2. Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Rayne
My photography studio sits in near-total darkness, every light off except for the one casting a soft glow over my computer screen. The dim, quiet atmosphere allows me to immerse myself in the images from my latest shoot. A grin tugs at my lips as I scroll through them; it was a rare session—one I’m sure will stay with me.
The couple reached out to me, wanting a shoot with a special twist: to bid farewell to her breasts. Due to the brCA genes that ran in her family, she had chosen to undergo a double mastectomy, and the shoot was a playful way to say ta ta to her "tah tahs." She wanted a celebration, not a solemn farewell, and that playful approach made it one of the most joyful, endearing sessions I’d ever done.
As a boudoir and erotic photographer, I’ve become pretty desensitized to most things, but this couple’s infectious laughter pulled me into their happiness. She’d told me they were this way at their wedding, too, sharing private jokes that had them laughing at completely inappropriate times during the ceremony. I felt honored to give them another cherished memory in light of what she’d be going through soon.
As I review the shots, the rich, vibrant colors in the images perfectly capture the mood of the session, from the glint in her eye to the playful flashes of purple lace in her lingerie. With the initial edits done, I begin assembling their proofing gallery, satisfied at being part of such a meaningful moment.
The late-summer heat seems to seep through the walls, and even with a fan running, the room feels thick with warmth. I hesitate to open the window, knowing it would only invite the sticky humidity inside, so I settle for twisting my long black hair into a loose bun, feeling the relief as the air cools the back of my neck.
As I start the upload, my phone rings, startling me. It’s not late, but certainly past typical work hours. For a second, I consider letting it go to voicemail, but curiosity wins, especially since unknown numbers are a regular part of running my business.
"Hello?" I answer.
"Hello, is this Midnight Rose Boudoir?" The voice on the other end is deep, with a hint of roughness that sends a flutter through me, catching me off guard.
"Yes, that's correct. How can I assist you?" I reply, shaking off the unexpected reaction.
"I apologize for calling so late, but I stumbled upon your website and am interested in booking a couples photoshoot for myself and my partner."
His request is straightforward, something I’ve handled countless times. "Of course! Do you have a specific time frame in mind?" I ask, reaching for my calendar.
"We were hoping to schedule something within the next week."
"That sounds doable," I reply, scrolling through the schedule, though I see that it’s packed. "How about Friday? I have other obligations during the day but could do an evening session around 5 p.m. I won’t be able to organize any hair and makeup on such short notice, so you’d need to arrange that yourselves."
A brief pause follows before he says, "No problem. Friday at 5 p.m. sounds perfect."
"Great, I'll pencil you in," I confirm, jotting down the details. "And could I get your name for the booking?"
"Knox Bishop," he replies smoothly.
"Thank you, Knox. I have you down for Friday at 5 p.m. I assume you know where my studio is located?"
“Yes, we do.”
“Looking forward to meeting you and your partner then,” I say, a smile in my voice.
"So are we, Rayne," he says, his voice lingering for just a beat before the call clicks off.
When I hang up, a brief wave of confusion hits me—wondering how he knew my name—until I remember my website has it right at the top. Chuckling at my own forgetfulness, I refocus on the upload, feeling a spark of anticipation at the thought of Friday’s session.
As the upload finishes, I linger on the screen a moment longer, watching the bar fill and then disappear as the files are sent off to the couple. There's a satisfying sense of closure in finalizing a project like this—knowing I’ve helped someone capture an intimate, joyous moment that might help them through a difficult time. With one last look at the closed email confirmation, I power down the computer, the soft light winking out and leaving the room in complete darkness.
I stand, stretching slightly to ease the day’s tension from my shoulders, and move through the darkened studio to the stairwell. It’s completely silent in here, save for the faint hum of the fan still whirring on my desk. The blinds are all drawn, thick and heavy, ensuring no wandering eyes can peer inside; that boundary between my professional space and the outside world has always been essential. Still, as I approach the stairs, a small sound—a slight scrape, maybe?—makes me pause.
The noise prickles at my awareness, unexpected in the stillness. I strain to hear, standing motionless, my gaze flicking toward the windows even though I know no one could possibly see in. In the quiet, a chill curls its way up my spine, making me hyper-aware of the silence around me. After a few tense seconds, the noise doesn’t repeat, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath. Exhaling slowly, I shake off the momentary tension and step forward, dismissing the sound as likely a trick of settling wood or the echo of someone moving outside.
