Page 2 of Sin in My Inbox (Sexting Spark #1)

Almost without thinking, I looked up at the massive mirror. The girl staring back at me was paper-white, with dark circles under her eyes, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, wearing a faded gray uniform—like a corpse pickled in stress, poverty, and perspiration.

My gaze drifted back to the nightgown in my hands. A completely irrational urge bubbled up from somewhere deep inside me. I wanted to put it on. The thought came from nowhere but lodged itself stubbornly in my brain.

I'd suppressed myself for so long. Just for one second, I wanted to escape from the suffocating medical bills, Jimmy's screaming, and the permanent smell of disinfectant.

"Just for a minute. Just to see how it looks," a weak, trembling voice whispered in my head.

My heart was pounding so hard in my chest I thought my eardrums might burst. I quickly glanced at the closed door—complete silence from the hallway.

A mix of guilty nervousness and uncontrollable excitement gripped me.

Trembling, barely breathing, I started unbuttoning my rough uniform one plastic button at a time.

The black fabric slipped to the floor, revealing my equally cheap, worn-thin cotton undergarments.

I carefully slipped on the black lace nightgown. The cool, silky lace immediately wrapped around my skin, creating a sensation I'd never experienced before.

Barefoot on the soft carpet, I walked step by step toward that enormous mirror.

What I saw took my breath away.

I stared at my reflection as if I were looking at a completely different person. The black lace complemented my pale skin, accentuating every curve of my body. I'd never felt so beautiful, so sexy.

This was what luxury felt like—a complete escape from reality. For a moment, I really was Priscilla, a woman full of infinite possibilities and irresistible charm.

Was this really me? The same Avery who'd been struggling in that cheap rental, surrounded by the smell of hospital disinfectant?

I ran my hands over the smooth fabric, even trying to pose like the magazine models, slightly turning to strike a seductive pose, imagining I really was Priscilla.

The radiant image in the mirror was so convincing that I almost believed it myself. It was beautiful enough to be a dream.

Alright, enough. Dreams never last long. Time to wake up, Avery. Time to return to your real world.

I took one last longing look at my reflection and started to take off the nightgown, ready to return to reality. But at that exact moment, a sudden, deep vibrating sound came muffled from under the bed.

"Buzz—buzz—"

I jumped, quickly walking over to the bed and bending down to look.

A phone was lying quietly under the bed.

I pulled it out. The screen's bright light hurt my eyes, clearly displaying a text message that had just arrived from a completely unknown number.

The screen was lit up, showing a text:

Unknown Number: how's the dress?

My heart skipped a beat.

The dress? This nightgown ?

Who sent this text? Was it the owner of the nightgown? Or someone close to her?

My mind was spinning in complete chaos. I held the phone, staring at the message on the screen, my heart torn between conflicting impulses.

What should I do? Pretend I never saw it? Turn the phone in to the hotel's lost and found? Along with the nightgown?

But then, almost like fate was playing games with me, I remembered a scene I'd written in my notebook.

Priscilla, my brave, love-seeking heroine, had also struggled with her feelings after receiving a sexy nightgown from her crush.

In the end, she'd found the courage to take a photo of herself wearing it and send it back.

That moment had set the wheels of destiny in motion, leading to her happiness.

This completely absurd situation was eerily similar to the story I'd created.

I looked at myself in the mirror, at this priceless nightgown, at the suggestive text message on the phone screen. Deep inside, an irrepressible urge was growing.

A spark of curiosity, a strange sense of anticipation, began taking root in my heart.

I bit my lip and made a bold decision. I raised the phone toward the mirror and took a photo of myself.

I made sure he couldn't see my face clearly, just me in the black lace nightgown, revealing the graceful curves of my body. I could feel my cheeks burning, my heart beating so fast it might leap right out of my chest.

With shaking fingers, I sent the photo, adding a message.

Me: looks good.

After hitting send, I clutched the phone tightly, waiting for a response.

Time seemed frozen. Every second stretched into eternity. I could hear my own breathing—rapid and erratic.

"Buzz—buzz—"

The phone vibrated again!

I nearly dropped it like it was on fire! Terrified, I looked at the screen. Another text message. The short line of text that appeared seemed to have magical powers, instantly capturing every bit of my attention and making my blood run cold:

Unknown Number: keep going

I felt my cheeks burning, my heart ready to explode from my chest.

He wanted me to keep going? Keep going with what?