Their apartment was spotless, except for the silence thick as blood. The TV was dark, the window cracked for air, and Livy stood there like a loaded gun, arms crossed, a tremble under her skin that wasn’t illness anymore—it was fury. 

“Do you even remember their names?” she spat, a bitter lilt curling her words into a knife. Her face—Sadie's face—twisted in disgust, eyes burning from across the room. 

Sadie sat hunched on the edge of the couch cushion, knees drawn tight, fingers laced so hard her knuckles blanched. “I—I do. I mean. There was... Andre. And Rico. Tavian...” Her voice tangled on itself, fraying. “There was one who wore...I think he said—” 

She cut off. Their names scattered on the floor between them. 

Her twin sister laughed—a sharp, cruel sound. “Wow.” She threw her hands up. “Amazing. You let a whole team of black guys run train on you and you can’t even list the roster?” 

Sadie flinched. 

“Do you at least remember how many?” 

“Six,” she murmured. That, at least, was carved into her. Six shadows, six dark silhouettes surrounding her like cathedral columns, arms brushing against each other above her bowed head, their cocks jutting like monuments. Her mouth full. Her body taken from all directions. Not knowing who was next—only the grip, the thrust, the stretch, the flood—her body used, claimed, circulated. 

Livy’s mouth fell open in stunned disbelief. Her arms uncrossed. “I can’t believe this.” 

“What?” Sadie snapped, pushing off the couch to stand. “Why are you acting like I did this to hurt you? You were in the hospital! I saved the opportunity. I got you the job you’ve been chasing for months!” 

Livy’s eyes went cold. “Yeah? By crawling on your knees and being a goddamn cum-slick whore? While pretending to be me?” 

Sadie’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me? I’m the whore?” 

She stepped closer now, voice rising with heat. “I saw the DMs, Livy. I saw every filthy thing you sent to Savage. You begged him to make you his tour slut. To let his crew pass you around like a party favor. What did you think was going to happen?” 

Livy’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Yeah, and you read all that and still went ahead with it, didn’t you?” Her voice sharpened, sliced. “You could’ve walked away. But you didn’t. You liked it, didn’t you? The whore they made of you.” 

The words landed low and sharp in Sadie’s gut, like a hook dragging up something raw. She opened her mouth to protest, to deny—but the images surged up too fast again. Hands gripping her waist, her hair, her jaw. Heat stretching her open, again and again. Cum on her tongue. Her thighs twitching, her voice hoarse from moaning. She remembered the ache after, the emptiness when they finally let go. And buried beneath her shame was the brutal, throbbing truth: she’d wanted every second. 

She shoved it down, face flushing. She didn’t owe Livy that truth. 

“I was just... doing what you’d set up,” she muttered instead, arms folding across her chest now. “I kept your spot. You should be thanking me!” 

Livy only paced across the living room like she was about to claw through the floorboards. “So what happens now?” she snapped without looking at her. 

“Savage Ghost is back in New York on Saturday,” Sadie said. “We’re going to meet him at the studio.” 

Livy stopped pacing. Turned. “I’m sorry, we?” 

Sadie froze. This wasn’t how she’d wanted to share the news. 

“I... I may have mentioned that I—well you—had a sister. And... the opportunity came up. For... something.” 

Livy stared. “What—like a little summer job before your semester starts?” Her tone was poisoned honey, sweet and mocking. 

Sadie looked at the floor. “I’m not going back to school.” 

Silence slammed into the room. 

“You dropped out of law school?” 

Sadie rushed forward. “The job’s two-fifty a year, Livy. Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. I couldn’t walk away from that. You know how long it would take to—” 

But even as she said it, her throat closed. The words turned to dust in her mouth. That wasn’t the real reason. Not entirely. Not even mostly. Behind the number, behind the pragmatic excuse, was a need she couldn’t shake—one she barely dared name.

She swallowed. “It’s a life-changer. That kind of money...” 

Livy blinked. Once. Twice. “Wait—$250K?” Her expression darkened. “You’re not—you won’t be—” 

Sadie braced for it. 

