Morgan's point of view
I sit in my office looking at my computer screen as the phone in my hand rings. Amber Silver picks up on the other line.
"Morgan?" Her voice carries that familiar nervous edge.
"Did you get my email?" I keep my tone light and professional.
Amber hesitates before answering. "Yeah."
"You'll insert those questions, yes?" I tap my manicured fingernail against my desk, a steady rhythm that helps me maintain my composure.
"These are really over the line," Amber sighs, the sound of papers shuffling in the background.
I laugh softly. "Nonsense. Aren't you known as a brash and bratty podcaster with a chip on her shoulder?"
"Attacking Lana Lust will get me so much hate, though." The fear in her voice is palpable, delicious.
"Maybe," I concede, examining my perfect crimson nails. "Or maybe you'll bring the golden girl down a peg or two."
Amber pauses, and I can practically see her weighing her options, calculating risks versus rewards. "Alright, alright, I'll ask some of these."
"Thank you, Amber." I hang up without waiting for her response.
I set the phone down gently on my desk, leaning back in my leather chair. "Poor Adam," I whisper to the empty room, a smile playing at the corners of my lips. "I wonder how he'll take all this."
I turn to my computer, opening the chat window where Adam, my sweet, oblivious Adam, has been confiding in his online friend "Redheadloverx" for the past two months. His message from a few seconds ago sits at the bottom of our conversation:
Smolblunts: My sister can be such a bitch sometimes.
—
Adam's point of view
I slam the car door harder than necessary as I get out. My hands are shaking, actually shaking, from the confrontation with Sarah. The worst part is how her words keep echoing in my head, each one finding its mark with devastating precision.
I walk into Lana's house full of anger.
"Fuck!" I yell as I slump into my couch. My phone buzzes in my pocket. Probably Sarah, calling to apologize or, more likely, to continue lecturing me. I pull out and see my discord buddy responded.
Redheadloverx: What happened with your sister, man?
I start typing furiously, the words pouring out:
Smolblunts: She basically called me a pathetic loser for living off bae's money. Said I was afraid to ask her to quit porn because deep down I know she'd choose her career over me.
Redheadloverx: Why don't you just ask her to quit then?
I stare at the message, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. The suggestion hits too close to home, echoing Sarah's words from minutes ago, but at least Red's words aren't coming from a place of anger. My chest tightens as I type my response:
Smolblunts: What if she says no? What if she breaks up with me? Or worse, what if she actually quits, and then we end up completely broke, and she hates me for ruining her career? I'd never forgive myself.
I hit send, feeling sick to my stomach. It's the first time I've admitted these fears to anyone, even anonymously online. The weight of it sits heavy in my chest as I wait for Red's response.
Redheadloverx: So you'd rather be miserable forever than risk being alone? That's pretty sad, bro.
Smolblunts: Am I really miserable, though?
Smolblunts: Everyone keeps telling me how I feel.
I stare at the screen, waiting for Red's response. It comes faster than I expected.
Redheadloverx: You just admitted what your fears are though. Fear of her leaving, fear of her resenting you, fear of being broke. Those aren't the thoughts of a happy man.
Smolblunts: Then why do I like jerking off to all that porn then? If I'm so miserable, why does watching her with other guys get me so hard?
I hit send, feeling a strange mix of defiance and shame.
The three dots appear, disappear, then appear again as Red crafts his response.
Redheadloverx: That's just a coping mechanism, man. Your brain is trying to process the betrayal by turning it into something that gives you pleasure instead of pain. Classic psychological defense.
I stare at those words, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Something clicks into place in my mind from when I was talking to Morgan.
Smolblunts: I think it's actually more about control. Like, if I'm the one choosing to watch it, I'm not a victim.
Redheadloverx: It is about control. When you watch those videos, you're taking back power in a situation where you feel powerless. You're saying, 'This hurts me, but I decide how it hurts me.' But, bro, that's still just a bandaid on a bullet wound, and it's a really unhealthy fetish to have.
I stare at the screen. Red's words seem almost like their written on my heart.
"Shit, the podcast," I mutter, glancing at the time.
Lana's interview with Amber Silver starts in two minutes. Despite the storm raging inside me, I can't miss this. She was so nervous this morning, and I want to support her no matter what. I quickly type a message to Red.
Smolblunts: Hey man, I have to go. Something came up.
I wait for his response, watching those three dots pulse.
Redheadloverx: No worries. Just remember, everything I'm saying is because I care. This is all coming from a place of love, man.
Something warm blooms in my chest, cutting through the tangle of emotions from my fight with Sarah. It's strange how this anonymous person I've never met feels more supportive than my own sister right now despite saying similar things.
Smolblunts: I know. Thanks, man.
I set my phone aside and pull my laptop onto my thighs, the familiar weight somehow comforting against the storm of emotions inside me. A few clicks and I'm navigating to YouTube, where Amber Silver's podcast channel is already streaming live. The comment section is flooding with hearts and flame emojis.
When Lana appears on screen, my breath catches in my throat. She's dressed for her brand, a tight red tube top that barely contains her, and a blue mini-skirt that would get her thrown out of most restaurants.
"Welcome back to Raw Dawg Talk with Amber Silver," the host purrs into her microphone. "Today we're joined by adult entertainment superstar Lana Lust, who's been making waves with her latest scenes."
Lana smiles that camera-ready smile, crossing her legs with practiced grace. "Thanks for having me, Amber. I'm so excited to be here."
