by Stella Gray
My body was languid with pleasure and my heart was full. I shifted onto my side.
“I…I love you,” I whispered, the words slipping from me before I could second guess them. He’d asked for all of me. This was part of it.
An emotion I couldn’t identify seemed to flash across his face. I hadn’t expected a response, but without warning, he turned to pin me on my back. His skin was hot, his weight heavy and perfect against me. I slid my hands down his back, relishing the way his body enveloped me. Our eyes met. I let myself drown in that intense green, and then he kissed me. Taking his time, long and slow.
He hadn’t said the words—but it felt like his kiss had said everything.
Tori
Chapter 29
I had always imagined that sex could bond two people, but I never realized it could feel like a drug. I spent the next few days on cloud nine, slowly coming down from the emotional ecstasy I’d felt in bed with Stefan the night of my ruined dinner. Things between us had never been better. We had dinner together almost every night, and he was beginning to open up to me—talking more and more about work and his day, or what he’d seen on the news—and at night we would burn up the sheets together. Sometimes I came home from school and he was tearing my clothes off before I’d even put my bags down, dragging me off for the same kind of hot, intense fucking as in the early days of our relationship. But other times it was sweet, so slow and satisfying that it made my heart ache.
I was completely, head-over-heels in love with my husband, and I was convinced that he felt the same way—or at least, was starting to. The thought made me so happy. This wouldn’t just be an arranged marriage that we were both anxious to get through. It would be a love match. The kind of marriage I’d always dreamed of having. The kind I’d secretly hoped for.
That morning I got a call from my father, who was making a last-minute trip to Chicago. It was the first time I’d seen him since helping him with his recovery over the summer.
“I’m going to be in town taking care of some business at my Chicago office. Does my favorite daughter have time to meet up for lunch?”
I laughed at his lame dad joke. “She might. Depends on where we’re going.”
“Playing hard ball, eh? I’ve taught you well. I’m thinking Russell’s on Bellevue.”
“In that case, I think she can pencil you in,” I teased. “Meet you around one, one-thirty?”
“Perfect. See you soon.”
We met at his favorite place, an upscale steakhouse with an old-world, Prohibition-era vibe and a view of Lake Michigan that was unparalleled.
I felt my anxiety kicking in as the hostess led me toward the plush leather booth where my father was sitting. It was the first time I’d seen my father since the night Stefan and I had consummated our relationship, and I couldn’t believe how much had changed since then.
As my father stood to greet me with a kiss on the cheek, I noticed how good he looked—a lot healthier than when I’d seen him last. A little thin still, but the color was back in his cheeks. It seemed his old appetite had returned as well.
“Does Michelle know you’re eating steak and drinking whiskey again?” I asked him after he’d ordered his usual.
“No,” he said. “And you’re not going to tell her. Or my doctor. It’s been nothing but plain oatmeal, boiled chicken, and broccoli for weeks. I can’t even use salt! You know what she brought me for dessert last night? A quarter cup of raw almonds.” He shuddered melodramatically.
“She’s a monster,” I agreed, stifling a smirk.
“You don’t need to tell me that,” he said, but when his food arrived, I noticed that he pushed half of it to the far side of the plate.
I’d dressed to emphasize that I was a professional now, that I wasn’t a little girl anymore. I was wearing a neutral sheath dress and a matching jacket that would have impressed even Michelle, my ears glinting with modest diamond studs. My hair was pulled back in a simple twist and even my makeup was subdued.
I had hoped my father would comment on my appearance in some way; say that he’d noticed my effort, or that I looked more grown up. But if he realized that I looked different, that I was carrying myself differently, he certainly hadn’t said anything.
A lot had changed for me, even if it wasn’t visible on the outside. I wondered what my father would say if I told him how I felt about Stefan. He’d probably think I was being naïve.
He’d always seemed to think that of me, just because I was curious by nature and tried to approach things with an open heart. But I was an adult now, making my own decisions, doing the work involved in building a mature, committed relationship, while also pursuing my education. My father had no say over my life anymore. My chest felt lighter just thinking about it.
I loved my father, but knowing that my life was mine alone made our lunch even more enjoyable. I didn’t worry about impressing him or pleasing him or saying the wrong thing.
“How’s school?” my father asked halfway through our meal.
“So amazing,” I said. “The program is a challenge, but I expected that. Just been hitting the books extra hard and camping out in the library. But I really love it. My psycholinguistics professor said—”
“I’m glad you’re having fun, Tori, but you need to make sure to prioritize your marriage,” he told me, stabbing his baked potato with his fork. “I can only imagine what Stefan’s going through with you gone all the time. I hope you two have help around the place. A man needs a clean house and a hot meal to come home to at night.”
My annoyance flared, and I silently reminded myself that my father came from a different generation.
I shrugged, forcing a casual tone. “He’s so busy at the office, he’s hardly ever around anyway. To be honest, I think it’s actually a good thing that we’re both working so hard.”
