Kellen carried Antoinette to the bathroom. She was semi-conscious, mumbling incoherent strings of numbers and insults. He set her down gently on the closed lid of the toilet.

He wet a washcloth with warm water. He wrung it out, his movements efficient and clinical. He knelt in front of her and began to wipe the smeared makeup from her face. The black mascara came away, revealing pale skin and dark circles under her eyes.

"No one stays," she slurred, her head lolling to the side. "I'm too much. I'm always too much."

Kellen paused. He checked his watch. It was a cheap digital Casio. He pressed a button on the side. Beep.

"Contract Clause 4B," he murmured to himself. "Ten-Minute Affirmation of Love."

He took a deep breath. He closed his eyes for a second, flipping a switch in his brain. When he opened them, the cold indifference was gone. His eyes were soft, pooling with a warm, liquid adoration. His jaw relaxed. He leaned in, his presence becoming a protective blanket.

He took her cold, limp hands in his.

"Antoinette," he said. His voice dropped an octave. It was husky, intimate. "Look at me."

She opened her eyes, struggling to focus. She saw him. She saw the way he was looking at her-like she was the only source of light in the universe.

"You are the most breathtaking woman I have ever seen," he lied. The words flowed like honey.

She shook her head weakly. "No..."

"Yes," Kellen insisted. He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers lingered on her cheekbone. "He was a fool to leave you. He was blind. You are brilliant. You are fire."

Antoinette leaned into his touch. She was starving for this. She drank his words like water in a desert.

He continued. He improvised a monologue about her intelligence, her strength, the way her mind worked. He used generic romantic tropes, but he delivered them with the conviction of a Shakespearean actor.

Antoinette started to cry, but it wasn't the ugly, angry crying of before. It was soft. It was a release.

"Do you mean it?" she whispered.

Kellen looked her dead in the eye. "With all my heart."

He held her gaze. He counted the seconds in his head. Five hundred eighty... five hundred ninety...

The timer on his watch vibrated silently against his wrist.

Kellen stood up immediately. The warmth vanished from his face as if a light switch had been flicked off. His posture straightened. His voice returned to its flat, professional tenor.

"Session complete, Ms. Lowe. I will help you to bed."

Antoinette blinked, confused. The sudden withdrawal of affection was like a physical slap. She reached for him, but he was already moving, pulling her up by the arm.

He guided her to the bedroom. He pulled back the silk duvet and helped her in. He placed a glass of water and two aspirin on the nightstand-liability protection. If she woke up with a headache, she couldn't sue him for negligence.

Antoinette grabbed his hand as he turned to leave.

"Stay?" she pleaded.

"Overnight fees were not discussed in the contract," Kellen stated coldly.

He pulled his hand away. He turned off the light.

He walked out of the bedroom and into the hallway. He wiped his hand on his pants, scrubbing the skin as if trying to clean off the lie he had just sold her.

He exited the apartment. The cool night air hit his face. He took a deep breath, expelling the scent of her perfume from his lungs.

"Psychopaths, all of them," he muttered.

He walked to the bus stop, checking his banking app again. The money from the Parker termination had cleared. The money from Antoinette was pending. He was safe. For now.

Kellen's apartment was a basement unit in a building that should have been condemned in the nineties. It smelled of damp earth and boiled cabbage from the neighbor upstairs. He unlocked the three deadbolts on the door-click, click, click.

He stepped inside. The room was small. A mattress on the floor, a hot plate, and a desk. The desk was the only thing of value. On it sat a high-end computer setup, the glowing monitors illuminating the dark room. Next to the keyboard was a small block of wood and a carving knife. A half-finished sculpture of a dog emerged from the wood.

Kellen sat down. He didn't take off his coat. The heating was broken again.

He logged into "NightWhisper." It was a platform for voice acting and companionship. He had a profile there under the name "Atlas."

A request was waiting. VIP user: InsomniacPrincess.

He clicked on the details.

Request: Roleplay. Strict Authority Figure. No pity. Make me sleep. Duration: 30 mins.

Kellen sighed. He put on his noise-canceling headset. He adjusted the microphone. He cleared his throat, dropping his voice into the lower register that the clients paid extra for.

He connected the call.

"Are you there?" A female voice whispered. It was soft, shaky. Young.

Kellen leaned into the mic.

"I told you to be in bed, didn't I?" he said. His voice was a commanding baritone.

He heard a whimper on the other end. The sound of rustling sheets.

