The idol would also reward him with extra fees depending on the quality of his service, meaning just one visit could earn Isolde as much as a month's income. So when Madam Genevieve approached her with an opportunity, Isolde’s heart raced with excitement, though her expression remained calm. She felt grateful to be chosen by such a prestigious idol. “Isolde, you know this chance is rare,” said Madam Genevieve, taking a drag from her cigarette. Isolde nodded obediently. “I’ll do a good job.” “The contract is right here. Review it before signing,” she replied as Isolde leafed through the pages carefully. Madam Genevieve exhaled a puff of smoke. “If you perform well, you could be like May — a long-term companion. Money won’t be a worry, but it must be your choice.” After going through the contract, Isolde bent over and signed her name on the line. “Yes, I’m willing.” “Isolde, please wait at the entrance of the third floor at nine tonight.” Upon receiving the text, her hands trembled. She bit her lip and replied, “Okay.” It was unusual for her to be called in two consecutive nights; typically, there were gaps of weeks between appointments, giving her time to recover. Entering the bathroom, Isolde scrubbed off the marks from the previous night’s encounter with her idol, Briar. There wasn’t much to wash away—just a few fingerprints and bite marks. He always used protection. The third floor of Lord Casper Jennings’ building had shower facilities, but Isolde was far from ready for that. As scheduled, she arrived at the location, where a contact led her to the familiar room, 303. She swallowed a pink pill, one that would temporarily blind her, ensuring her idol’s privacy was protected. With assistance, she entered the room, lying down on the luxuriously soft bed, ready for the idol's arrival. “Click.” The assistant shut the door behind them. Once alone, Isolde opened her eyes, but all she saw was darkness. She fumbled to undress, feeling the fabric slide off her skin, and slowly lay back down. Suddenly, she recalled her first time visiting. The thrill and the nervousness set her pulse racing; she’d anticipated providing the best service to the idol. She had planned how to twist her body and the sounds she’d make, determined to please him. Just as she began to greet him when he climbed onto the bed, he flipped her over roughly and pinned her down, opening her legs and thrusting inside hard. Although they’d used lubrication beforehand, his wild motions caught her completely off guard. The sudden pain forced a scream from her lips, and as soon as she did, regret washed over her. She never wanted to disappoint him, yet the agony was overwhelming. The first time, Isolde passed out from the intensity. But the payment had been generous, and unexpectedly, he called her back for more. Gradually, she got accustomed to it; she realized he preferred her cries of pain over her moans of pleasure. In his eyes, she was merely a vessel for release, not regarded as a living person. Just then, the door swung open, and Isolde tensed involuntarily. It was only yesterday that they had been together, and now her abdomen ached painfully.
Chapter 3
Isolde felt him approaching slowly. She tried her best to produce a professional, seductive smile. To her, it felt like she was just pretending for the benefit of an empty room. “Mhm,” she shivered as goosebumps spread across her skin. A hard, cold object was sliding over her nipple and moving down to her abdomen. Her body was hairless down there, kept clean for her job. She spread her legs wide, displaying her thick lips, knowing that Victor was in an uncharacteristically good mood. Normally, he wouldn’t take time to play such games with her. “Ah!” she threw her head back, moaning loudly. The object plunged into her core, stretching her little hole to capacity. Though it wasn’t as large as his usual tool, taking it in was still challenging. “Uhn, ah, ah!” she suddenly convulsed fiercely, rolling back and forth on the bed. The vibrating tool inside her was turned up to its highest setting, bringing intense vibrations and an overwhelming sense of pleasure that felt like death itself. She clenched her thighs together, clutching her abdomen while tears streamed down her face, crying and shouting helplessly. At that moment, she didn’t care about maintaining any professional charm; all she knew was that she felt like she was dying. “Ah, ah, ah! No more, I’m going to die!” “Please, please, no more, ah, ah, ah, I’m going to die!” Isolde climaxed four times in front of him, soaking the sheets with her fluids. Victor leaned against the headboard, lighting a cigarette as he watched her writhing in desperation on the bed with cold, indifferent eyes. Her last bit of sanity told her she should remove the toy herself to avoid angering the client. But she couldn’t take it anymore; her body felt entirely drained, covered in sweat, trembling and convulsing non-stop. “I need to pee, ah, please,” her hand brushed against his bare foot, clinging to it like a lifeline. “Please, please, take it out, take