The red tally lights on the cameras flickered to life, and the room fell into a heavy, professional silence.
I was slumped on the designer velvet sofa in the living room, my phone in one hand and my other hand working rhythmically beneath my loose joggers. Per the script, I kept my expression flat—a mask of numbing boredom.
I stared at the screen of my phone, but my eyes were vacant, showing the audience that this digital substitute was no longer enough to satisfy the hunger building inside me.
Finally, I let out a frustrated huff, tucked myself back in, and stood up. I began the slow, predatory walk toward the master suite, the cameramen trailing me like shadows, their gimbals smoothing out every step.
The bedroom was a masterpiece of "Old Money" seduction. It featured deep mahogany furniture, heavy cream-colored drapes that swallowed the morning sun, and a massive king-sized bed draped in charcoal silk.