“I’ll be Co-Tour Coordinator,” she said. 

Livy’s lip curled. “My job.” 

Sadie’s voice shrank. “Our job.” 

For a second, it looked like Livy might slap her. Then she just scoffed, low and bitter. “Unbelievable.” 

She turned on her heel and stormed down the hall, the door to her bedroom slamming shut a moment later. 

Sadie stood alone in the living room, pulse thrumming. The silence was thick and scalding. 

The week that followed was a silent war wrapped in routine. 

Where once there had been ease—mirror movements, shared laughter layered over matching playlists, inside jokes passed like secrets across a single reflection—now there was rupture. Not cracks. Not distance. Something colder. Something more surgical. A severing. As if someone had peeled apart their twin minds and sealed the halves in separate glass boxes. 

Livy didn’t speak to her. Not unless she had to. Not unless Sadie forced it—and even then, the replies came thin and brittle. No anger. No tears. Just walls. 

And Sadie couldn’t understand it. 

Did Livy really think she had intended for what happened? That she’d gotten down on her knees in a trailer surrounded by six men for fun? Well—maybe it turned into fun. But it hadn’t been a plan. Not hers, anyway. Livy had set that up. Livy had crafted the persona, flirted, begged for it in digital black and white. 

She had only followed the script. 

And she was only left to stew in it—each day passing with Livy’s silence like a slap. Each second spent in a room with her sister made her insides twist tighter. She started to avoid eye contact. Started to question if she should have told her at all. Maybe she shouldn’t have confessed. Maybe she should’ve kept the job, taken the money, and let Livy fade into the past like a discarded version of herself. 

The worst part? She couldn’t even tell what Livy was actually mad about. 

Was it the job? The encounter? The fact Sadie had seen the messages and made them real? 

Was it guilt? Envy? Shame? 

And slowly, inside Sadie, something began to calcify. Her guilt turned brittle. How dare she. How dare Livy act like she was betrayed, like she was the victim here. Sadie had sacrificed herself, her pride, her law career. She had knelt for both of them. Taken everything those men gave and loved it. That wasn’t shame. That was power.  

Fine. She thought. Be mad. Stay mad. But don’t pretend like you wouldn’t have done the same thing. 

By Saturday morning, the tension had become so thick it felt like the apartment itself could crack open. They emerged from their bedrooms a like a stormfront colliding with itself, both wearing white, both taut with unspoken bile. Sadie’s dress hugged her like a whisper turned threat—tight, high-thigh, keyhole flashing cleavage like a dare. Livy’s was strapless, sleek, a sliver sluttier in the way it clung tighter to their identical curves. 

Livy sneered, eyes dragging across Sadie’s form with barely concealed disgust. “Of course you’re wearing that.” 

Sadie’s eyes swept up and down Livy with the same derision, though she kept her voice light, knife-wrapped-in-silk. “Well, at least now they won’t have to guess which one of us has taste.”

Their eyes locked, two mirrors fogged with heat. Neither smiled. 

The anger was mutual now. 

They drove with separate engines and separate intent, but the same destination humming in both their veins. Neither spoke when they stepped out of their different Ubers, one parked behind the other, heels ticking sharp across the polished marble floor of the high-rise. 

The elevator doors slid open with a sterile chime, swallowing them into its cold steel belly. They stood side by side, reflections overlapping in the mirrored walls, eyes carefully avoiding each other. Livy scrolled, thumb flicking with studied indifference, the blue glow of her screen bathing her cheek. Sadie bit the inside of her lip, the faint taste of blood grounding her against the tension coiling in her spine. 

The floors ticked by. Thirty-seven. Forty-two. Forty-eight. 

At floor fifty, just before the doors parted, Livy turned, finally, her phone lowering with deliberate slowness. 

"Good luck, sis," she murmured, voice dipped in venom-laced velvet. 

The word stung more than Sadie expected. 

Livy stepped forward with purpose, her hips swaying like punctuation marks, white dress gleaming under the fluorescent lights. 

Sadie followed. Slower. Hot with defiance. Fine. She’d show her. She’d fucking outshine her. 

