Page 78 of Hot Lap
I step back and assess what I see.
Yeah, I’m about to go off, Reece Pritchard. I’m gonna blow your world sky fucking high.
I set up my phone, check the lighting, and pose.
I’m not draped or passive or hiding.
I’m standing front and center, in control and giving total female dominance vibes.
The blush roses are in the frame, but they’re not decorations. They’re mine to destroy, just like his heart.
Every shot is deliberate. Legs angled wide. Chin tipped up. Gaze locked on the lens.
C’mon, world, say anotherfuckingword about me.
They want to paint me as the stripper wife, the gold digger, the cheap money-grubbing whore?
Fine.
I’ll show them what a goddamn powerful womanreallylooks like.
If this ends tonight, I’m going out like a nuclear bomb, not like a pissy little bang-snap.
Fuck. That. Shit.
I upload the picture with a caption:
@MaiLanRouge:Am I a wife or just a distraction? Don’t crash while you figure it out, plonkers.#RP11 #MaiLanRouge #ThisIsBurlesqueBaby #CherryBomb
“Read it and weep, media whores.”
Just as I hit that SHARE button, a knock comes at my door.
I freeze, still in corset, stockings, stilettos — makeup sharp enough to make a man get on his knees and confess.
Fuck.
I cross the room, heart thudding like a war drum behind my ribs. I look through the peephole and, yeah, it’s Reece.
Okay, then.
I open the door.
He stands there, head bent, staring at his phone.
I watch it hit him in real time — the image, the caption, the unmistakable implication.
He blinks, lowers the phone, and looks at me.
For a second, neither of us says a word.
I’m in full Mai-Lan Rouge warpaint, and he’s just realized I posted a tactical nuke while wearing garters and five inches of vengeance.
And you know what? I’m not apologizing for who I am, what I’ve done, or how I live my life. This is what he married. Either he accepts me — all of me — or this is over.
“Your move, RP.” I turn and strut back into the room, leaving the door open.
He follows me inside without hesitation, shutting it behind him, and I put a mental checkmark in his plus column.
