Shattering Her Crown At The Gala
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Summary
The phone buzzed on my nightstand at 3:00 AM, a frantic, persistent vibration that cut through the silence of the bedroom.
I fumbled for it, my eyes stinging from sleep. It was a delivery driver. His voice was hushed, carrying a suggestive, conspiratorial edge. He asked if I was the one who’d ordered the box of ultra-thin, "barely-there" lubricants and a pack of Trojans.
"Hey, man, I’m downstairs," he whispered. "Don’t keep the lady waiting. It’s freezing out here."
The sleep evaporated instantly. My heart did a slow, heavy roll in my chest, and a high-pitched ringing started in my ears.
