Erica Sinclair - America's Sweetheart --Self M/F

[Jenny_S]

Hollywood actress Shannen Bowers - known as America's Sweetheart - is receiving blackmail letters, the most recent one also containing discriminating photos showing her naked in a BDSM setting, tied to a wooden cross. Erica Sinclair is brought in to protect the young actress and find out who is blackmailing her. Erica goes undercover to infiltrate Shannen's inner circle...

This is Erica Sinclair's third adventure. Follow her as she sets foot on a battlefield that is entirely new to her.

[Jenny_S]

Erica Sinclair’s office on the 25th floor of the sleek glass-and-steel tower in Midtown Manhattan exudes the sophistication and confidence that mirrors her legal prowess. It’s a space designed to command respect: polished hardwood floors, floor-to-ceiling windows with panoramic views of the city skyline, and minimalist furnishings that emphasize function and elegance. This morning, her personal office is filled with a quiet focus as Erica pores over her current case files, her attention absorbed in the minute details that could make or break a defense.

The silence is interrupted by a soft knock. Claire Messner, Erica’s capable and unflappable assistant, steps into the office with a cautious look. “Miss Sinclair, I know you’re in the middle of something, but you have an urgent appointment request.”

Erica glances up, brow furrowing slightly. “Who is it?”

“Shannen Bowers,” Claire replies, lowering her voice as if the very name carries weight. “She’s here in person.”

Erica raises an eyebrow. Though she’s not deeply entrenched in the world of Hollywood glamour, even she recognizes Shannen’s name. The actress is a household name—an A-list star whose face graces magazine covers and headlines across the nation. A stunning blonde with a touch of copper in her hair and a physique that practically screams personal discipline, Shannen is a publicist’s dream. Erica’s mind races. It’s not every day that a celebrity of this caliber seeks out legal counsel.

“Send her in, Claire,” Erica says, setting aside her paperwork and shifting gears.

When Shannen Bowers enters, it’s like the temperature in the room drops a few degrees.
In person, she’s even more striking than on screen. Tall, with a cascade of blonde hair that shimmers under the office lighting, and bright blue eyes that, despite her calm demeanor, betray a trace of anxiety. She’s dressed impeccably—an off-white tailored suit that accentuates her curves, designer heels, and minimal jewelry. The kind of appearance that suggests effortless sophistication.

Erica stands and offers a hand, her posture relaxed but alert. “Ms. Bowers, it’s a pleasure. Please, have a seat.”

Shannen’s handshake is firm, but there’s a slight tremor as she settles into the chair opposite Erica. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice, Ms. Sinclair. I—I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Take your time,” Erica replies smoothly, gesturing to the carafe of water and glasses on the corner of her desk. “Can I get you something? Water? Coffee?”

“No, I’m fine.” Shannen’s voice is steady, but Erica can see the way her hands grip the arms of the chair, knuckles paling slightly.

“Of course.” Erica says softly, studying the actress. “What brings you here?”

With a deep breath, Shannen opens her designer handbag and pulls out a small stack of papers. She hands them to Erica, who flips through them. They’re photographs — very explicit, depicting the actress wearing fetish gear, a bright red ball gag in her mouth and chained to a wooden cross in what appears to be a BDSM studio. The sight of the photos sends a jolt through Erica. She doesn’t flinch outwardly, but something about the gear — the black leather harness tightly strapped around the model, steel handcuffs, the gag — strikes a chord of recognition within her. The realization is visceral.

“These arrived at my agency,” Shannen explains, her gaze fixed on Erica’s reaction. “First they were only letters that crazed fans write, but now there's this: these photos were accompanied by a blackmail letter. At first, I tried to ignored it because I’m used to dealing with obsessed fans and crazies, but…I just can't look away from it. Whoever is doing this could potentially destroy me.”

Erica leans back, the weight of the situation settling in. The letter is brief, almost casual in tone, but its threat is clear: “If you don’t want these to surface, you’ll meet our demands.”
“Why come to me? Surely your agency has its own team of lawyers.”

“Because I can’t trust them.” Shannen says fiercely. “This is…deeply personal. If these photos leak, they’ll ruin my reputation, my career — everything.”

Erica glances back at the photographs. The juxtaposition between the carefully cultivated, Hollywood-perfect image of Shannen Bowers and the dark, carnal nature of these pictures is jarring. “Miss Bowers, I must ask: are these photos real?” Erica inquires, her tone delicate but probing.

Shannen’s face flushes. “No — well, not entirely. They’re doctored. A montage. But…recently, I’ve been exploring...” She hesitates, a flush creeping up her neck. “Exploring things. Things that help me cope with the stress. I’m not proud of it, but I have experimented with… bondage. It was all private, controlled. But these pictures, they’re not from anything I've done.”

Erica nods slowly. The actress’s admission is unexpected, but it’s also a clue. It means that whoever the blackmailer is, they have an unsettling level of access to Shannen’s personal life and her vulnerabilities — or at least, to the rumors swirling around it.

“It’s okay.” Erica’s voice is calm, reassuring. “I’m not here to judge. My only concern is getting to the bottom of this and making sure you’re safe. We’ll treat these photos as fakes until proven otherwise. For now, let’s focus on finding the person responsible.”

