My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. Nothing came out because apparently my brain had chosen this exact moment to go on strike.

How the fuck do you start this conversation? “Hey bestie, so I sold my virginity online and now I’m fucking my dad’s friend” didn’t exactly roll off the tongue.

“Let me shower first,” I managed, clutching Josie’s doorframe like it might provide answers. “Then coffee. Then I’ll tell you everything.”

Josie’s eyes narrowed to slits that could cut glass. “Everything?”

“Every mortifying, life-destroying detail.”

She considered this, clearly torn between her need for immediate gossip and the promise of properly caffeinated revelations.

“Fine. But you’re not leaving this apartment until you spill. I’ll barricade the door with my body if necessary.”

She would too. That was the terrifying part.

Josie had once physically prevented me from leaving a party until I’d made out with the lacrosse player I’d been eye-fucking all semester. Her commitment to my love life bordered on pathological.

Twenty minutes later, wrapped in her Stanford hoodie and mainlining espresso that could wake the dead, I stared at my hands like they held the secrets to quantum physics. Or at least the secret to explaining my spectacular fall from grace without sounding completely unhinged.

“So,” I started, then stopped because where the fuck was the beginning of this story? The birthday dinner? The hotel? Twenty-two years of suffocating control that led to spectacularly bad decisions?

Fuck it. I ripped off the bandaid with the grace of someone performing surgery with a chainsaw.

“I auctioned my virginity for $455,000, Caleb bought it, we fucked at the Valemont, then I banged Anthony in my dad’s study to make Caleb jealous, and now my parents want me married next month but last night Caleb took me to his secret apartment and we—”

“STOP.” Josie’s coffee mug froze midair, defying gravity through sheer force of shock. “Back the fuck up. Start from the beginning. Use complete sentences. And breathe, for the love of Christ.”

So I told her everything.

The Virtue Exchange (“It’s like eBay for virginity”).

The hotel revelation (“His face when he saw me, Jos, I thought I was going to die”).

The morning after guilt.

Using Anthony like a sexy revenge puppet.

The party confession about our mutual marriage aversion (“Turns out we’re both trapped”).

How Caleb showed up like some romance novel hero, except better because he actually existed and knew how to make me come three times in one night.

Josie listened in eerie silence, her face cycling through expressions like someone channel surfing through emotions. When I finally stopped talking, the quiet stretched between us like taffy at a state fair.

Then the dam broke. Spectacularly.

“You AUCTIONED YOUR VIRGINITY?” Her voice hit octaves I didn’t know were humanly possible. “And didn’t TELL ME? I’m your best friend! I tell you everything! I told you about my suspicious mole, my IBS, that weird sex dream about my TA!”

“I know, I’m sorry—”

“But also—holy shit, that’s genius.” She set down her mug with the reverence of someone handling religious artifacts. “Twisted as fuck, but genius. Using the one thing your dad values to buy your freedom? That’s some Game of Thrones, Cersei Lannister level strategy.”

She paused, her brain clearly running calculations at the speed of light. “Wait. Back up. Caleb’s hot. Like, illegally hot for someone his age. Silver fox, daddy issues hot. And he’s obviously obsessed with you if he’s been living in your parents’ house just to be near you. And the sex was good?”

The blush that took over my entire face answered that question more eloquently than words ever could.

“Fucking finally,” she breathed. “Do you know how painful it’s been watching you two eye-fuck over breakfast while I’m trying to eat my eggs? But also, you’re an asshole for not telling me sooner. I could’ve been living vicariously through you this whole time!”

“Sorry,” I offered, actually meaning it. “I was drowning in my own drama. Couldn’t see past the tsunami of bad decisions.”

Josie waved this off like swatting a fly, already shifting into strategic mode. “Whatever. Ancient history. What about the wedding? The one that’s apparently happening in four weeks because your parents have lost their goddamn minds?”

The million-dollar question. Or rather, the $455,000 question.

“I’m worried about Anthony,” I admitted. “His reputation, his family—”

“Are you kidding me right now?” Josie interrupted, looking at me like I’d suggested we take up competitive yodeling. “This is perfect. You call it off publicly. Make a scene. Post some feminist manifesto about rejecting arranged marriage in 2025. You’ll be a fucking icon.”

She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with the kind of manic energy that made her terrifying at parties. “Anthony becomes the sensitive king who respected your choice and supported your independence. Women will be throwing their panties at him by Tuesday. He’ll probably send you a thank you card.”

The image was so absurd I snorted coffee through my nose. “A Hallmark card? ‘Thanks for the fake engagement, sorry about the sex in your dad’s study’?”

“Exactly!” She was fully animated now, hands flying as she painted the picture. “Everyone wins. You get your freedom, Anthony gets his bachelor life back plus a reputation upgrade, Caleb gets to stop sneaking around like some Victorian gentleman. The only losers are your parents, but fuck them. They had it coming.”

The logic was flawless in that twisted way that only Josie could achieve.

I laughed until my sides hurt, until tears streamed down my face, until I remembered why this magnificent disaster of a human was my fucking lifeline.

Later, walking back into my parents’ house felt different. Like returning to a crime scene where you’d gotten away with murder.

Everything looked the same—pristine furniture, suffocating elegance, the persistent smell of disappointment and furniture polish.

But I was different. I had ammunition now. Plans. Allies.

Caleb sat in the living room, reading some business journal like he hadn’t been bending me into positions that would make yoga instructors weep twelve hours earlier.

Our eyes met across the room—a whole conversation in one glance.

I’m here. We’re doing this. Together.

The calm that settled in my chest was foreign but welcome. Having backup changed everything. Having him changed everything.

The next day arrived with all the subtlety of a heart attack. Lunch was served with a side of life-altering announcements.

“We’ve spoken with the Harrises,” Father declared, wielding his words like weapons of mass destruction.

Mother practically vibrated with excitement beside him, looking like she might ascend to another plane of existence through sheer wedding planning enthusiasm.

“The wedding has been moved to next month. The third Saturday. The St. Regis has confirmed availability.”

Four weeks until I was supposed to walk down an aisle toward a life I didn’t want with a man who didn’t want me either.

I caught Caleb’s eye across the table. His expression said everything his words couldn’t: Not fucking happening. Not on my watch. Not ever.

I arranged my face into an expression of daughter-of-the-year enthusiasm, the mask sliding on with practiced ease. “How wonderful. I’m so incredibly happy things are progressing. This is exactly what I wanted.”

The lie slid out smooth as butter, sweet as arsenic. Under the table, hidden from view, I pulled out my phone and typed with steady fingers:

“We should have that dinner tonight. You pick the place. Time to discuss our mutual destruction.”

Anthony’s response came before dessert was served: “8 PM. That new place in SoHo. Let’s burn this whole thing down.”

I smiled at my parents over crème brûlée, tasting victory instead of vanilla. Let the end games begin.