She's always been the quiet one. The college roommate who kept to herself, never partied, never came home drunk or reeking of weed. Reina didn't flirt, didn't gossip, didn't even seem to have time for anything that wasn't on a syllabus. She lived for deadlines, caffeine, color-coded notes—barely even present outside of her routines.

To anyone watching, she was just... studious. Boring. Predictable.

But not tonight.

The late afternoon light spills across her room in warm, fading gold. It catches the curve of her hip as she shifts on her sheets, one hand buried deep between her thighs, the other gripping a fistful of her shirt to muffle the broken sounds spilling out of her. Her phone lies beside her, screen dimmed but still echoing the soft, wet sounds of porn playing at low volume—something rougher than she usually lets herself watch.

Her breath stutters, heat coiling tighter with every movement. Her body is flushed, needy, more sensitive than usual. And she knows exactly why.

"Ugh...fuck. of all days to be ovulating," she whispers against the fabric in her mouth, eyes fluttering shut. Her free hand tightens on the sheets. "No wonder I can't fucking think."

She's close. Too close. But then—

Ding. A notification vibrates through her phone.

Her rhythm falters. She curses under her breath, annoyed—until her eyes flick to the screen.

A photo. Blatant. Filthy. Arousing.

Not just some random tease—it's personal. Raw. And clearly not meant for just anyone. Her thumb reacts before her brain does, snapping a screenshot as the message disappears, leaving only silence behind.

No second text. No explanation. Nothing but the echo of the image seared into her mind and the slick heat still pulsing between her legs.

She doesn't hesitate.

A sports bra is thrown on followed by some panties—just enough clothes to look composed. She shifts position in front of the mirror, legs curled slightly, as if she's trying her hardest to have her usual dominant air. Her phone is held steady despite the tremble in her hand. Her face is flushed, her expression unreadable except for the subtle smirk tugging at her lips.

Caption: "My room. Now. I don't care if it was an accident. I saw that."

The message sends. She tosses the bra aside. Her panties follow. Climbing back onto the bed, she buries her face in the sheets and raises her hips high, thighs slick and open, presenting herself without a word.

She doesn't want to be careful. She doesn't want to ask. She just wants to be ruined.

And if tonight's the night the mask finally slips?

Then so be it.