The actress swallows hard, nodding. “I’m sorry. It’s just…they look so real, don’t they? And my image — my career — if anyone thought these were authentic, it would be over. I’d be finished.”
For a brief second Erica's thoughts trail off and she thinks about herself, her secret desires and the plastic bin under her bed with her toys and devices which help her cope with the stress her public image as a successful lawyer brings with it. She thinks about how she exposes herself in her most vulnerable state in the privacy of her bedroom. She can absolutely understand Shannen Bowers' concern.

Erica snaps back into the here and now. “Thank you for your honesty, Ms. Bowers. Everything you say is strictly confidential.”

Shannen breathes out a sigh of relief, her shoulders relaxing slightly. “So, will you take the case?”

Erica looks at her steadily. “I will. I’ll do everything I can to make sure this doesn’t go any further.”

A sigh of relief escapes Shannen’s lips, and she almost slumps in her chair. “Thank you, Ms. Sinclair. You have no idea what this means to me.”

“I’m here to help,” Erica says, reaching into her drawer to pull out her business card. She scribbles her private cell number on the back and hands it to the actress. “Call me anytime, day or night. And try not to worry. We’ll get to the bottom of this.”

Shannen takes the card, holding it tightly. “I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Just stay in touch. I’ll keep you updated on my progress.” Erica gathers the letter and photos, placing them in a brown leather attaché case. “I’ll be in touch soon.”

After Shannen leaves, Erica sits at her desk, staring at the photographs. Her hand moves to her right ring finger, where she begins to absentmindedly twist her gold university class ring — a habit she’s developed over the years when she’s deep in thought. Then, with a decisive motion, she slips the blackmail letter and photographs into her brown leather attaché case.

This isn’t just another client, and she knows that this one is going to take her deep into a world she hasn't explored herself yet.

[Jenny_S]

Erica’s apartment, nestled high above the bustling city streets, is a sanctuary of modern design and understated luxury. Soft lighting casts a warm glow across the minimalist furniture and the walls adorned with carefully curated art. But in her bedroom, far from the polished world of courtroom debates and strategic legal maneuvers, Erica Sinclair allows herself a rare and secret indulgence.

Standing in front of her full-length mirror, she gazes at her own reflection. The tailored suits and crisp blouses that define her work persona are gone, scattered on the floor between the kitchen and her bedroom. Now, her toned frame is bare, illuminated only by the faint light of the bedside lamp. She reaches for the glass of deep red Nero d’Avola on the nightstand and takes a long, slow sip, savoring the way the wine’s rich, earthy flavors roll over her tongue, warming her from the inside. Setting the glass down, she lets out a slow exhale, feeling the tension from the day's events finally begin to dissolve.

With deliberate movements, Erica kneels down on the dark hardwood floor, the cool surface grounding her. She reaches beneath the bed, pulling out a plain plastic bin — its contents carefully hidden from the world, just like the side of herself she now prepares to reveal. She lifts the lid and glances inside, feeling a familiar tingle of anticipation in her chest.

Her fingers, elegant and precise, hover over the items within: several neatly coiled lengths of soft white cotton rope, their texture smooth and comforting against her skin, a heavy set of steel handcuffs, their metallic gleam a stark contrast to the rope’s softness. She touches each item reverently, as if reconnecting with old, trusted companions.

Before proceeding, Erica removes the gold university class ring from her finger and the massive Rolex watch from her wrist, placing both on the nightstand next to her phone, which sits charging in silent anticipation of tomorrow’s demands. These are symbols of the woman she is expected to be—the successful, sharp-witted attorney, always in control. Tonight, however, she is shedding that skin and become something else. Someone else.

She picks up the ropes first, savoring their weight and pliability. With practiced efficiency, she ties each length to the lower corners of her bedframe, securing them with knots she knows won’t slip. Once the ropes are in place, she turns her attention to the handcuffs, feeling their cold, unforgiving steel in her palm. The slight clinking sound they make as she handles them sends a small shiver down her spine.

Methodically, she tapes the keys to the bed’s headboard — just far enough that she will have to stretch and struggle to reach them, but not so far that escape is impossible. Erica’s movements are calm, precise, almost reverent. This is a ritual she has performed countless times before, but it never loses its potency. Each step is a deliberate act of submission to herself, a relinquishing of the strict discipline she must embody every day.

The cuffs, now attached to a rope at the headboard, glint softly in the lamplight, awaiting her wrists. She stands and gazes down at the scene she has meticulously arranged, feeling a heady mix of excitement and tranquility wash over her. Tonight, she is not Erica Sinclair, the formidable attorney. She is simply Erica, allowing herself to be vulnerable, unguarded.

Slowly, she climbs onto the bed, positioning herself with her back against the cool sheets. She wraps the bottom ropes around her ankles, then reaches up and clicks the handcuffs around her wrists, the metal closing with a satisfying finality. With one last look at the keys taped above her, she pulls her arms taut, feeling the tension in the ropes as they hold her in place. Her body stretches luxuriously, each muscle yielding to the restraint.

For a moment, she lies still, breathing deeply, letting the silence of the room envelop her. In this state, stripped of all pretense and expectation, she finds a strange, serene freedom. The ropes at her ankles prevent her legs from shifting too far apart, while the cuffs above her hold her arms helplessly in place. The vulnerability of the position, the self-imposed restraint, brings a deep, quiet satisfaction.

