No Longer Your Secret Guest
Language: en
To Brooks Harrison, I was a temporary fixture. A guest who was never meant to stay. Every time I visited his penthouse, I was required to live a "disposable" life. I wore paper-thin hotel slippers; I ate with plastic cutlery; even when I stayed the night, he would produce a set of sealed, single-use travel sheets and spread them over the bed with clinical precision. "It’s just to be safe, Sera," he’d whisper, his voice a smooth, practiced caress. "If someone—a neighbor, a maid, my mother—sees your things here, I won’t be able to explain it. Not yet." For three years, I lived on the promise…