"Hey hey hey, don’t run, sweetheart! Playing hard to get with me now?"
That greasy voice was way too close.
Ava's head pounded like she'd downed a bottle of hard liquor—hazy, heavy, like she’d been hit with a truck. Her chest felt like someone had dropped a concrete block on it. She couldn’t breathe, let alone think straight.
With blurry eyes, she blinked herself semi-awake and saw a guy—easily pushing 200 pounds—pressing down on her. He was yanking off his oversized tank top like his life depended on it.
And once that tank top came off…
Oh. My. God.
His round beer belly popped out like a balloon ready to burst—dude looked seven months pregnant. Except…no boobs. Just two beady little pervy eyes and a thick sausagey mouth that crept closer and closer.
WTF?!
Her eyes flew wide in horror. She almost cursed out loud but held it in. Reflex kicked in—her knee shot straight up and smashed him where it hurts most.
"AHHHHHH!!!"
His scream echoed through the room like a pig getting slaughtered, followed by a loud thud as the bulk of him hit the floor.
Ava clutched her head, still foggy, and forced herself to sit up. Her gaze landed on the guy curled up on the ground, both hands between his legs, face scrunched in pain. He looked familiar.
Wait a second…
"You've lost your mind, Ava! You just kicked me! Do you even want that spot on *Foodie Dash*?!"
She froze. That voice, that face—it clicked. “You’re… David Lawrence?”
David barked, “Don’t play dumb! Your manager already told me everything. Just keep me company tonight and the show’s yours!”
Manager. Show. Contract…
A memory snapped open, old and painful like an ancient wound scraped raw.
Fourteen years ago. Her family’s restaurant was about to launch a new branch when a food poisoning scandal tanked their whole reputation.
Just like that, everything was gone.
Behind the scenes? Her grandparents, uncle, even her own boyfriend had worked together to sell her family out. They kicked them out of the Nelson family business, stole the recipes, reopened the place, told the world the poisoned signature dishes would never come back—and the public cheered. Their stock soared.
But her family?
Caught in a storm of hate, lawsuits, bankruptcy. Her dad, trying to shield her mom from reporters, fell down the stairs and ended up in the ICU. Medical bills piled up. Debts flew in from all angles.
She was desperate to make money. Juggled three jobs a day. Begged her manager for gigs like a dog begging for scraps.
That’s when she met David.
He lured her in with talk of a contract. Lied. Betrayed her the second she showed up. The gig was real, but the price was her dignity.
Ava had grown up loved and protected. Her parents never let her suffer, even when business was rough. Now she was blacklisted, pelted with eggs and stones by the public, hated by everyone online.
Never in her worst dreams had she thought she’d be someone’s trade-off.
But that was all fourteen years ago.
Ava glanced up, stunned, at the man now limping to his feet, legs still clamped shut. Her eyes went right through him, as if seeing something far beyond—like the scope of a sniper rifle locking on from the shadows.
She’d been shot, hadn't she? Heart pierced, right in front of her parents’ graves.
Her left hand flew to her chest.
No blood. No wound.
Was… was this real?
Did she really come back? To fourteen years ago?
“That’s more like it. These days, no one wants to touch you. Only our new show’s brave enough to give you a shot.”
David grinned and started fiddling with his belt.
"Come on now, help me take these off."David Lawrence thought Ava Collins had finally given in when she went quiet. The lewd grin spread across his face as he forgot all about the pain and reached out, thinking he’d get lucky.
His greasy hand barely touched her shoulder when Ava’s lids dipped, giving him a lazy glance. She frowned slightly—looked like her earlier knee to his groin was too gentle.
Seriously, how many pills did this guy swallow to still be thinking with his pants?
She caught his hand mid-reach, her smile sweet but with a razor edge. “Sure, Director Lawrence. But don’t you think this little game’s a bit too... boring?”
Ava had always had striking features, the kind that turned heads even when people were trying to cancel her online. And when she smiled right then, it was like summer flowers in full bloom—bright, bold, and a little dangerous.
David gulped, eyes shining with an all-too-familiar hunger. “Yeah, kinda plain. Babe, what do you have in mind?”
She smirked, eyes drifting to the rope in the corner, her voice dripping with implication. “Something more interesting.”
Ten seconds later—
“Why are you tying up my hands?”
“Just adding a little spice. Don’t move, let me take the lead.”
“Heh… Okay… Wait, hold on—why’s that around my neck?!”
THUD.
Fist, meet face.
“I said don’t move. I’m running the show.”
“Ava! What the hell—are you out of your—”
SMACK!
One punch not enough? How about two.
“You crazy—how dare you hit—”
“Shut up!”
BANG.
Third punch, same spot, no mercy.
“OWWWWW! Quit it! Stop! Hit somewhere else!”
“AHHHH! No, not the leg! I swear it’s about to snap!”
Five minutes later.
David was strung up like a limp scarecrow—arms twisted behind him, rope looped around his neck and chest, with a flashy knot tied dead center. His legs had been bent backward and bound tight.
And now he was suspended mid-air, hanging from a support under the central AC, swaying back and forth like some tragic veggie—half cabbage, half shame.
Across from him, Ava sat on the couch, legs crossed, her earlier smile replaced with a cold, wild amusement. Her whole posture screamed: not playing by your rules anymore, and couldn’t care less.
“Let me down! Someone help!”
Ava tilted her head, completely unfazed. “Don’t waste your breath. You could scream all day, and no one’s coming.”
Click. She snapped a few photos, each one clearly capturing David in all his humiliating glory. Her grin returned—sly and dangerous. “Alright then, Director Lawrence. Now we can talk about that variety show spot.”
David kicked and wobbled mid-air, voice shrill. “Don’t even think about it! No way you’re getting on *Hungry Squad*! Over my dead—”
“Oh, don’t be like that.” Ava stood, casually tapping at her phone like she had all the time in the world. “If I check tomorrow's trending topics, I bet *you* won’t be missing.”
On her phone, high-res shots—every shameful angle—waited to make headlines.
David’s beady eyes went wide. Sweat poured down his face as all fight drained from him. “W-Wait! Wait up! I was kidding! Totally kidding! We can work something out, yeah?”
“Well, now you’re speaking my language.”
Ava had no problem tearing through his things like a pro—bags, pockets, even his pants got turned inside out. “Where’s my contract?”
David stammered, “I-I didn’t bring it…”
Arms folded, Ava’s voice turned icy. “You came out here ready to fool around and didn’t even bring payment?”
He choked a little. “I-It wasn’t final yet, how could there be a contract…”
She was smiling, but David couldn’t shake the feeling—it wasn’t kindness in her eyes. It was a storm.