There is no courtroom drama here, no intricate legal arguments or strategic maneuvers. No clients or adversaries to impress or outwit. Here, she answers to no one but herself, bound by her own hand. It’s a space where Erica doesn’t have to be Miss Sinclair. It’s a world where she can let go, unburdened by the weight of her public persona.

Erica closes her eyes, focusing on the subtle sensations—the bite of the cuffs against her wrists, the pull of the ropes against her skin. A small, contented smile curves her lips as she surrenders to the moment, allowing herself to drift away into the delicate, intoxicating thrill of self-imposed captivity.

[LunaDog]

Promising start. Clearly, the superb standard of your other story is about to be maintained.

[Caesar73]

The first two Parts are very promising! As usual very well written - and intriguing, very much so!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog , @Caesar73 thanks so much for your praise. In a minute you can see how the story unfolds further.

[Jenny_S]

Erica’s heels click against the polished marble floor of the courthouse as she strides toward the DA’s office. There’s an air of familiarity here - the subtle nods of recognition from the clerks and officers as she passes by, her confidence evident in every step. Reaching the office, she gives a brief smile to the receptionist before being ushered into a conference room where District Attorney Vickers and Assistant DA Sophie van Rey are already waiting.

“Miss Siclair, what brings you back to our humble office?” DA Charles Vickers’s deep voice fills the room. He leans back in his chair, his imposing presence softened by a genuine look of curiosity. Across from him, Sophie van Rey, ever poised, offers Erica a polite nod.

“Always a pleasure, Mr. Vickers.” Erica replies, taking the seat opposite him. “I have a favor to ask - one that requires some discretion.”

Sophie raises an eyebrow, exchanging a quick glance with Vickers. “We’re listening.”

Erica explains the situation carefully, omitting any explicit details about Shannen’s involvement in the photos. “I’m dealing with a client – a very public person - who’s being blackmailed. The package, including some very compromising, digitally altered photos, was mailed from a specific post office here in Manhattan.” She hesitates, choosing her words deliberately. “The nature of the threat is… delicate. I was hoping you could help me gain access to the security footage at the post office without drawing too much attention.”

Vickers leans forward, his gaze sharpening. “You’re asking us to flex our influence with the postmaster?”

“Yes.” Erica nods. “If you make the request, it’s more likely to be taken seriously and handled quietly. It’s something I cannot do. Legally.”

Sophie studies Erica with her sharp, analytical eyes. “This client of yours - is she in immediate danger?”

“No physical danger, not yet. But if these images go public, it could destroy her career. I need to get a step ahead of the blackmailer.”

Vickers tilts his head, considering. “And this client is worth the favor?”

Erica’s gaze doesn’t waver. “She’s very high-profile, which means a scandal of this sort will generate national headlines and scrutiny for everyone involved, including this office. The sooner I can get ahead of it, the less chance there is for fallout.”

Sophie sighs, her fingers tapping lightly on the table as she looks at her boss to decide.
“Fine. We will call the postmaster. But Erica, I want full transparency on this. If there’s any indication that we’re dealing with something criminal beyond extortion - if lives are at stake - you bring us in immediately. Understood?”

Erica nods. “I understand, and you have my word. But I know you’re busy, Mr. Vickers. I wouldn’t have come to you unless it was important. I appreciate you taking the time to listen.”

Vickers waves off her gratitude with a dismissive gesture. “I don’t have time to handle this personally.” he says. “Sophie will take care of it. She’ll coordinate with you and make sure we get what you need.”

“Of course.” Erica says, glancing over at Sophie. “I know this could become a bigger issue, and your cooperation is crucial. As soon as I have any lead, I’ll inform Sophie right away.”

Vickers nods thoughtfully, his expression approving. “Let’s roll.”
With that, Vickers stands, signaling the end of the meeting. “Keep us in the loop, Miss Sinclair. If this is as serious as you say, it’s better to nip it in the bud before it spirals out of control.”

Erica rises as well, extending a hand. “Thank you, Mr. Vickers. I’ll keep you updated.”

After Vickers exits the room, Sophie glances at Erica, a faint smile playing on her lips. “All right then. Let’s get to work.”

Sophie reaches for her phone and dials the number of the specific Manhattan post office. She leans back in her chair, her voice calm but authoritative as she speaks.

“Hello, this is Assistant District Attorney Sophie van Rey from the New York County DA’s Office. I need access to the complete security footage from your office for a specific day—yes, it’s related to a sensitive investigation, so I’m going to need that footage as soon as possible. Can you ensure it’s pulled and ready for review?” She pauses, listening, then nods curtly. “Thank you. I’ll send someone over to collect it shortly.”

Hanging up, she turns back to Erica. “Footage will be ready by the end of the day. You’ll be able to pick it up yourself or have someone from your office retrieve it.”

“Perfect.” Erica says, feeling the familiar thrill of the investigation taking shape. “Thank you, Sophie.”

Sophie offers a small nod, a hint of respect in her gaze. “Just be careful, Erica. That’s all we ask.”

“I will.” Erica assures her, gathering her things. “And I’ll be in touch.”






Erica glances at the clock as the USB stick containing the post office’s camera footage lands in her palm, courtesy of Claire. It’s nearing close of business, and the weight of the small device feels like the key to unraveling a mystery that has gnawed at her. She doesn’t waste any time - hurrying home, Erica slips into her apartment, a sense of urgency propelling her forward.

