It was Sasha, standing on a sun-drenched balcony in what barely counted as a bikini—thin straps, shimring gold, tight in all the wrong places. Her body looked different. More toned. More decorated. The cara angle was deliberate, showing off every curve, every shine, every piercing.
Kristine's stomach turned as she read the comnts flooding in.
"Are those nipple rings?!"
"Zoom in! Oh my god, she has a clit ring!"
"Who is she trying to kill with that bikini?"
But the worst was yet to co.
Across Sasha's hip, tattooed in bold black ink, were the words:
"Owned by Ross. Keep Away."
Kristine stared at it in disbelief.
Her best friend—the Sasha who once cried after a guy ghosted her for being too clingy—now had Ross's na etched into her skin like property. She wasn't just flaunting her body. She was broadcasting her submission to the entire world.
And she was proud of it.
Kristine felt her chest tighten. The online world was going crazy, but all Kristine could think about was how far Sasha had spiraled. From modest and shy… to this?
It wasn't just about Ross anymore. This was sothing deeper. Darker. Obsessive.
She slamd her phone down on the table and pressed her fingers to her temple, heart pounding with anxiety and helpless anger.
"No," she whispered. "I can't just sit here and watch this happen."
That was the mont Kristine made up her mind.
She had to do sothing.
Whatever it took—talking sense into Sasha, confronting Ross, dragging her friend out of this madness—she wasn't going to let Sasha lose herself completely.
Because if she didn't act now, she feared it wouldn't be long before Sasha beca just another beautiful na lost in Ross's collection.
"It should be here sowhere," Kristine muttered as she scrolled through the contacts on her phone. She rembered that night when Ross had crashed her girls' night out with Sasha—bold and uninvited. Sowhere between the laughter and the drinks, he had asked for her number and shared his own.
A few monts later, she found it: Rossa Jerkins. She had saved his na that way on purpose, careful to be subtle. Her husband had been paranoid back then, always suspicious, and she hadn't wanted to raise any unnecessary questions.
Kristine hesitated for a mont, unsure of what to say. Call? Text? She didn't want to co off too forward—but she also needed answers.
In the end, she went with a simple text:
"Hi."
Ding! The reply ca instantly, barely a breath later.
"Wow! This is a surprise. How are you, Kristine?"
She glanced around the room. Her husband was out at NBA practice again, gearing up for the new season. She chewed her lip, thinking it over, then tapped the call button.
Ross answered almost imdiately.
"Kristine? This is unexpected."
She didn't waste ti.
"Are you really serious about Sasha?"
"Of course I am," he said, without hesitation. "I wouldn't be with her if I wasn't."
Kristine's tone grew firr. "But… why do you do those things with her? You're making her look like so kind of—" she paused, unwilling to say it out loud. Slut or whore was in her mind.
Ross's voice remained calm, even amused. "First of all, what Sasha chooses to do with her body is none of your business. And second, she enjoys it. She likes the attention. She loves being the center of it, especially when it's just and her. Honestly?" He chuckled softly. "Your best friend is wild, and I'm not complaining."
Kristine fell silent. She had no coback.
"Just… take care of her," she said quietly. "Don't hurt her."
"I won't," Ross replied, his voice suddenly serious. "She ans a lot to ."
With that, Kristine ended the call. She stared at her screen for a mont before setting the phone aside. Sasha was an adult. She could make her own choices. It wasn't Kristine's place to interfere—especially if Sasha was happy.
And even if she didn't fully understand it… she had to respect that.
The days passed, and Sasha's posts on social dia grew even bolder—wilder, more provocative, unapologetically free. But Kristine no longer paid them much mind. If her best friend was happy, then that was enough. She had decided not to judge, not to worry. Everyone lived their own truth, and Sasha had clearly found hers.
A month later, Kristine received a text.
"Weekend beach trip. You in?"
Sasha, of course.
Kristine didn't hesitate. She needed the break. Her husband was deep in pre-season training, constantly traveling between gas and etings. He wouldn't be joining. That suited her just fine.
The beach was beautiful—sun-drenched by day, serene and windswept by night. And as expected, Sasha was there with Ross. Kristine wasn't surprised anymore.
The two were inseparable, and to Kristine's relief, Ross seed genuinely good for her. The three of them partied, laughed, drank, and soaked up the sun as if they didn't have a care in the world.
By midnight, the music had faded, and the others had retired to their rooms. Kristine, however, remained awake, standing barefoot in the cool sand, the ocean whispering in the distance. The night air was crisp and salty, brushing against her skin like silk.
"Can't sleep?" ca a voice behind her.
She didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Ross.
Kristine smiled faintly, eyes still on the waves. "In a little while. I'm just… happy to see the ocean again. I can't even rember the last ti I had a vacation like this."
She heard footsteps, soft on the sand. Ross ca to stand beside her, his presence calm, unbothered. There was sothing easy about the silence between them—no tension, no awkwardness.
Kristine had grown comfortable around him over ti. Despite her initial suspicions, she had co to see him not as a threat but as soone who truly cared for Sasha.
Still, there was sothing about the night—about the sound of the sea, the faint hum of the wind, the nearness of another body—that made her heartbeat pick up.
She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. He wasn't looking at the water—he was looking at her.
The quiet suddenly felt electric.
The way the moonlight danced on the waves mirrored the flicker of sothing new in the air—sothing unspoken, daring, and just a little dangerous.
Kristine's breath caught.
She wasn't sure what was about to happen.
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