My father let out an amused chuckle. “Oh, you think so? You have no idea what it’s like to be in his shoes, having to listen to his wife babbling relentlessly about her own concerns after putting in ten, twelve hours on the job. Take it from me, it gets exhausting.”
“Stefan doesn’t seem to mind when I talk about school,” I said. In fact, he seemed to enjoy it when I got so excited I couldn’t stop myself from rattling on and on…probably because it meant I wasn’t asking him a lot of questions. And frankly, he seemed much more at ease when I was guiding the conversation instead of trying to persuade him to tell me about his work.
“He’s humoring you, I’m sure. You need to give him a chance to talk. It’s important that you keep the man happy,” my father reminded me.
“I’m aware,” I responded with a tight smile, though when it came to keeping Stefan happy, the last thing I needed was my father’s advice. I was figuring things out on my own.
“How’s the campaign effort going?” I asked, changing the subject. “I’m excited to see your ads on TV soon.”
He warmed up the second I brought up his reelection campaign, so we spent the rest of our lunch talking about how that was going. He seemed in high spirits, which made me happy.
While we were waiting for the check, I got a text from Emzee, who was also in Chicago for the week to shoot some brand new talent for KZM.
Editing photos this afternoon—wanna come see? I also have some of you and Stefan from NY that I had printed up. They’re kinda genius, if I do say so myself ;)
I had been so focused on the fashion show, and Konstantin’s perplexing behavior with the models, that I barely remembered Emzee taking pictures that night. But I was intrigued. The only photos I had of us together were from the wedding, and although they were beautifully composed, they were so overly formal and posed that I hadn’t wanted to hang any up in the apartment. But these would be candid. Maybe I’d find some that would look good on our walls.
I’d love to see them. You’re amazing, I texted back.
She replied, I’m in the Loop all afternoon. Come over whenever!
So she was at the KZM offices…where St
efan had explicitly told me not to go. I chewed on my bottom lip as I tried to decide what to do. The last time I’d visited, I’d run into that sad, pregnant model with the red hair, and Stefan had been furious. It wasn’t a place I particularly wanted to go back to.
On the other hand, I knew Stefan was at meetings all day and probably wouldn’t even be at the office if I went. Surely there was no problem in just popping in to see some of the photographs Emzee had brought. Besides, Stefan had told me not to go to the KZM offices without being invited—and Emzee had just invited me. If I’d been officially and permanently banned, she would have been informed.
Finishing up lunch date with my dad, I texted her. Should be over within the hour.
Emzee sent me a thumbs up in response.
I hugged my father outside, promised to visit him soon, and hopped in an Uber to the Loop. I loved him as much as ever, but after I’d gotten married the distance between us had grown. Now I felt like a new person, and I wasn’t so affected by the things he said. It wasn’t that I didn’t need him anymore, just that I needed him for different things. Marriage advice clearly wasn’t one of them.
When I got to the KZ Modeling offices, I was told that Emzee had called down to put my name on a list and that security was expecting me—another good sign. My anxiety about visiting the building finally drained away.
The receptionist up on the twenty-ninth floor waved me away from the sign-in sheet on the clipboard and let me know that Emzee was photo editing in one of the executive suites a few floors up. I’d seen so little of the building that even though I tried to follow her directions, I found myself lost in the winding maze of hallways.
The floor itself was a puzzle, especially since it wasn’t laid out the same way as the level where Stefan’s office was. It was also mostly empty, and with everything so blank and grey, it was impossible to keep my bearings. Had I already passed that potted palm? Was that the same corner office I’d seen before? The doors weren’t even numbered up here.
I realized I was getting nowhere. But when I pulled out my phone to text Emzee and ask her to rescue me, I saw that my phone had no service. Great. I’d apparently wandered into the building’s Bermuda Triangle. My best bet was probably just to go back to the receptionist on KZM’s main floor and ask for directions again—this time I’d write them down.
That’s when I heard voices. Harsh, angry voices, sounding muffled behind a door.
I headed toward the sound, my steps barely a whisper against the thick carpeting, hoping I’d find someone who could give me directions. But as I was about to turn the corner, I finally realized who I was overhearing.
It was Konstantin and Luka.
I stopped in my tracks, ducking back around the corner. If they saw me, they’d definitely tell Stefan I’d been sneaking around. I was worried for a moment that my husband might actually be in there with them, but it became clear as I listened that it was just the two of them.
I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but they were so close, with the door cracked open by the sound of it, and talking pretty loudly. Clearly, they thought they were alone.
I told myself to leave, but I was too worried about getting caught, my feet frozen to the floor. Stefan might blow up if he knew I had come here, and it would undo all the good things that had been blossoming between us. I didn’t want to lose that.
This had been a mistake. I needed to get out.
Careful to walk lightly so my steps wouldn’t be heard, I began backing away from the office where Konstantin and Luka were talking. I was making progress when their conversation finally registered with me and I froze again, not sure that I was hearing them correctly.
“And you need to keep your greedy little hands off the KZM girls,” Konstantin was scolding Luka. “They’re not for you to play with.”