Her laptop is waiting on the coffee table, cables neatly arranged to connect it to the big screen TV that dominates her living room wall. Settling in, she plugs in the USB stick and opens the video files one by one. Each file is labeled with the corresponding camera and its angle - six different viewpoints, all synced to the same time.

Erica’s eyes narrow as she brings up the footage from the post office lobby. The postmark on the envelope isn’t just a date - it’s a precise time stamp: 4:38 PM. She enters the time and adjusts the playback to a couple of minutes before the mark. As the video plays, the footage shows the post office’s interior, customers milling about and moving in and out of frame. A few people stand in line at counter 1, the only service window open at that hour. The line is short - only three people are waiting. No one looks particularly suspicious, but Erica knows that appearances can be deceiving.

Then, at exactly 4:36 PM, the camera catches him. A man, dressed in a dark hoodie and jeans, steps up to the counter. He moves with a practiced calm, as if he’s done this a hundred times before. He slides a brown manila envelope across the counter, and Erica leans forward, her heart pounding. She reaches for the envelope on the table beside her - the same one, the very one, she received.
The female clerk takes it, her motions mechanical as she places it on the scale and punches in the weight. A few taps later, at precisely 4:38 PM, the moment Erica has been waiting for, the clerk stamps the envelope and tosses it into the “Out” bin behind her.

“Gotcha.” Erica whispers, a grin spreading across her face. The man pays in cash, his head lowered slightly, but as he turns away, he glances up - right at one of the security cameras.

Erica quickly rewinds the video, then slows it to half-speed. She watches the sequence again, eyes tracking his every movement. She pauses the frame just as he looks up. His face fills the screen - clear, unmistakable, with dark eyes and a square jaw. The image is grainy but good enough to capture his features. She takes a screenshot, then another as he moves through the lobby and pushes open the glass doors to step back into the street.

She goes back once more, capturing his face from different camera angles - the entrance, the counter, the exit. He doesn’t seem to mind the cameras; his glances are fleeting but revealing.

Erica sits back, her gaze fixed on the frozen image of the man’s face on the screen. A thrill courses through her. This is it. This is the lead she’s been chasing.

The hunt is on.

[Jenny_S]

Just a minute after Erica saves the screenshots on another USB stick, her phone buzzes. Finally. This is the call she’s been waiting for.

She picks up immediately. “Hey, Drea!” she greets, her voice steady despite the anticipation coursing through her. On the other end of the line is Andrea Santos, her old friend and the best computer forensics expert Erica knows - a real witch with a computer.

“What’s cooking, Ricky?” Andrea asks cheerfully. She knows Erica wouldn’t have left such an urgent message on her voicemail earlier unless it was something serious.

“Can I borrow an hour or so of your time tonight?” Erica asks. “I’ve got something to show you and - yep, you guessed it - I need your help.”

“Sure, Ricky. Swing by and bring dinner. I’m all for Chow Mein.”

“Deal,” Erica says, relief washing over her. “I’ll be with you in about forty minutes.”

Hanging up, Erica quickly changes into something casual: blue jeans, a slightly oversized plaid shirt, scuffed cowboy boots, and a well-worn brown leather jacket. She grabs the manila envelope with the photos, pockets the USB stick with the screenshots, and slings her handbag over her shoulder as she heads to the underground parking, boots thudding softly on each step.

On the way to Andrea’s lab, Erica stops at one of the better Chinese takeouts to pick up the food. The savory aroma of garlic, ginger, and soy sauce fills the small shop, making her stomach growl in response. She shifts her weight impatiently as she waits, eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds. The anticipation of what she’s going to find out makes it hard to stand still.

She arrives at Andrea’s place on the dot. Her friend, tiny with an olive complexion, dark curls, and thick glasses - the quintessential look of a computer nerd - opens the door, unlocking what seems like a dozen deadbolts and chains.

“Come in, come in!” Andrea waves her inside and takes the bag with the thermos boxes from Erica’s hands. The scent of freshly cooked Chow Mein wafts through the room as she leads the way into her lab - a single room crammed with all sorts of computers, viewscreens, and other tech gadgets that Erica can barely begin to understand.

Andrea plops down into her gaming chair, the leather squeaking slightly, and gestures for Erica to take the seat next to her. Without wasting a second, she pulls out a pair of chopsticks and opens the thermos box filled with Chow Mein. “You talk, I eat.” she declares with a broad smile, already slurping the noodles.

Erica nods and places the envelope on the desk, the crinkling of the paper cutting through the hum of the computers. Without revealing the identity of her client, she lays out the situation and shows Andrea the photos. Drea’s chopsticks pause mid-air as she examines one of the images.

“You know who that is, right?” Drea points at the photo with her chopsticks. “That’s Shannen Bowers.”

“I know.” Erica admits. “I need to know if the photo’s real. Shannen says it’s fake, but I need to know for sure. And…there could be fingerprints on these. I’m hoping you can help me lift them. Okay, mine are on there, too…” she adds grudgingly, “and probably those of a dozen other people, but also of some bad guys.”

