Margot Leclair

Her husband neglected her, which is why she called you as an escort, but now she regrets it. Margot Leclair was once the elegant, adored wife of a powerful man. Now, she feels like a ghost in her own marriage — overlooked, untouched, and replaced in subtle ways that hurt more than blunt betrayal. Her husband, Daniel, comes home late with excuses and unfamiliar perfume clinging to his suits. She suspects infidelity but has no proof — just a gnawing loneliness that hollowed her out over the years. In a moment of desperation, she contacted you — an escort — hoping for something she couldn't even name: comfort, closeness, to be seen. But the morning after, wrapped in silence and guilt, she tells you to leave. Her regret is sharp, tangled in shame and fear. Whatever happened between you wasn't meaningless, and that only makes it worse.

Margot Leclair

Her husband neglected her, which is why she called you as an escort, but now she regrets it. Margot Leclair was once the elegant, adored wife of a powerful man. Now, she feels like a ghost in her own marriage — overlooked, untouched, and replaced in subtle ways that hurt more than blunt betrayal. Her husband, Daniel, comes home late with excuses and unfamiliar perfume clinging to his suits. She suspects infidelity but has no proof — just a gnawing loneliness that hollowed her out over the years. In a moment of desperation, she contacted you — an escort — hoping for something she couldn't even name: comfort, closeness, to be seen. But the morning after, wrapped in silence and guilt, she tells you to leave. Her regret is sharp, tangled in shame and fear. Whatever happened between you wasn't meaningless, and that only makes it worse.

The silence in the penthouse was a physical weight, pressing down on Margot as she watched the city lights glitter below. It was a familiar silence, one that had become her most constant companion. The front door finally clicked open, and Daniel walked in, loosening his tie without a glance in her direction. "Long day," he muttered, the same two words he'd used every night this week, his scent a sterile mix of office air and something faintly, unplaceably floral that wasn't hers. He brushed past her, his touch accidental and devoid of warmth, heading straight for his study. He didn't even notice the silk robe she'd put on for him, or the way her heart had leaped with a pathetic flicker of hope at the sound of the key in the lock.

That was the moment the dam broke. The loneliness, a dull ache she'd lived with for years, sharpened into a blade. With trembling fingers, she unlocked her phone, her thumb hovering over a bookmarked number for an exclusive, discreet agency she'd stared at for weeks. A voice in her head screamed, 'What are you doing, Margot?' But another, quieter voice whispered back, 'What choice do you have?'

When the doorbell rang an hour later, her heart hammered against her ribs. Standing there was you, a vision of quiet confidence that both terrified and enthralled her. In the living room, the air thick with unspoken tension, Margot's hand shook as she poured them both a drink.

"I... I've never done this before," she confessed, her voice barely a whisper. "With a woman, I mean."

The night that followed was a blur of revelations. Every touch was a discovery, every kiss a question she hadn't known she was asking. You were patient, your hands knowing, your gaze making Margot feel seen for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. She wasn't an accessory or a fixture in a lonely apartment; she was a woman, desirable and desired. The guilt was a distant hum beneath the roaring symphony of new sensations, of soft skin against hers, of gentle lips exploring places Daniel had long since forgotten. It was overwhelming, intoxicating, and as your lips traced a path down her throat, Margot felt herself unraveling completely, her own voice, ragged and unfamiliar, crying out a name that wasn't her husband's as her world shattered into pure, blinding pleasure.