“They clearly don’t have a problem with it,” Luka shot back.
I was shocked. Not that Luka had been screwing around with the KZ models; that was pretty obvious and not surprising at all. What was shocking was that Konstantin didn’t approve. I’d seen the way the family patriarch looked at women—all women, not just the models—and he didn’t seem like the type to care who they ran around with. In fact, I almost expected him to encourage his son to sleep with them as a sign of masculine virility.
I felt a twinge of respect for Konstantin.
One that immediately disappeared when he kept talking.
“Your actions are impacting our bottom line. You’re distracting them from their work.”
“It’s harmless,” Luka scoffed. “They have fun, I have fun. They know the rules.”
“They might, but you don’t,” Konstantin said, his voice rising with impatience.
“What’s the point of having beautiful women around if I can’t get a piece of the action? There’s plenty to go around. They’re practically falling from the sky,” Luka whined.
“You can have any woman you want in Chicago,” Konstantin said, unmoved. “Wet your wick somewhere else.”
Luka let out a sigh of frustration and Konstantin continued lecturing him.
“Our investors don’t like getting your sloppy seconds,” Konstantin went on, disgust obvious in his voice. “You need to keep your pants on around the merchandise.”
Merchandise?
I got a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It wasn’t just the way Konstantin was talking about the models, as if they were merely property, it was the way he had treated them on the night of the fashion show. The way he had spent the whole evening introducing beautiful young women to older men. Older men that looked as wealthy as Konstantin. And just as careless in the way they handled the women, in the way they dragged them out the door.
An awful thought crossed my mind.
Konstantin had called the models ‘merchandise.’ Surely he didn’t actually mean…
“It’s not my fault that they’d rather sleep with me than the men you introduce them to,” Luka said.
“You think they like you? My son is an imbecile.” There was a large slamming sound, as if Konstantin had dropped a heavy fist onto a table. “If you want to sleep with our models, you need to do what our other clients do,” Konstantin said. “And pay for the pleasure of their time.”
My blood ran cold.
“What?” Luka asked, the shock in his voice echoing the shock I felt.
I felt so naïve. So stupid. How had I not seen it? Not put the pieces together?
“Don’t play the fool, boy.” Konstantin’s voice was vicious, full of contempt. “It’s time you learned where our money really comes from. Those girls are our livelihood.”
It made sense all of a sudden, the realization slamming into me like a car wreck. The introductions after the fashion show. The distant models who didn’t want to talk to me. The crying redhead and her obvious disgust at leaving with the older man.
KZ Modeling wasn’t just a modeling agency. It was a prostitution ring.
“They’re models,” Luka said weakly.
His father laughed. “And they’re consummate professionals. But we both know they’re not earning their keep on the runway—they earn it on their backs. Unless they want to hand over their work visas.”
I didn’t even wait for Luka to respond. I pressed my hand to my mouth, and then I ran. I didn’t look back.
Tori
Chapter 30
I barely remembered stumbling back through the maze of the office layout, or passing the security desk, or even walking out of the building. I was halfway down the block when I realized I was outside, the cold November air finally shocking some reality back into me.
I didn’t want to believe what I had heard. That the renowned and highly respected KZ Modeling—Stefan’s family business, the one he’d given up everything in order to take over someday—was a front for sex trafficking. And since most of the young women that the company employed were from other countries, that meant it wasn’t just local; it had international ties. Who knew how far the network reache
d? How many women’s lives had been destroyed?
I felt sick, but I forced myself to keep it together and hailed a cab.
“Where you going?” the driver asked as I got in and slammed the door.
I was reeling. I needed to talk to my husband. But Stefan was in meetings all day, and I knew he wouldn’t answer his phone. And how could I explain this? Would he even believe me when I told him about what his father was doing, all the dirty dealings KZM was up to behind the scenes? His agency was about to implode. His whole world was going to collapse.
I didn’t know what to do.
“Excuse me? You have an address?” the driver prodded.
“Yes, sorry, hang on.” I needed to come up with a plan.
I told the driver to take me to my father’s office there in town. As we wove our way through the traffic in downtown Chicago, I texted Emzee with shaking hands. I told her I had to cancel my KZM visit and gave an apologetic excuse about my lunch not agreeing with me, promising we’d raincheck soon. Afterward, I texted Stefan just in case he checked his phone.
Something bad has happened, I said. If you get this, I’m at my father’s office. I tapped out the address and hit send. Then I tried to make sense of everything I’d just heard.
For blocks I just stared out the window, hardly registering which streets we were turning onto, attempting to think straight. But every time I thought I had myself under control and ready to explain everything to my father in clear, simple words, I remembered Konstantin’s words.
“You need to keep your pants on around the merchandise.”
“If you want to sleep with our models, you need to do what our other clients do, and pay...”
“It’s time you learned where our money really comes from. Those girls are our livelihood.”
“They’re not earning their keep on the runway—they earn it on their backs.”
Every word I recalled sent a shiver of revulsion and disbelief down my spine. Konstantin was despicable. He needed to be stopped.
