4. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Rayne
I stifle a yawn as I change the opacity of the editing brush I’m using to refine an image on my screen. It’s one of the galleries from the previous week, where the client took their time deliberating over the images they wanted as part of their final package. I can almost feel the weight of their expectations pressing against me, the mix of excitement and anxiety that always accompanies a client’s choices.
The day is dragging, and it doesn’t help that I woke up unexpectedly in the middle of the night. There was something lingering in the back of my mind, an itch I couldn’t quite scratch, keeping me from sinking easily back into sleep. I tossed and turned, trying to recall the thread of my dreams, but they slipped away like sand through my fingers. Eventually, the restless hours crept by until morning light finally broke through my curtains, forcing me to rise early for errands I couldn’t skip. My schedule is packed tighter than ever with the newly added shoot tomorrow, and the thought of falling behind sends a small wave of panic coursing through me. Mentally I tell myself not to stress and even if I do fall behind, the schedule is lighter after next week anyway.
I contemplate getting my groceries delivered but dismiss the idea as quickly as I usually do. There's something about the personal aspect of wandering through the aisles, getting lost in the crowd of people bustling about doing their own errands, that I find oddly comforting. I enjoy the little moments of choosing fresh produce, feeling the weight of a ripe avocado in my palm, or the crispness of a head of lettuce before deciding to place it in my basket. It’s not that the delivery service is hard to come by—there are plenty of apps that promise convenience and speed, a true perk of living on the outskirts of a bustling city—but I just prefer to do some things myself.
I focus on the screen, the vibrant colors of the images providing a welcome distraction. Each photograph tells a story, and I pour my energy into enhancing them, trying to capture the essence of the moments I froze in time. As I work, I can feel my eyelids growing heavy again, the day’s exhaustion settling in like a thick blanket. I take a moment to stretch, rolling my shoulders back and inhaling deeply, hoping to shake off the need for sleep that still clings to me.
Getting up from my desk, I shuffle over to the little coffee station I’ve set up for clients, even though I use it more for myself than anyone else. The compact machine hums softly as I pop in a coffee pod, the promise of liquid gold fueling my motivation. In just a few minutes, I’ll have a steaming cup to revive my senses. As the aroma wafts through the air, I toss in an extra spoonful of sugar, craving that sweet kick to help jolt me awake.
As I make my way back to my desk, my computer chimes with a notification, pulling my attention away from my editing. The alert catches my eye, and my heart races as I bring it up on the screen. The headline jumps out at me: "Gruesome Murder Shocks Local Community." The title is enough to grip anyone's attention, and it sends a shiver running down my spine.
The article loads slowly, the vague details about the brutality of the crime emerging piece by piece. There’s something haunting about the lack of concrete information—no photos, no specific victim mentioned, just a collection of ominous statements about the violence and the absence of leads for the police.
I narrow my eyes and read through the article again while taking a sip of my coffee. It gives no more detail than it did the first time, leaving only unsettling hints of the horror that had unfolded nearby. Frustrated, I search for more articles, but after sifting through a few more sources, I come up just as empty. It’s clear the authorities are keeping the details under tight lock and key—no images, no additional information on the crime, and not even a suggestion about whether this was an isolated event or something larger. The ambiguity hangs like a weight, leaving a question mark over the event. There aren’t even any statements from the investigators on the case
I lean back in my chair, my fingers tapping against my coffee cup. It’s almost worse for the community this way, not knowing if the threat is contained or still lingering in the shadows. Like an open question of should we all be looking over our shoulders? Just the thought has a dark thrill going up my spine, one I’m sure a normal person wouldn’t have but this sort of thing had always fascinated me.
Pushing the thought aside, I return to my editing. I pull up the photos I was working on, focusing on the colors and shadows, losing myself in the familiar rhythms of my craft.
I manage to work for a few uninterrupted minutes before my phone starts ringing, the sharp sound jolting me from my thoughts. Glancing down, I see an unfamiliar number flashing on the screen and after a brief pause to regain my professional mask, I pick it up. But the voice on the other end catches me off guard—it’s deep and slightly rough, carrying a faint edge of familiarity.
“Good afternoon, Rayne. This is Knox. We have a booking with you tomorrow evening.”