They entered a sprawling lobby lined with sleek black glass and brushed chrome, the walls pulsing faintly with low trap beats that seemed to thrum under the skin. And there—like he owned the air itself—stood Savage Ghost. 

He leaned against the edge of a sculpted bar, all muscle and molten confidence, wearing black sweats that clung to thick thighs and a sleeveless tee that showed arms like a threat. His smile was lazy, coiled, dangerous—the kind that knew exactly what he can do to people. 

The sight of him hit Sadie like a fist to the gut. 

Her breath paused. Her legs slowed. In her mind, sensation bloomed fast and hot—his fingers spreading her, the stretch, the ache, the first brutal thrust that took her breath and replaced it with heat. She remembered his voice, low and amused, calling her Livy as he’d driven in deep, the weight of it inside her making her feel full, real, chosen. 

Now, suddenly, she realized how empty she was. 

And she hated how much she missed that cock.  

His eyes landed on both of them and that smile widened, slow and hungry. 

He said nothing at first.

But everything in his gaze said he remembered. 

Then he pushed off the bar with a slow swagger, rubbing his hands together like he was about to unwrap something sweet. “Goddamn,” he drawled, eyes dragging unapologetically over both of them, head tilted, grin spreading wide. “I know I’m supposed to introduce myself to at least one of y’all.” 

Livy moved first—fast, fluid, confident—stepping into his space like she owned it. “Well I know you know me,” she purred, sliding against his side, her skin catching the light just enough to shimmer beneath the studio’s neon glow. His thick arm dropped over her shoulder like a yoke, heavy and possessive. 

Sadie’s jaw tightened. Her fingers curled into a fist by her thigh. You didn’t earn that, she seethed. You didn’t work for it. I did. 

“This is my sister, Sadie,” Livy said sweetly, almost chirping the word as if Sadie was some charity case dragged along for the ride. “Sorry if she’s a little shy.” Her eyes sparkled with cruelty, lips curled. 

Savage Ghost’s head turned slow, grin never fading. “That ain’t what you told me earlier,” he said to Livy, but his gaze was locked on Sadie. Heat. Interest. A flicker of something darker. 

And Sadie—oh, Sadie smiled. 

That’s right, she thought, a pulse thrumming between her thighs. You remember what I told you. When I was pretending to be her. That this sister… Her tongue flicked against the inside of her cheek...was even sluttier. 

She stepped forward without thinking, hips swaying, confidence rolling off her in waves that surprised even her. The plain law student version of herself had no business touching a man like this. 

But she did. 

Her fingers slid up his chest, slow and teasing, to the collar of his shirt. She leaned in close enough for her breath to kiss his jaw. “Whatever Livy told you…” she whispered, “I promise it only scratches the surface.” 

Savage let out a low hum of approval, the kind that vibrated in his chest and passed into hers through his palm as it slid up her bare arm. “Mmm, I like that,” he said, nodding. “Aight. There’s someone I want you to meet.” 

He pulled both of them into motion without effort, one under each arm—two perfect copies, one radiant with smugness, the other glowing with defiant fire—his grin widening with each step as he led them down the dark, pulsing hallway towards Recording Room 1. 

The studio doors opened with a hiss and click, the scent of fresh leather and stale blunts curling into the hallway. The space was big, intimate, dimly lit, pulsing faintly with bass that hadn’t yet been given words. Across from the long window that peered into the recording booth, a plush red suede couch sprawled like a tongue waiting to taste something new. 

At the control panel sat a young Black man with a clean taper fade, gold studs in his ears, oversized hoodie half-draped from one shoulder. His head bobbed slow and easy to a beat he was building, lips pursed, fingers dancing over the console like he was touching skin. 

He looked up when the trio entered, pulling one ear of the headphones off with a lazy grin spreading over his face. 

Savage lifted his chin in greeting. “Yo, Mozzy. Meet the ladies.” 

He gestured with casual weight between them. 

“These are our two new tour coordinators. Sadie and Livy.” 

