Author's Note:
This is not a love story.
At least, not the kind you're used to.
What unfolds in the following pages is an exploration of desire, control, power, consent, and the spaces between love and longing--where routine can suffocate, and fantasy becomes a lifeline.
The characters in this story make choices that may challenge your values, your comfort, or your expectations. Some of those choices are raw. Some are explicit. Some walk along the edges of fidelity, dominance, and submission, framed always by mutual consent--but not always by clarity of purpose.
If you're looking for something soft, safe, or simple--
This is not that story.
If these themes disturb you, offend you, or simply aren't for you, I encourage you--genuinely--to step away. Find something that nourishes you instead.
But if you're still here...
Welcome to
Unwritten
.
Note: While this story may appear long due to the spacing between lines, that structure is intentional--meant to enhance pacing, atmosphere, and emotional flow. It's designed to let you breathe between each moment. Let the silence speak, too.
Chapter 12
Thursday and Friday passed in a blur.
Pauline stayed busy--school, errands, light dinners with James, long showers where she stood still under the water, not thinking, just
feeling
. They didn't speak of Saturday. Not openly. But every look they exchanged was thick with what was coming.
James touched her more often. Held her longer at night. And Pauline?
She didn't resist it.
She let him.
But her mind was elsewhere--already walking a corner in heels, already someone else.
Saturday
The sun had just started to set, casting long gold shadows across the living room. James stood in the kitchen, sipping water, trying not to look like he was nervous.
Pauline was dressed simply--jeans, tank top, hair pulled back. A canvas. Unwritten.
She came up to him and rested a hand lightly on his chest.
"You remember everything?" she asked softly.
He nodded. "Yes."
"11:00 p.m.," she said. "Not a minute later."
He swallowed, nodded again.
"I'll be there at 10:59," she continued. "You won't text me. You won't call me. You'll drive past. Watch me. Then decide when to pull over. But I
won't
be standing on that corner longer than I have to."
James's voice was low. "I understand."
She tilted her head slightly, studying him. "And once you do pull up... you're not you. You're not my husband. You're just a man looking to buy time. You got that?"
His eyes darkened. "Got it."
She leaned in and kissed his cheek--not his mouth--and then stepped back.
"I'll see you on the corner."
Then she turned, grabbed her bag, and walked out the door without looking back.
Maya's Apartment
Maya had already lit candles in the bathroom. Soft music played from the speaker. Elena sat on the couch, sipping wine and scrolling through mood boards.
When Pauline walked in, Maya turned, smiled, and said simply:
"Let's make you disappear."
And so it began.
The loft was bathed in soft amber light, candles flickering on every surface. The scent of warm vanilla and something smoky--like burned sugar--filled the space. A playlist played in the background: slow, sensual beats, all breath and bass.
Pauline stood in the center of the room, her simple clothes still clinging to her body like the last layer of her real life. Maya and Elena moved around her with calm purpose, like stylists dressing a lead actress for the final scene of a forbidden film.
"Strip," Maya said softly, not as a command, but as a cue.
Pauline pulled her tank top over her head and slid down her jeans. She stood in only her panties, her skin kissed by the golden candlelight. Vulnerable. Bare. And ready.
Elena stepped forward with the bodysuit--black mesh, sheer and slick, with crisscrossing straps that barely covered her tits. Pauline stepped into it slowly, drawing it up her thighs, over her hips. The fabric clung to her like skin. The mesh caught the light, hinting at everything, hiding nothing.
Maya crouched to fasten the heels--black patent stilettos with an ankle strap. "These will hurt after ten minutes," she said, tightening the buckle. "But you'll look like
temptation incarnate.
"
Next came the fur-trimmed jacket--short, barely enough to close, designed to tease and dramatize. Then the jewelry: hoop earrings the size of bangles, a fake gold bracelet that clinked when she moved, and a delicate chain around her waist, resting low over her pussy, visible through the mesh.
"Now... the hair," Elena murmured.
She pulled the red wig from its stand--sleek, sharp, parted slightly to the side. She brushed it once, twice, then fitted it carefully over Pauline's flattened hair. The color lit her eyes differently, made her features look more angular. Dangerous.
Maya stepped forward with a compact. "Close your eyes."
They applied the makeup in layers.
Heavy lashes. Thick liner. Deep burgundy lipstick. Sharp cheek contour. Glitter just at the corners of the eyes. Nothing subtle. Nothing soft. Everything designed to say:
This is not the woman you marry. This is the woman you pay to ruin you.
Pauline opened her eyes.
And for a second, even she didn't recognize herself.
The woman in the mirror was sharper. Wilder. Unfamiliar--and yet deeply, deeply her.
"She needs a name," Maya said.
Pauline thought for a moment, lips parted, one finger tracing the edge of her wine glass.
"Cassie," she said finally.
Maya grinned. "Cassie it is."
She walked over to the sideboard and pulled out a small silver tray. On it: the tiny bottle of infused tequila, and the glass vial with the pale rose-colored pill.
Pauline stared at it. Her pulse was steady now. Her hands no longer trembled.