For a brief moment, my stomach dips, and I can’t help but think he’s calling to cancel. It wouldn’t be the first time a client had second thoughts about a boudoir shoot and backed out. The silence stretches as I realize I haven’t responded yet, and I rush to fill it.
“Oh, hi, good afternoon! Yes. Is everything okay?” My voice comes out overly bright, betraying a bit of my nerves.
There’s a hum on the other end, his tone shifting to something more serious, and I find myself frowning in response. “I hope this is okay, but I forgot to mention something when I initially booked. Our privacy means a great deal to us, and there are reasons regarding our careers that make it necessary that whatever images or footage you take as part of our photoshoot are not shown or shared with anyone but us.”
Relief washes over me, my heart easing from its quickened pace. “Of course! That’s no drama at all. I wouldn’t be able to share anything without a signed release anyway, so that’s completely fine.”
“Good to hear,” he says, his tone slightly softer. “Oh, and I should have also mentioned—we’re actually wanting the full Rose Garden Package.”
My eyes widen at his words. The Rose Garden Package is my top-level offering, worth thousands of dollars. Not only that, it’s a full erotica shoot, featuring a breadth of images and video where anything goes. The realization hits me, and I struggle to keep my voice steady. “Oh, um, wow! That’s a significant choice.”
“Yeah,” he says, a hint of a chuckle in his voice. “We’re looking to go all in for this shoot, so I hope you’re ready.”
I take a deep breath, excitement mingling with nerves. “Absolutely! I’ll make sure it’s everything you hoped for.”
“Oh, I’m sure you will. Then you won’t mind that I’ve just emailed you an NDA?” he adds, and I mentally groan, suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. I click over to my emails, and sure enough, see a message from Knox Bishop. I open it, skimming through the attached document.
“No problem,” I say, keeping my voice professional but warm. “I’ll review it and send it back to you as soon as possible.”
“Appreciate it, Rayne. And thank you.” There’s something in his voice, a faint warmth, like he’s genuinely grateful. Before I can respond, he adds, “See you tomorrow,” and then the line clicks off.
I stare at my phone for a moment, processing the conversation. Knox’s request was a bit intense, but I can respect the need for privacy. With a sigh, I push aside the distraction of Knox's call and turn my attention back to finishing the gallery, carefully refining each image with the editing brush. The client had taken their time deciding, and now I’m determined to exceed their expectations. After what feels like hours, I finally complete the gallery and move to order their album and wall art, double-checking everything before sending it to print.
Once that’s handled, I turn to Knox’s NDA. I hit print, and the hum of the printer fills the studio as I stretch, feeling the day’s tension start to settle. The document seems standard as I skim the details—clauses about confidentiality, image ownership, no sharing on social media. It’s not the first time I’ve signed something like this, so I quickly add my signature, scan it, and email it back to Knox.
Shutting down my computer, I realize that the daylight has faded. With a sigh, I head out to the store, choosing to walk the few blocks for a breath of fresh air. I always enjoy wandering through the grocery aisles, grounding myself in the simplicity of everyday errands. It’s a small break from the studio, where so much of my time is spent immersed in other people’s stories.
Back home, I’m greeted by Luna’s dramatic meow. She coils around my legs as if I’ve been gone for days instead of just a few hours, so I scoop her up, chuckling as she nuzzles my cheek. “Alright, drama queen, let’s get you fed.” Once she’s happily munching, I fix myself a quick meal and settle down with a movie, hoping to unwind a little before tomorrow’s big shoot.
As the film’s storyline drifts on-screen, I can feel my eyelids growing heavy. Just as my eyes flutter closed, I hear the soft sound of Luna curling up beside me, her purring a comforting lullaby. I relax into the moment, letting the day’s worries slip away as sleep finally claims me.
Once again, I startle awake in the middle of the night, at a loss for what woke me. Looking around, I can't see Luna near me, but that isn't uncommon, as she sometimes wanders out to scavenge some of her leftover food or have a drink. But after a moment, I frown, glancing around my bedroom again and down at my clothes from the day, not recalling how or when I moved from the couch to my bed or why I fell asleep so hard, so quickly.