Nobodys pov
Beyoncé sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the pile of bills strewn across her kitchen table. The afternoon sun filtered weakly through the blinds, casting faint lines of light over the papers like prison bars. Her once cozy apartment, with its plush furniture and warm colors, now felt like a cage. The world was closing in on her.
The eviction notice was on top of the pile, a bold reminder of what was waiting for her if she didn't find the money—two weeks. Two weeks to come up with a miracle, or she'd be out on the streets. The landlord had been impatient before, but now he was actively circling like a vulture. She could almost feel his eyes watching her, waiting for her to slip just far enough so he could swoop in.
Beyoncé swallowed hard. The world she knew, the world she'd built for herself with sweat and late nights, was crumbling. Losing her job had been the first blow, but it wasn't the last. Every day brought a new reminder of how precarious her situation had become. The fridge hummed softly in the background, mostly empty save for a few half-forgotten leftovers.
I can't let it end like this. There has to be a way out.
She ran her fingers through her hair, the frustration and fear tightening her chest. Her phone buzzed on the table, and she glanced at it. A text from her landlord. "Beyoncé, I'm serious about the rent. I've been more than fair. Two weeks."
Her stomach twisted. She'd sold what she could, scrimped on groceries, and cut every unnecessary expense. But nothing was enough. The electricity bill was due. The credit cards were maxed. She had never been this close to the edge before. The kind of desperation she'd always heard about but never experienced herself now hung over her like a shadow.
Her phone buzzed again, this time a notification from the job app she'd been obsessively checking. She opened it with shaky fingers, but the result was the same—another rejection.
She slammed the phone down, frustration boiling over. The walls felt like they were pressing in, her heart racing as anxiety clawed at her mind. Beyoncé was strong, always had been, but right now, she felt powerless.
In an act of defiance against her spiraling thoughts, she opened her laptop and started mindlessly scrolling through classifieds, job postings, anything that could offer a sliver of hope. That's when she saw it.
A small, flashing ad on the side of the screen. It was the kind of thing she usually ignored—gaudy, with red text promising quick money, no strings attached. It felt sleazy just looking at it. But today, the desperation was louder than her pride.
Want to make EASY MONEY? Discreet, no strings attached. Private, fast payments.
Beyoncé hesitated, her finger hovering over the mouse. No. This wasn't her. She wasn't the kind of person who did things like this. She had never been desperate enough to even consider it.
But the pile of bills stared back at her like an accusation, reminding her just how far she'd fallen. Just look, she told herself. It's not a commitment. Just look.
With a deep breath, she clicked on the link. The website that opened wasn't what she expected. It was surprisingly clean—dark colors, sleek design, almost professional. The tagline at the top read, Your desires, your price, your life.
She scrolled through the home page, reading the profiles. Each one was anonymous, no pictures, just vague descriptions. Couple seeks fun and adventure. Discreet businessman looking for companionship. No drama. All of them promised payment, and all of them felt transactional in a way that made her stomach turn.
But the money. The kind of money they were offering could pull her out of this mess. One encounter could buy her another month of rent. Two could pay off her credit card bills. It was easy, right? No one had to know.