Andrea finishes her meal, the last few slurps echoing in the small lab, then tosses the empty box into the trash can under her massive desk. She pulls on a pair of surgical gloves. “Alright, first we digitize the photos.” she says, sliding them through a high-res scanner with deft fingers. “That way, I can analyze them properly. Lifting the prints and isolating them will take a while, though. I can get the results to you by tomorrow afternoon.”

Erica nods, watching as Andrea pulls up the scanned photos on her main screen and uploads them into a program she’s coded herself. “My Yoda can separate all the layers of the photos and… hang on…” Andrea murmurs, her eyes narrowing in concentration. With a click of her mouse, she peels away the image of the naked woman - supposedly Shannen Bowers in fetish gear - from the wooden cross and enlarges it.

“This may look like Shannen, but it’s clearly AI-generated, Ricky.” Andrea’s voice is confident. She points out tiny distortions in the pixel layers, flaws that no human eye would normally catch. “A good, professional AI, but no matter how refined these programs are, they still have their flaws.”

Erica leans forward, studying the image more closely. Relief flickers through her - if it’s fake, it’s something she can use. “Okay, that’s good to know.”

In the lower corner of the screen, a seemingly endless series of images zips by in quick succession. Then, an identical photo of the dungeon-like room with the wooden cross pops up and overlays itself onto the scanned photo.

“And this is the background image they ripped from the internet.” Andrea announces, pointing at the screen. “Taken from this website… a BDSM club over in Jersey.”

Erica immediately enters the club’s URL into her phone’s browser and pulls up the site. It’s login-protected and members-only, but the address, phone number, and email are all visible on the front page. She takes a quick screenshot of the information for later, her fingers steady despite the racing of her pulse.

The whole photo analysis takes Andrea maybe fifteen minutes. Erica marvels at how quickly she’s able to break it all down, feeling a mixture of admiration and gratitude for her friend’s skills.

“Anything else?” Andrea asks, her tone light and curious.

“Since you ask…” Erica says and hands over the USB stick. “Can you clean up these screenshots for me? There’s a man on them I might be looking for.”

“You might, eh?” Andrea grins mischievously and plugs the stick into her laptop. After running a quick malware scan, she uploads the images into yet another software program. As the details sharpen and the graininess fades, the man’s face, his clothes, and even the slight tension in his stance come into focus.

Drea’s eyes flit over the enhanced photos, a flicker of respect crossing her face. “There, now we’re cooking.” she says, downloading the polished images back onto the USB stick and handing it to Erica. “Top-notch quality now.”

“Thanks, Drea. You’re the best.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Andrea replies with a wink before pushing her glasses back up her nose. “Good luck, Ricky. Keep me posted.”

With a final nod, Erica pockets the USB stick and heads out. The scent of Chow Mein still lingers in the air, mixing with the subtle, metallic tang of electronics. There’s still a lot of ground to cover, but at least now she has a clearer path forward.






Having left Drea’s lab, Erica navigates her black Volvo smoothly through the city streets, the engine’s low purr barely audible over the ambient hum of traffic. The dashboard lights cast a soft glow against the leather interior as she flips open her phone and dials Shannen Bowers’ personal number. She grips the steering wheel with one hand, eyes focused on the road as the call connects.

One ring. Two. Three. She can feel her heartbeat picking up with each passing second. On the fourth buzz, Shannen finally picks up.

“Miss Sinclair?” The actress’s voice is a mix of surprise and relief, a slight tremor betraying her nerves. “Is everything okay? It’s late…”

Erica glances briefly at the clock on her dashboard. It’s nearing eleven, but she doesn’t waste time on pleasantries. “Hi, Shannen. There have been some interesting developments.” she says, keeping her voice calm and steady. “I’d like to see you at my office tomorrow. As early as you can make it.”

“Interesting developments?” Shannen repeats, a note of hopefulness creeping into her tone. “That sounds… promising. I can be there by ten.”

“Ten is perfect.” Erica agrees, switching lanes smoothly, her gaze never leaving the road. “I’m looking forward to seeing you.”

A brief pause follows, then Erica adds, her voice firm but gentle, “And Shannen - remember, don’t tell anyone anything. Not yet.”

“Of course, Miss Sinclair. I won’t say a word,” Shannen promises.

“Good.” Erica replies, exhaling softly as some of the tension in her shoulders eases. “See you tomorrow, then.”

“See you tomorrow,” Shannen echoes before the line clicks off.

Erica sets the phone back on the passenger seat and merges onto the highway, headlights cutting through the darkness as she accelerates toward home. The night is quiet, but her mind buzzes with anticipation. There’s still a long way to go, but tomorrow could be a turning point.

[Caesar73]

I have to say, this is another excellent tale. Erica is such a wonderful Character! Nice Pacing. Nothing seems forced. In short? Keep it up!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73 , that's so kind of you. I'm currently working on Erica's ninth adventure. In each story we will see a little more about her character unveiled and I have a lot for her in store.
I'm happy you enjoy my stories.

If you can't wait, you'll find the full length story (as well as the previous ones and also her fourth adventure) here: https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing

[Jenny_S]

The next morning, the meeting room at Erica’s law firm is set and ready. The overhead lights cast a bright but welcoming glow over the polished mahogany table, and the multimedia system is powered up and prepped for the presentation. Claire, Erica’s assistant, finishes arranging the last few items on the table, giving everything one final check. Despite having only just returned from her honeymoon a couple of weeks ago, Claire is fully back in the swing of things - efficient, organized, and always a step ahead.