"I... I am. I'm sorry," she whispered.

"Good," Kellen said. "Now close your eyes. Do not open them until I say so."

He began the script. He ordered her to relax her muscles, starting from her toes. He used imperative sentences. "Relax your feet. Do it now. Breathe in. Hold it. Obey me."

He heard her breathing hitch. It sounded like a gasp of pain. A sharp intake of breath that wasn't part of the relaxation.

Kellen paused. His hand hovered over the mouse. His "big brother" instinct, forged from years of protecting smaller kids in the system, flared up.

"Are you okay?" he asked, breaking character. His voice softened. "You sound... hurt."

Silence on the line. The static hummed.

Then, a sharp, angry whisper cut through.

"Don't ask me that. Stick to the script."

"I'm just checking," Kellen insisted gently. "If you're in pain-"

"I don't pay you to care! I pay you to control!" she snapped. Her voice cracked.

Kellen flinched. He pulled back from the mic. He looked at the carving on his desk. He picked up the knife and ran his thumb over the dull edge.

"Understood," he said. "Punishment for speaking out of turn."

He returned to the persona. Cold. Distant. Controlling.

He guided her through the rest of the session. Slowly, the tension in her voice faded. Her breathing became rhythmic. Deep. Even.

She was asleep.

Kellen sat in the silence of his basement, listening to the breath of a stranger on the other side of the city. He felt a pang of loneliness hit him in the chest. It was a physical ache, a hollowness behind his ribs.

He disconnected the call quietly.

A notification popped up on his screen.

Rating: 4/5. Note: Don't break character.

Kellen rubbed his temples.

"Empathy is bad for business," he whispered to the empty room.

He picked up the wood block. He began to carve. Shavings of wood curled and fell to the floor, joining the pile of his silent frustrations.

The faculty lounge at the university was a sanctuary of beige armchairs and the smell of burnt espresso. Antoinette sat by the window, staring into the foam of her latte.

Heidy Hendrix, a Psychology professor with wild red hair and a penchant for oversized jewelry, sat opposite her.

"You look... better," Heidy noted. She eyed the glow in Antoinette's cheeks. It was the first time in months Antoinette didn't look like she had slept in a dumpster.

Antoinette smiled. It was a secret, smug smile.

"I think I met someone."

Heidy raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Do tell."

Antoinette leaned forward. "It was... intense. He held my hands. He told me I was breathtaking. He said my ex was a fool."

She omitted the part about the contract. She omitted the timer. In her mind, the memory had already been rewritten. The payment wasn't a fee; it was a gift.

Heidy frowned. "Annie, be careful. Was this... the proxy?"

Antoinette waved her hand dismissively. "Technically. But he looked at me, Heidy. He cried. I saw it."

Heidy sighed. "Men like that are actors, Annie. They mirror what you want. It's a classic case of transference, you're projecting a savior archetype onto him because he's a blank slate."

"No," Antoinette insisted. "You didn't see his eyes."

Just then, movement outside the window caught her eye. Antoinette gasped. She pointed a manicured finger at the glass.

"That's him."

Heidy turned. Through the glass, she saw a young man walking down the campus path. He was wearing a faded hoodie and carrying a stack of library books. He looked tired.

"The student?" Heidy asked. "He looks like a broke puppy."

"He's struggling," Antoinette said, her voice softening. "That's why he works. He has so much potential."

As they watched, Kellen stopped. A student dropped a pen in front of him. Kellen picked it up and handed it back with a polite smile.

"See?" Antoinette said triumphantly. "He's naturally kind."

Heidy shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe he likes older women. You are a catch, Annie."

The seed was planted. It took root in Antoinette's brain instantly. Her money wasn't buying his time. It was supporting his dreams. She was his patron. His muse.

She pulled out her phone. She typed a text.

I need you this afternoon. Personal shopping.

Outside, Kellen felt his phone vibrate. He stopped walking. He checked the screen. He sighed. He typed a reply.

My rate for shopping is double, Ms. Lowe.

Antoinette read the text and laughed. A girlish sound.

"He's playing hard to get," she said. "Cute."

She opened her banking app and transferred two thousand dollars.

Outside, Kellen saw the notification. His eyes widened. He looked at the phone, then up at the sky.

"Guess I'm a personal shopper now," he muttered.

Antoinette stood up, energized. "I'm going to dress him up."

Heidy watched her go, shaking her head. "This won't end well."