Ass: Lacey Jayne Interrogating Her

Lacey Jayne leaned back into the velvet curve of her chaise lounge, a half-empty glass of sparkling water sweating in her hand. The floor-to-ceiling windows of her downtown loft framed a city that glittered like a consolation prize. Outside, millions of lives hustled past without a glance at her penthouse. Inside, a perfect, curated silence.

The question sat on the page like an uninvited guest. For ten years, she had wanted visibility. Then relevance. Then wealth. Then to stay wealthy. Then to be untouchable. Now she was all of those things, and the air at this altitude was so thin she could barely remember what it felt like to breathe without being watched. lacey jayne interrogating her ass

But now, in the dark, with the cameras off and her glam team dismissed, the tear had been real for the wrong reasons. She wasn’t lonely because she was famous. She was lonely because she had engineered every room in her life to echo. Lacey Jayne leaned back into the velvet curve