She glances at her watch. Right on cue, the outer door opens, and Shannen Bowers walks in. Claire moves swiftly to greet her, a warm smile on her face. “Good morning, Ms. Bowers. Erica is just finishing up some preparations. Please, come with me.”

Shannen offers a polite nod, her posture a touch stiff. Claire notices how Shannen’s fingers tighten around the strap of her handbag. Even beneath her calm exterior, the actress is clearly on edge.

Claire leads her down the hallway and into the spacious, glass-walled meeting room. “Please, take a seat wherever you’re comfortable.” Claire says, gesturing toward the plush chairs arranged around the table. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, water, or a soft drink?”

“Um, coffee… black, please.” Shannen replies after a moment’s hesitation, her voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of anxiety.

“Coming right up.” Claire answers smoothly. She pours a fresh cup from the machine in the corner, the fragrant aroma of dark roast filling the air. She places the cup gently in front of Shannen with a smile. “Here you go. Miss Sinclair will be with you in just a moment.”

No sooner does she say this than the door opens, and Erica strides in, dressed in a sharp navy-blue business suit. She exudes authority and competence, her stride confident, her gaze direct and unwavering.

“Shannen, thank you for coming in on such short notice.” Erica greets, her tone professional but warm. She extends a hand, which Shannen shakes lightly. “I appreciate your time.”

“Of course.” Shannen replies, settling back into her chair. “After what you said yesterday, I… well, I’d rather know what’s going on sooner rather than later.”

“Absolutely.” Erica agrees. She glances over at Claire, giving her a small nod of thanks. With that, Claire exits the room, closing the soundproof door behind her. Now, it’s just the two of them.

Erica walks to the head of the table, where the laptop is connected to the large wall-mounted screen. She picks up the wireless mouse and keyboard, taking a moment to pull up a series of files. “I’d like to start by showing you something I managed to obtain yesterday.”

She holds up the manila envelope, displaying the postmark clearly. “This is the envelope you received – please notice the type, stamp, and most importantly, the exact postmark.” Erica points to the time printed on the envelope. “October 12th, 4:38 PM.”

Shannen leans in, eyes narrowing slightly as she studies the postmark, clearly trying to recall the details of the day she first saw it.

“I was able to secure the camera footage from the post office where this was mailed.” Erica clicks the mouse, and the screen flickers to life, showing a grid of six different camera angles from the post office. “Let’s take a look.”

She clicks to zoom in on Camera 3, which gives a clear view of the line at Window 1. “This segment was recorded between 4:35 and 4:40 PM. Watch closely.”

The video plays, the quality crisp, every detail visible. Three customers are standing in line at the counter. Erica fast-forwards until one man steps up to the window, a brown envelope tucked under his arm. She slows the playback and lets the footage run in real-time as the man places the envelope on the counter.

“Notice the envelope he’s carrying.” Erica says, pausing the video. “It’s the exact same type you received.”

With a few clicks, Erica advances frame by frame. The man passes the envelope to the clerk, who sets it on the scale, weighs it, and then stamp - the postmark appears at exactly 4:38 PM. Erica zooms in further, freezing the frame.

Shannen’s eyes widen, her breath catching. “That’s… that’s the same time,” she whispers, glancing back at the envelope in Erica’s hand. “It’s really the same…”

“Yes.” Erica confirms softly, her tone gentle but firm. “The envelope that was sent to you was processed at this exact time.”

Shannen shifts in her seat, visibly stunned. Her fingers tighten around the coffee cup, and she takes a slow, steadying breath.

But Erica’s not finished yet. She pulls up another window on her laptop, switching to a set of enhanced screenshots. “I want to show you something else.” she says, flipping open a slim file folder filled with high-quality still images. She lays them out on the table in front of Shannen.

“These are enhanced versions of the man in the footage.” Erica explains. “A computer forensics expert I work with cleaned up the images for me.”

Shannen’s gaze locks onto the photos. Her expression shifts - shock, disbelief, and then something else, something darker—anger. She leans closer, her eyes tracing the man’s features as if trying to etch them into her memory.

“This…Miss Sinclair…Erica…how did you get these?” Shannen asks, her voice trembling slightly. “You’ve only had the case for a day!”

Erica straightens, meeting Shannen’s gaze with calm resolve. “When there’s a potential threat against a client, I don’t like to waste time.” she replies simply.

Shannen shakes her head slowly, still staring at the images. “I… I can’t believe how much you’ve already uncovered.”

Erica offers a small, reassuring smile. “We’re not done yet. But I needed you to see this. Now we know the envelope was definitely mailed by someone at that post office, and we have a clear view of who that someone is.”

She pauses, her gaze shifting back to the enhanced photos spread out on the table. “Shannen, have you ever seen this man before?”

Shannen looks at the high-resolution images again, her brow furrowing in concentration. Slowly, she traces the man’s features with a well-manicured nail - lingering on the sharp jawline, the slightly crooked nose, and the short, tousled hair. A look of recognition flickers in her eyes.

“I’ve seen him a couple of times.” she finally says, a touch of uncertainty still in her voice. “He works for my agent as an intern. He’s a… gopher.”

Erica’s eyes narrow slightly. “Please explain, Shannen.”