Her voice is different too, higher, breathier, that makes my dick twitch. It's her work voice. Her Lana Lust voice.
I watch as Amber and Lana ease into their conversation, discussing industry gossip and upcoming projects. Lana laughs at Amber's jokes, even the ones that aren't particularly funny. It's all surface-level, favorite foods, embarrassing on-set stories, fashion mishaps. Nothing of substance, just the kind of light banter that keeps viewers engaged without revealing anything truly personal.
I find myself relaxing despite my earlier tension with Sarah. Lana is handling this perfectly, maintaining her professional persona while still being personable. Her laugh tinkles through my speakers, that special one she uses when she's trying to be charming but not entirely comfortable.
After about an hour of this back-and-forth, there's a subtle shift in Amber's posture. She leans forward slightly, her silver hair catching the studio lights as she cocks her head.
"So, I've been dying to ask," Amber says, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "Word around the sets is that Lana Lust has a boyfriend these days. Care to comment?"
My heart jumps into my throat. This is it, the moment Lana warned me about.
Lana's entire demeanor transforms instantly. The camera-ready smile melts into something much more genuine, her eyes crinkling at the corners in that way they only do when she's truly happy. She actually blushes, a soft pink glow spreading across her cheeks.
"Yeah, I actually came on here partly to announce that. I'm madly in love, and I truly feel like the luckiest woman in the world to have him."
The sincerity in her words makes my chest tighten. Despite everything, Sarah's accusations, my own doubts, the complications of our relationship, Lana is proudly declaring her love for me to her entire fanbase.
Amber raises an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by this unexpected display of genuine emotion. "Well, don't keep us in suspense! What's the lucky man's name?"
Lana's smile turns slightly more guarded, though no less warm. "You know how it is," she says with a small shake of her head. "I don't want him to be pestered, you know? He's not part of the industry, and I want to protect his privacy."
Amber nods, though there's disappointment evident in her expression. "Of course, of course. Privacy is important." She pauses, then adds with a sly smile, "But you can't blame a girl for trying. So, how did you two meet? College? Dating app? Industry party?"
Lana shifts in her seat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I can't really say without revealing too much about him."
Amber glances down at her phone, her expression changing subtly as she scrolls. The casual movement seems rehearsed, too convenient. She looks back up with a predatory gleam in her eyes.
"Didn't you just have a breakup six months ago with your long-term boy toy, Leo Rose?"
My heart stops. Leo Rose? Six months ago? We started dating almost exactly six months ago. Did she go straight from one relationship to another? Was there overlap? We've never discussed our exes, not once, so I wouldn't know.
Lana's smile falters, her posture stiffening. "Well, yeah," she admits, looking uncomfortable for the first time since the interview began. "Leo and I just weren't a good match."
Amber leans forward, her silver hair catching the studio lights. "You've done a scene with him since you broke up, right?"
"Uhh, yeah," Lana says, shifting again in her seat. The camera catches a flash of panic in her eyes before her professional mask slides back into place.
"Was that a hard conversation with your boyfriend?" Amber presses, her voice dripping with faux concern.
My stomach drops through the floor. Lana never told me she fucked her ex-boyfriend since we've been together. The room spins around me, and I grab the edge of the coffee table to steady myself. I don't know how to take this.
"It's all professional," Lana says, her voice tight but controlled. "My boyfriend understands that what I do is work."
She never told me that one of her costars was an Ex, though.
"But sex with an ex is different, isn't it?" Amber pushes, clearly enjoying Lana's discomfort. "There's history there. Feelings."
"Not really," Lana says, but her smile is strained now. "When you've been in the industry as long as I have, you learn to separate the two completely."
Amber's lips curl into a predatory smile. "But isn't that hard? I mean, weren't you together with Leo for three years?"
The words hit me like a 50-caliber bullet.
"What the fuck?" I whisper, my voice cracking. "I only dated Lana for two years."
On-screen, Lana's professional mask slips completely. Her face drains of color, and for a moment, she looks like she might be sick. Her eyes dart around wildly as if searching for an escape route.
"Look, Amber," she finally says, her voice steadier than her expression, "if I'm being honest, I've never been more in love in my entire life."
She leans forward, ignoring Amber's smug expression. "What I had with Leo wasn't like this. What I have now is real. Pure. It's everything."
The damage is done. Three years. Three fucking years with this Leo guy, and I never knew. Our entire relationship history, my understanding of our past, crumbles like sand.
"But Leo broke up with you, right?" Amber asks, her voice dripping with false sympathy. "That's what everyone in the industry said."
Lana's face contorts in anger. "Yes, but…"
I slam my laptop shut, unable to stomach another word. The sudden silence in the room is deafening, punctuated only by my ragged breathing. My hands are trembling so badly that I can barely set the computer aside without dropping it.
"Am I a fucking rebound," I whisper to the empty living room. "Is that all I am to her?"
Three years with Leo. Three years with her ex, and only two with me before we broke up so i could go college. And he dumped her, not the other way around. And then they fucked while we're together. Everything I thought I knew about our reunion, about her feelings for me, suddenly feels like a carefully constructed lie.
The walls of our home, her home, seem to close in around me. How many times has she been with him while we've been together? How many videos have I unknowingly jerked off to where she's fucking the man she really wants?
"I can't do this," I mutter, grabbing my keys from the coffee table with shaking hands. "I need to get out of here."
I don't bother leaving a note. What would I even say? 'I'm going to get a drink to celebrate being your second choice.'