Page 14 of Kentrell

Mars’s voice snapped me back to reality, her words landing like a brick in the middle of the elevator.

“What?” I blinked.

“I just need to knowhowinnocent your virginity really is,” she said, smirking. “Like, does it end at penetration? Or are you out here flickin’ the bean and still claiming sainthood?”

The heat in my cheeks crept fast, made worse by the amused, expectant stares of Ayesha and Stacia.

This was the kind of interrogation onlymyfriends would conduct—in public, no less.

And yet… a part of me wanted to answer.

Not to prove anything.

But because deep down, I was starting to wonder if I was ready tofeelsomething. To let go. Just once.

Just as I was about to unleash a proper tirade on Mars, the elevatordingedand the doors parted like divine intervention. I couldn’t have been more relieved.

My friends erupted into laughter, latching onto my arms like we were still teenagers strutting through the halls of our high school.

“Mmm, saved by the bell,” Ayesha whispered conspiratorially, making me roll my eyes so hard it should’ve counted as cardio.

Our heels clicked rhythmically against the sleek, epoxy-coated floor. It reminded me of those younger days—uniforms swapped out for dresses and power suits, but still the same girls. Still a force to be reckoned with.

When I was with them, I felt seen. Heard. Whole.

We were a whirlwind of laughter and energy—just girls being girls, with no need to shrink ourselves.

“Oh, Stacia, I meant to ask,” Mars said suddenly, bouncing her chest as we passed through the boutique’s glass doors. “When did Freja have them twins? Becausethatbitch could barely exhale without bustin’ the seams on her dress.”

The image shot through my mind like a movie still, and I snorted before I could stop myself.

Freja Jenseng.

Intern at Stacia’s startup,technically. Real-life headache,undeniably.

She had Mars’s appetite with none of the finesse—flirting and sleeping her way across departments like a wind-up doll with no off switch.

Say what you want about Mars, but she had standards. Freja was chaos with a name tag.

“Girl,don’teven get me started on that bitch,” Stacia rasped, the irritation thick in her voice. “If Nordic Forge wasn’t the tech giant Idesperatelyneed in my corner, I’d send her and her P-shaped mattress packin’.”

We all laughed.

“But $1.5 million ain’t pocket change,” she continued, adjusting the strap on her purse. “And keeping Viktor Jenseng happy looks a lot better on paper than crossing him.”

“Ooh, I don’t envy youat all,” Ayesha groaned, shaking her head.

I nodded in agreement. It’s one thing to be sexually liberated—do you—but dragging other people into your mess? Especially at work?

No thank you.

I’m not usually the crass one in the group, but I’ve always embraced the wisdom ofnot shitting where you eat.

“Oh, Ilovethis!” Ayesha suddenly detached from my arm and glided toward a display, her fingers grazing a pair of cargo pants like they were made of gold thread.

“Didn’t I tell you?” Stacia chimed, unlinking from me to join her. “Kensei really knows how to throw some shit together, don’t he?”

She lifted a shirt from the rack and held it up to her neck, turning to gauge our reactions.

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