it out, please,” she begged. Victor extinguished his cigarette against the wall by the bed, then grasped her shaking ankles with his tobacco-scented fingers, lifting her high into the air. Her backside hovered, breasts jiggling uncontrollably, her upper body still on the bed. Her eyes showed pure panic. Her buttocks trembled violently as a stream of pale yellow urine sprayed from her core, drenching her lower half and even trickling up to her face, leaving her utterly humiliated. She could hear his young, clean laughter echoing in her dazed state. The vibrator was pulled out, but her body continued to twitch involuntarily. Finally, the ordeal was over. That night, Victor paid her an extra two thousand dollars. Isolde had realized long ago that the rougher he played, the higher the pay. If he suspended her and whipped her with a lash, forcing her to drink urine, that would net her three thousand. Pouring hot wax into her hole until it sealed from the heat earned her four thousand. There were many such examples, and Isolde could endure them all for the money. Like all tragic stories, she had a younger sister with liver cancer, whose treatment costs were insurmountable at twenty thousand dollars each month. That’s why, fresh out of college, she had gone straight to “The Gilded Tavern.” “Ah,” Isolde clutched her pillow tightly. Lysander paused his gentle application of ointment, “Does it hurt? I’ll be more careful.”
Chapter 4
Isolde Fairchild carefully applied the ointment to the raw wounds on the back of her friend, Briar. This time, Briar's infamous client had gone too far, leaving her with deep cuts and bruises that marred her skin, swollen marks dotting her chest. “Thank you, Lysander Grey,” Briar said gratefully, feeling a mix of appreciation and sadness. Despite being slightly younger, Lysander always took care of her. Lysander sighed. “Who is that idol of yours, anyway? Look at your back! How are you even going to work like this? I’m seriously worried you might end up dead if he keeps this up.” Briar shared that concern. Who could be so cruel and vicious? The thought of an idol, a person of influence, inflicting this kind of harm was unfathomable. To hold such power in Silverstone, someone would have to be at least a dozen times more connected than Lysander. When he struck, he said not a word, and even amidst her pain, she had been blindfolded the entire time, making it impossible to identify him. As for working? The little money he offered was enough for her to sustain herself and cover her sister's medical expenses. Briar was trapped in this line of work—not out of desire, but desperation. All she wanted was to earn enough to treat her sister's illness and eventually open a little flower shop in a quiet town, living out the rest of her days in peace. “You keep saying you can’t decide about your situation, and here I am, digging into what you truly think,” Lysander replied. Suddenly, Briar's phone rang, breaking the moment. She answered, “Hello?” “Briar! It’s Seraphina Nightingale! I’m in Silverstone for work; we should meet up!” Seraphina's bright voice brought a pang of nostalgia to Briar’s heart. “Okay, sounds good,” Briar replied, setting a time and place before hanging up. Lysander finished applying the ointment and pulled down her nightgown gently. “You know, your ringtone has been the same since I met you.” Briar looked down, her eyes clouded. That song was performed by her idol, after all. It was no surprise; like everyone else, she had her own idol. He was the leader of a boy band called The Lyric Warriors, named Evan Carter. She loved how his sunshiny personality seemed to heal everything around him. Her affection had started back in high school, though it wasn't the obsessive fandom kind. He was simply a mental anchor for her. “Briar! Over here!” Seraphina waved as she entered the apartment. Briar, dressed in a cozy turtleneck, felt a rush of emotions seeing her old friend. “You've lost weight!” Seraphina took Briar’s hand tightly. “And you look even more beautiful, even sexier!” They exchanged pleasantries, with Seraphina exuding her usual vibrancy. After graduating, Seraphina had landed a job in a media company, and her current business trip had brought her back to Silverstone. “Is that so?” Briar tossed her hair a bit, feeling oddly exposed at the compliment. “Are you still at Silverstone Radio?” Seraphina took a sip of her coffee. Briar paused, then nodded. “Yeah, it’s a stable job.” “Got it. So, are you still into The Lyric Warriors?” Seraphina asked, a teasing smile creeping onto her face. Briar thought for a moment. “Honestly, I only really like Evan's part in the group. I barely notice the others.” It struck her how foreign the group's name felt on her tongue, as if she were speaking of something almost forgotten. Seraphina winked at her, excitement shining in her eyes. “They have a fan meet and greet this weekend! I'm here to help organize it. You should totally come!” Suddenly, Briar's heart leaped like a young girl's, filled with pure excitement. “Yes, I want to go!”
