The urgent vibration of my phone jolts me awake. I quickly silence it, careful not to disturb Snow Ma’s slumber. It's 4:30 a.m.—an alarm I set before approaching her.

  Beside me, she sleeps soundly, the exhaustion from six orgasms evident. I wonder if anyone has ever dared to tell her about her snoring. It's not loud, but I find it unseemly—another flaw in the armor of the woman I tried hard to like.

  Snow exudes an air of superiority—not intentional, but ingrained. She believes she can change my fate with a snap of her fingers. Perhaps she can. After all, it was her father's company, Antz Financial, that lured me into this mess. Their easy loans became a dangerous habit until the ruthless debt collectors came knocking.

  I was na?ve about the 36% interest rate until it was too late. These collectors, unaffiliated with Antz Financial yet clearly representing them, relentlessly harassed everyone I cared about, telling them what an irresponsible online gambler I was.

  My parents were crushed, my college threatened expulsion. In that suffocating darkness, only Moana offered solace. Oh, Moana! Her compassion and gentleness, far more alluring than conventional beauty, wrapped around my wounded spirit like a warm embrace. She wasn't even my girlfriend then, yet she selflessly borrowed money to help me fight the suffocating interest. Her kindness ignited a flame of gratitude and love in my heart that burns ever since. I knew then, in that moment of desperation, that I had found someone truly special.

  A subtle shift in the bed draws my attention to Snow. I freeze, holding my breath. Her legs twitch, then stillness returns, punctuated by the familiar rhythm of her snores.

  The sex wasn't unpleasant, though I tried to conjure Moana's image throughout. Their names even echo each other. But with my eyes closed, the differences were stark. Moana, taller, natural, always giving and eager to please. Snow, constantly demanding and taking.

  She's not my type, yet guilt rises inside me, gaining claws and teeth. I don't understand why I was sent to her, but it can't be mere entertainment. The woman who orchestrated this, she's powerful. It's the first thought that strikes me whenever I recall her.

  I never learned her name, never truly saw her face. But I felt her power. It radiated from her wicked smile, her crimson lips, her long, red-nailed fingers. Just a woman, yet she terrifies me. Moana borrowed money from her, and she's clearly more dangerous than any debt collector.

  I carefully get off the bed, reluctant to leave the amazing smoothness of the sheet and cover. That's the life of rich people, every detail is luxurious.

  Everything is so perfectly designed. Like the night lights, they give enough visibility to move around, yet have a calming and sleep inducing effect.

  I entered the walk-in closet. It feels as big as my entire dorm room. The vanity is massive, with three mirrors set at different angles. All kinds of makeup tools are neatly laid out. They were definitely not organised by her. She does not seem like someone who has that kind of patience. I do not see any hairbrushes, so I open a drawer. Inside lie three different types of combs. Unfortunately, there is not a single hair on any of them.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The closet is connected to the bathroom. I turn on the bathroom light. Through the floor-to-ceiling window, I can see Snow is still in her deep sleep. Those intense orgasms have her completely spent.

  After a few minutes of fiddling, I finally figure out how to open the shower drain cover. There it is—a strand of hair clinging to the underside, matching Snow's color. I can only pray it's hers. The drain is surprisingly clean, sparkling even on the inside. They probably clean it daily. Well, this is the best I can do, anyway.

  I sneak out to the expansive foyer, the lights are still on, my shirt and pants are scattered near the door. I slip into my clothes. Then walk up to the panoramic window.

  I scan the street, can't find anyone paying particular interest to me at all.

  I open one of the big windows. This is the signal. The wind swooshes in. At this height, the early summer night draft feels chilly. I can't see anyone looking at me, but I am sure the red-lipped woman is observing somehow.

  Suddenly, a feeling of foreboding washes over me. What does that woman want? Create a scandal? Blackmailing?

  There’s no good lingering on that thought. I made my decision the moment I sat on the stool next to that heiress. There’s no going back now. The die is cast. All that matters is riding this through to the end, where the promise of repaying all our debt awaits. And with it, freedom, love, happiness, and a prosperous future made together with Moana. That’s enough to keep me going.

  Who cares if this hurts the spoiled rich girl a little bit. Her dad has enough money to rescue her out of any trouble.

  I sneak out of the door. A woman immediately embraces me. I don't have to look to know it's Moana. Her warm, slender body feels soft in my arms.

  It's a delightful surprise, yet also a little awkward. Your girlfriend watching you sneaking out of your one-night stand—that's an embarrassment hard to shake.

  “I am sorry,” I blurt out.

  “Don't be.” She looks into my eyes. “I know you are doing this for me.”

  That's Moana. She got into debt because of me, yet she wants me to feel like a hero. Who wouldn't love such a wonderful woman?

  “Are we done? Are they going to hold their end of the bargain?” I ask.

  She gives me a reassuring smile. “I'm sure they will.” Then she takes my hand, connects her fingers with mine. “Come with me. They are waiting for us on the roof.”

  She brings me towards the staircases, trying to push open the fire exit door. It's too heavy for her, so I reach past her to help.

  She can't wait to run up the stairs. The thought of relief from debt must be burning inside her as well. Pushing open the roof access door, I immediately see that powerful woman in the first light of sunrise.

  She looms at a distance from me, yet I can immediately feel her presence. She isn't even facing me. She stands statuesque near the edge, looking at the panoramic view of the city beneath. A tall, cropped-haired Black woman stands next to her, looking at me.

  I walk over to them and say in a steady voice. “All done! Is Moana’s debt forgiven? When would my debt be paid off?”

  Only then does the woman turn around. There it is again, that evil smile, those red lips, and that deep cleavage.

  “Do you have her hair?” She asks.

  “Yes.” I walk a few steps closer, reaching out my hands with that strand of hair I found under the sink.

  She doesn't move, so I'm forced to take another step closer, extending my hand further. I can almost feel the warmth radiating from her body, my hand inches away from her breast. I fight the urge to look down at her perky cleavage.

  Finally, she languidly reaches out her hand. Her motion is slow and graceful, almost teasing. Just as her fingers are about to brush mine, her movement abruptly changes. I feel a firm grip on my wrist, and I'm yanked towards her. I stumble forward, losing my balance. Before I can react, a sharp kick to my abdomen sends me flying over the railing.

  A scream tears from my throat, "Help!" The city spins below me, a dizzying kaleidoscope. I close my eyes, bracing for the impact. In these final moments, faces flash before me: my dad's disappointed frown, my mom's tearful eyes, even the stern visage of my middle school teacher. And finally, Moana's face, her innocent, vulnerable gaze fixed on me. Then, the sickening crunch of my skull against concrete.