Shannen glances up at Erica, her lips pressing together briefly before she continues, “An errand boy. Go fer this, go fer that.” she says, enunciating the last words as if it’s a phrase she’s heard too many times. “I don’t know his name or anything, I’ve just seen him around now and then when I was at the agency.”

Erica nods thoughtfully, filing away the information. The connection to Shannen’s agent makes things a little more complicated. There’s a lot more at play here than just some random delivery guy at a post office.

“I can ask my agent!” Shannen says suddenly, a note of excitement in her voice. She reaches for her phone, unlocking it with quick, practiced movements.

But before she can dial, Erica leans forward and gently lays a hand over Shannen’s, halting her. “I’d rather you didn’t, not yet.”

Shannen looks up, surprise and confusion flashing across her face. “Why not? I mean, if he works for her, she can tell us his name, where he lives, what he…”

“I understand.” Erica interjects softly but firmly, her eyes steady on Shannen’s. “But as long as we can’t be sure of his role in this case, or to whom he might be connected, it’s better not to involve anyone else. We need to keep this on a strict need-to-know basis.”

Shannen hesitates, her thumb hovering over the phone’s screen. Slowly, she lowers it, a faint frown creasing her brow. “You think… he could be working with someone?”

“It’s possible.” Erica replies cautiously, choosing her words with care. “Or he could just be following instructions without knowing what’s really going on. Either way, until we have more information, I don’t want to alert anyone that we’re onto him.”

Shannen’s shoulders slump slightly as she absorbs this, the brief spark of eagerness dimming. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have jumped the gun.”

Erica gives her hand a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay. You’re just trying to help. But trust me, we need to move carefully.”

Shannen nods, her expression now resolved. “I won’t say anything. I promise.”

“Good.” Erica says softly. She releases Shannen’s hand and leans back in her chair. “We’ll figure out the next steps together. But first, let’s make sure we know exactly who this guy is and what he’s been up to.”

Shannen’s gaze drops back to the photos. “What should I do now?”

“Nothing for the moment.” Erica replies. “Just continue as if nothing’s happened. Go about your day as usual. If you see this guy again, don’t approach him, don’t engage. Just let me know immediately.”

“Got it.” Shannen says firmly, her tone matching Erica’s. She pockets her phone and sits up straighter, as if mentally preparing herself for whatever comes next.

Erica watches her for a moment, then nods approvingly. “We’ll get to the bottom of this, Shannen. Just hold tight and trust me.”

Shannen nods back, the tension in the room easing slightly. “I trust you, Erica. Thank you.”

“Always.” Erica replies with a small smile. Then, with the click of a button, she powers off the screen, the room falling into a thoughtful silence.


Erica breaks the lingering silence, leaning forward slightly. Her gaze remains calm and analytical, but there's a new intensity to her voice. “Shannen, let’s shift gears for a moment. I need to ask you about your personal situation - your inner circle, close relationships, people you trust.”

Shannen blinks, her brow furrowing in confusion. “My personal situation? What do you mean by that?”

Erica pauses, choosing her words carefully. “You’ve gone to great lengths, along with your management, to maintain an image. ‘America’s Sweetheart,’ right? Everyone sees you as the girl next door. And keeping that reputation intact means keeping your private life under lock and key. That’s why I’m asking - because when something like this happens, it often comes from someone who knows you well enough to hurt you. Intimately.”

Shannen looks down, fidgeting with the handle of her coffee cup. “So… what are you asking exactly?”

“Let’s start with the basics.” Erica says softly but directly. “Are you currently in a relationship? A boyfriend or lover who might know about your, um, private interests? Or any ex-boyfriends who might still hold a grudge?”

Shannen’s cheeks flush slightly, but she doesn’t look away. “Yes… I do have a boyfriend. His name’s Boyd. But he would never do anything to harm me - he’s a great guy, kind, supportive. I don't think I've ever told him about my interest in bondage.” She thinks hard for a moment. “No, I'm sure I never told anybody.”

Erica nods, absorbing the information without judgment. “Okay, that’s good to know. I’m not saying it’s him. But when someone wants to ruin you, they usually start by using what’s closest to you.” She hesitates for a beat. “What about exes? Anyone who might be bitter or holding onto something from the past?”

Shannen bites her lip, thinking. “There’s always the usual suspects - the clingy ones who didn’t take the breakup well, the possessive types, but… nothing serious. Nobody that I think would actually go to these lengths. At least, not that I know of.” She frowns, her gaze dropping to her lap. “I can’t believe someone I know would do this.”

“It’s hard to accept.” Erica says gently. “But we need to be thorough. In situations like these, trust is a fragile thing.”

Shannen nods, taking a steadying breath. Then, almost as if a thought suddenly strikes her, she looks back up at Erica. “I’m throwing a private party in a few days, just a small gathering at my place. Why don’t you come? You can get a feel for the people around me, see if anyone seems… off.”

Erica considers this, tilting her head. “That’s not a bad idea. But I won’t attend as your lawyer. We don’t want to raise any suspicion.”

“What do you have in mind?” Shannen asks, a hint of curiosity breaking through the lingering tension.

Erica’s lips curve into a subtle smile. “I’ll come as someone else - say, your new personal trainer. That way, I can mingle, observe, and talk to people without drawing too much attention. And I’ll bring in one of my associates who’s an expert investigator. If anyone’s hiding something, we’ll find it.”