Chapter 5
The fan meet-and-greet for The Lyric Warriors was nothing short of an ocean of excitement. Thanks to her connections, Isolde Fairchild found herself in a prime spot, watching Evan Carter with clear eyes. Every inch of him sparkled in her sight—his warmth and kindness were like a lifeline through her darkest days. Isolde tilted her head back, gazing at Evan as he spoke into the microphone, a smile gracing her lips. Her heart churned with a cascade of emotions: joy, exhilaration, and a bittersweet undercurrent she couldn't quite articulate. "Nina Briar!" a girl next to her shouted, her voice muffled by a mask as she gripped a DSLR, catching every moment. Isolde's gaze shifted to the boy standing next to Evan—a fellow member named Nina Briar. With long bangs covering his forehead, he seemed remarkably young, amplifying Evan's protective big brother aura. Even before Nina spoke a word, the crowd erupted in deafening cheers. It was immediately clear: Nina had a magnetic appeal. After introductions, it was time for the signature session. As Isolde stood in line, she wiped her clammy hands with a tissue, feeling just like a teenager again. She wondered why she was so nervous—all she wanted was to say a simple thanks. Finally, she stood in front of Evan. One hand pressed against her mouth, the other reached out tentatively. He looked up and nodded at her with a smile, “Thank you.” Then, warm hands enveloped her smaller ones. Isolde was so overwhelmed she couldn’t even respond, her mind went blank. She could only bow her head repeatedly, savoring the warmth of his grip, unwilling to pull away. Every word she’d hoped to say evaporated in that fleeting moment, even "thank you" remained unspoken. She resolved to remember his genuine smile—the essence of warmth and sincerity. Lost in the memory of her handshake with Evan, she moved on to the next member, Nina. Nina glanced up at her, flashing a grin. Just like Evan, Isolde felt a rush of heat flood her face, her heart racing. It was easy to understand why he was so popular. By the time Isolde returned to her apartment tower, she was floating on cloud nine, reliving the moment she met Evan. Regret gnawed at her for not expressing her gratitude, prompting a wave of melancholy. While her feelings for him weren’t obsessive or fiery, a sense of distance washed over her, as if they existed in two separate worlds—together yet painfully apart. She rolled onto her side in bed, her palm still feeling the lingering warmth from his touch, yearning for another glimpse, another burst of light to pierce through her dark days. Buzz. Glancing at her phone, despair flooded her. Soon, she'd have to face him again. After being fed her pills, Isolde, temporarily blind, was gently guided to a familiar large bed, where she lay still, lost in thought. After a while, he entered; there was no rush on his part. He lifted her chin, examining her face closely. Isolde felt his intense gaze boring into her, sending shivers down her spine. What tricks was he planning this time? Fortunately, he played it straightforward, merely venting his desires before leaving her be.
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