At the foot of the stairs, I place my hand on the rail, feeling the familiar smoothness of it beneath my palm, and begin the climb up to my apartment. The old warehouse has served me well, its converted layout providing a perfect separation between my workspace below and my living area above. Each step up feels like shedding the day’s intensity, a transition from the bold, evocative images I create to the solitude and simplicity of home.
As I reach the top of the stairs, I glance back once more, half-expecting to catch a flicker of movement in the shadows below. But there’s nothing. Just the comforting quiet of my studio, now tucked away for the night.
Opening the door, I step through and into my living area, breathing in the calm that washes over me. The apartment’s open layout stretches before me, a bright, welcoming contrast to the moody darkness of the studio below. High ceilings and wide windows amplify the sense of space, and even now, under the warm glow of ceiling lights, the apartment feels expansive. During the day, sunlight streams in generously, casting patterns on the imitation concrete floors, but now the softer light lends a gentle ambiance that invites me to unwind.
The exposed brick walls and steel beams show the building’s original industrial character, but I’ve softened it with touches of color and warmth. A cream-colored sectional dominates one corner, piled with an assortment of pillows in jewel tones—emerald, ruby, and sapphire. A fluffy rug sprawls across the floor, its deep, teal color adding a cozy splash against the neutral tones. Here and there, potted plants bring a touch of green to the room, their leaves lush and healthy thanks to the natural light they drink up daily.
As I walk deeper into the space, a familiar presence slips around my ankles with a gentle purr. "There you are, Luna," I say softly, crouching to greet her. She responds with a delighted arch of her back, rubbing her face against my hand, her dark fur soft under my fingers. Luna’s large amber eyes blink up at me, expectant, reminding me it’s her dinner time. Her petite form follows me eagerly to the kitchen, her soft paws padding silently as she weaves around me, occasionally brushing against my legs as if to make sure I haven’t forgotten her.
Once I reach the kitchen, I scoop her food into a bowl, watching her dive in with enthusiasm. Her gentle, contented purring is a sound I never tire of—it’s grounding, a reminder of the small comforts in life. I reach for the cookie jar as Luna eats, selecting a chocolate chip cookie and biting into it, savoring its soft, buttery sweetness as I lean against the counter. The kitchen is small but functional, with a sleek black countertop and open shelving that holds neatly organized dishes and an assortment of spices and teas. A bowl of fresh fruit sits on the counter.
I think about putting on a movie, settling onto the couch, and letting myself unwind in front of a screen. The thought is tempting, an easy way to zone out after such a charged day, but a deep exhaustion is already dragging down my limbs, a weighty reminder of the intense session I had earlier. It's the kind of tiredness that only sets in after an especially emotional or physically demanding shoot, and I know from experience that sitting down now would make it nearly impossible to get back up.
The ache in my arms reminds me of the day’s work, a dull throb settling into my muscles from hours of lifting and positioning my camera equipment. Photography is physically demanding, and though I’m used to it, today’s shoot has left me sorer than usual. I have an early morning tomorrow, too, and the promise of a hot shower sounds more restorative than the flickering lights of a screen.
I make my way down the hallway to the bathroom, flipping on the light to reveal the sanctuary I’ve created there. Warm-toned tiles and a few candles give it a spa-like feel, and I waste no time turning on the shower, letting the steam fill the room.
Under the hot spray, I let the water work its way over my tired muscles, easing the tension that’s built up across my shoulders and back. I linger longer than I normally would, indulging in the sensation as the heat seeps into my skin, soothing every knot and ache. My eyes drift closed, and I let the day slip away, focusing solely on the rhythmic sound of water hitting tile.
When I finally step out, I feel a satisfying sense of relief, like I’ve shed the day’s weight along with the steam lingering in the air. I towel off, change into my favorite worn-in pajamas—a soft cotton tee and flannel shorts—and make my way to the small drawer beside the bed where I keep my pain relievers. The soreness has lessened, but I know this will help me relax fully, allowing for a deep, restful sleep.
Pulling back the covers, I sink into bed, feeling the cool sheets against my skin. The mattress molds around me, familiar and comforting, and Luna, finished with her dinner, hops up beside me, curling into a ball near my feet. I reach down to give her one last scratch behind the ears, smiling as her purring grows faint, her contentment seeping into my own sense of calm.
As my eyelids grow heavy, my mind briefly drifts to the week’s schedule but the thoughts quickly slip away. The pain reliever begins to take effect, leaving me in a gentle haze, and soon, I’m completely enveloped in the soothing quiet of sleep.