Yung Mozzy stood, tall and lean, teeth flashing white as he offered his hand first to Livy, then to Sadie—his grip smooth, almost too gentle, the kind of touch that left no mark but hinted at everything else. 

“Damn,” he said, drawling just slightly, eyes flicking between them with barely restrained heat, “I can already tell... workin’ with y’all’s gonna be real interesting.” 

Sadie felt the weight of his gaze linger. There was something in it—not leering, not yet—but suggestive. Like he’d seen enough to imagine the rest. 

Mozzy turned to Savage, “Boogie still comin’ through?” 

“Yeah, he should be slidin’ in later,” Savage said, arm still heavy across Sadie’s back. “But that gives us time. Time to get well acquainted.” 

He looked at Mozzy, then back to Livy. 

“Aight, Mozzy. Why don’t you show Livy how we make the magic in here?” 

His hand slid downward as he said it, deliberate and slow, curving along the swell of Sadie’s ass through the white dress, fingers spreading just enough to make his intent unmistakable. 

Then his eyes dipped down to hers, hooded and dark with promise. 

“Cuz I think me and this one? We got a little... getting to know each other to do. Some onboarding.” 

Sadie’s grin cracked across her face like glass catching sunlight—too wide, too sharp, a gleam of pure venomous victory. She didn’t even try to hide it as her eyes flicked to her sister, who stood frozen for just a half-second too long, jaw tight, hand clenched around the strap of her bag like she might hurl it. 

Savage guided her to the red couch with the same possessive ease he’d used that first night—only now it was open, acknowledged, almost ceremonial. His hand cradled her lower back, steering her down into the soft suede, then slid around her shoulders as he sat flush against her, thick thigh pressed to hers, his body all heat and gravity. 

“So,” he said, looking at her now with a slow smile that was all appetite, “Sadie. According to your sister, you’ve got some pretty good qualifications for this job.” 

She smiled, lips curling in a way she hadn’t known she could just a week ago. The thrill of it buzzed beneath her skin—the unspoken, impossible game they were playing. He didn’t even know. He didn’t know he’d already had her, called her Livy, dragged her across this same edge before. But now? 

Now she was Sadie. 

And Sadie had made a promise. She was sluttier. 

Her voice dropped silk-smooth, confident, a purr against his ear. “I can absolutely handle the needs of everyone on the label,” she said, fingertips dancing up his chest, the muscles beneath his shirt flexing subtly beneath the touch. 

Her nails skimmed the neckline as she leaned in closer, lips nearly brushing his jaw. “But you...” her tone melted, sultry and thick, “you’ll always have my undivided attention.” 

Yet from across the room--

Smacking. 

Wet. Loud. Obscene. 

Sadie’s head turned instinctively—and there was her sister, now straddling Mozzy’s lap, her dress rucked up around her thighs, white against his dark hoodie like a stain waiting to happen. Her hips rolled in subtle rhythm, lips buried against his, arms twined around his neck as she kissed him deep, messy, devouring. 

Mozzy’s hand gripped her ass, kneading slow and deliberate, and Livy looked up. Just for a flash. Her eyes locked on Sadie’s across the room. And then she moaned into the kiss and pressed harder, letting Sadie see the wet glint between their mouths. 

Her eyes gleamed. 

Sadie’s fists curled tight in her lap, nails biting into her palms again, the heat that bloomed in her chest no longer playful—it was fire, bitter and seething. 

Savage opened his mouth beside her, half-turning, the start of some smooth line beginning with “So tell me—” 

She didn’t let him finish. 

Her lips crashed into his like a slap turned kiss, urgent and reckless, tongue sliding against his as her hands tangled in his shirt. He chuckled low in his throat, amused but not resisting—gripping her hip as he kissed back, rougher now, more interested. 

When he broke the kiss, it was only to grin. “Shit... you’re everything your sister promised.” 

Sadie’s breath was hot against his cheek. Her eyes sparked. 

“You have no idea,” she growled, then swung her leg over, straddling him in a smooth motion, her dress hitching up her thighs. His hands were on her immediately, callused palms sliding over her waist, up to her tits, squeezing her through the thin fabric...