She took the vial first, placing the pill under her tongue. It melted quickly--floral, earthy, sweet. A warmth bloomed in her chest. Not dizzying. Just... unburdened.
Then she uncorked the bottle and downed the tequila in one shot. The burn was soft, trailing fire down her throat into her belly. Her body immediately relaxed.
Elena stepped behind her, adjusted the jacket, and looked her in the eyes through the mirror.
"No one knows who you are tonight."
Pauline nodded slowly.
Maya grabbed the keys. "Let's get her to the curb."
10:34 p.m. -- In the car on the way to the corner
Maya's SUV moved slowly through the city, headlights low, streetlights stretching like golden veins across the windshield. Every red light felt longer than the last. Inside the car, the air was dense--sweet with Elena's perfume, the lingering incense from Maya's loft, and the sharp undercurrent of tequila.
Pauline--no,
Cassie
now--sat in the back seat with one leg crossed over the other, her sheer black mini riding high. The red wig kissed her shoulders. Her makeup was flawless, but her eyes had changed.
She wasn't blinking as much.
Her breathing had deepened.
The pill from earlier had started to settle in--warmth under her skin, a fluid stillness through her limbs. She wasn't drunk. She was
unbound
. The tequila moved through her slowly, rhythmically. She felt less human and more... designed.
"You good back there?" Maya asked from the driver's seat without turning around.
Cassie nodded.
Elena, sitting beside her, reached into her small clutch and pulled out a glass vial with a single amber-colored pill.
"This one's natural," she said quietly. "Maca root, ginseng, a little damiana. It doesn't hit hard--it just makes you
feel
more. Want more."
Cassie hesitated only a second, then plucked the pill from her fingers.
Maya handed a small bottle of tequila over her shoulder. "Take it like a slut with purpose."
Cassie smirked. Just a little.
She popped the pill and took a long sip from the bottle. It burned--but this time, it made her smile wider.
She reached down to grab her phone from her purse--only to remember: she had no purse. No pockets. No place to hide it.
"My phone," she murmured. "I don't have anywhere to put it."
Maya caught her gaze in the rearview mirror. "Leave it here. You don't need it. He'll be there at eleven on the dot. Two minutes max."
"But--"
"Cassie," Elena said softly, taking her hand, "Pauline doesn't need to come with you tonight. She'll wait here. You've got this."
Cassie took a slow breath.
And nodded.
10:54 p.m. -- Approaching the block
They turned onto the same avenue they'd scoped out earlier that week. The street was unchanged--buzzing streetlamps, cracked pavement, low shadows. A few women were already stationed along the curb, leaning against storefronts, chatting under flickering neon.
Maya pulled up a block ahead, parking with a perfect view of
the
spot.
No one spoke.
Only the sound of the ticking dashboard clock filled the silence.
10:55.
Cassie flexed her fingers on her knees, the fake gold ring Maya had given her catching the light.
10:56.
Elena leaned over and dabbed another swipe of gloss on her lips.
10:57.
Cassie checked the wig. Smoothed her dress. Watched herself in the tinted window.
10:58.
She could hear her own heartbeat now.
10:59.
The lock on the back door clicked.
Cassie didn't look at her friends.
She didn't say goodbye.
She opened the door.
And stepped out.
Chapter 13
10:00 p.m. -- James and the Waiting
James stood in front of the mirror, half-dressed, buttoning his shirt with fingers that didn't seem to listen. His pulse was thudding in his ears. He had shaved carefully, sprayed just a touch of cologne, and laid out the plainest clothes he owned--fitted jeans, a dark gray tee, black jacket. Nothing that said
husband
. Nothing that said
James
.
He was supposed to look like someone else tonight.
Someone who paid for pleasure.
The thought alone made his throat tighten.
He walked to the kitchen, pulled open the cabinet above the fridge, and grabbed the half-empty bottle of tequila they kept "for guests." He unscrewed the cap with a shaky hand, took a deep breath, and swallowed two large gulps without stopping. The burn dragged down his chest like liquid fire.
He stared at the clock on the wall.
10:08 p.m.
"Okay," he whispered to himself. "Okay, go slow. Park by 10:50. Wait. Watch. Don't say her name."
He grabbed his keys, wallet, and slipped out the door.
10:47 p.m. -- Nearing Downtown
The drive was a blur. Streetlights passed like pulses. The city at night looked sharper--edges of things clearer than during the day. He was only blocks away, his mind a storm of arousal and adrenaline.
She'll be standing there. Red wig. Black heels. Looking like she belongs to the night.
He gripped the steering wheel tighter, heat spreading low in his body, breath catching just from the image of her.
So caught in the thought--so completely
inside
the fantasy--that he didn't notice the red light at the intersection.
The flash of headlights.
The siren.
Whoop whoop.
James slammed the brake too late and pulled awkwardly over, heart plummeting.
A police cruiser rolled to a stop beside him. The officer stepped out slowly, tapping the flashlight against his palm.
James lowered the window, already sweating.
"Evening," the officer said. "You missed that light back there."