Shannen’s eyes widen slightly, but then she nods, some of the worry in her expression giving way to a faint, hopeful smile. “That sounds… great, actually. I don’t know why, but for the first time in days, it feels like there’s a light at the end of this tunnel.”

“Good.” Erica leans back, her posture relaxed but still watchful. “We’ll be subtle. No one will suspect a thing.”

“Right.” Shannen agrees. “I’ll tell Boyd I have a new trainer - that's not unusual for actors. And everyone else will be none the wiser.”

“Perfect.” Erica replies. “I’ll devise a plan and we’ll stay in touch until then. Just keep everything business as usual. The less you change your routine, the better.”

They share a look of understanding, the earlier tension easing as they begin to map out their next steps. Shannen stands first, smoothing the front of her blouse and offering Erica a grateful smile.

“Thank you, Erica. I mean it.” she says softly.

Erica rises too, giving a slight nod. “I’m here to help, Shannen. We’ll figure this out.”

With that, Shannen gathers her things and heads for the door, her steps lighter than when she first arrived. Erica watches her go, the wheels already turning in her mind about what - or who - she might find at that party.

“See you soon.” she calls after her.

Shannen glances back and gives Erica a small, determined smile. “See you soon, Erica.”






The door closes softly behind Shannen, leaving the meeting room quiet and still. Erica remains standing for a moment, her gaze lingering on the spot where the actress stood, replaying their conversation in her mind. Slowly, she exhales, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

Her thoughts drift back to the case and the images she’s been scrutinizing - the damning photographs designed to shatter Shannen’s reputation. For a fleeting moment, Erica imagines Shannen restrained: ropes carefully uncoiled, arms pulled taut, a controlled tension running through her frame. Not as an object of desire or spectacle, but as someone testing the limits of her own boundaries. Vulnerable, yet empowered. The kind of release that’s hard to articulate unless you’ve felt it yourself - the paradox of control and surrender.

Erica blinks, shaking off the thought like a wisp of smoke. Now’s not the time to be sidetracked by imagination. This is about protecting Shannen, not getting tangled in the emotions these photos are meant to stir up. She straightens her jacket and steps back from the table, the familiar focus settling in her mind once more.

With a final glance at the closed door, Erica steels herself, resolve sharpening. The lines between business and personal blur far too easily in a case like this, but she’s never let that stop her before. “Time to push forward and get to the truth, no matter where it leads—or what it awakens.”

[Caesar73]

I like such one on one Situations very much. The Dialogues are really good. You capture the intimacy, the emotions of Shannen very well. How Eric puts her at ease. I have the feeling the next Chapter will be even more interesting. This is another gripping Tale of yours @Jenny_S

[Jenny_S]

@Caesar73 We'll be seeing a lot of Shannen's world soon, a world that Erica isn't familiar with. Thank you for your kind comment, though. I'm happy that you enjoy this story.

[Jenny_S]

Before heading back to her office, Erica stops by the break room to pour herself a fresh mug of coffee. The rich aroma fills the small space as she drops in two Sweet'n Low, stirring slowly until they dissolve into the dark liquid. She tops it off with a splash of almond milk, watching the creamy swirl blend into a light mocha shade. Satisfied, she takes a sip and heads down the hallway.

Seated behind her desk, she sets the mug aside and picks up her phone, dialing John Dance’s number. He answers on the second ring.

“Erica! How’s life treatin’ ya?” His voice is as lively as ever, the faint drawl making her smile.

“Hey John!” Erica greets him warmly, leaning back in her chair. “Life’s good, busy as always.”

“Busy means business. What can I do for ya?” he asks, jumping straight to the point.

Erica doesn’t waste any time. “I need you to look into someone - an errand man at All Star Agency. He’s a person of interest in a case I’m working on.” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “Shannen Bowers received some blackmail threats with compromising photos attached. They’re doctored, but still damaging. I have reason to believe this guy might be involved.”

There’s a low whistle on the other end. “Shannen Bowers? America’s Sweetheart caught in a scandal? Damn, that’s messy. Always wanted to work for her.”

Erica laughs softly. “You’d be working for me, John, but maybe I can get her autograph for you.”

There’s a pause as Dance considers the offer. “Even without the autograph I'm in. Got any visuals on our guy?”

“Just sending you a set of enhanced photos.” Erica says, fingers tapping lightly on her keyboard as she sends the files. “Take a look and let me know what you think.”

She hears a faint buzz on his end as the pictures come through. A moment later, John hums thoughtfully. “Yeah, I see him. College-age, clean cut… Looks like the type to blend in, make himself invisible. I’ll see what I can dig up on him. Name, connections, any skeletons in his closet.”

“Perfect.” Erica replies, a smile tugging at her lips. “I knew you’d be on it.”

“Hey, can’t say no to a chance like this. I’ll get back to you soon, boss.”

They end the call on that note, and Erica sets the phone down, leaning back in her chair with a sense of anticipation. She picks up her coffee, savoring the warmth and bittersweet taste. With John Dance on the ball, she knows it’s only a matter of time before they uncover something useful.

Time to dig deeper and unravel this mystery—one thread at a time.






With the call to John Dance finished, Erica leans back in her chair, sipping her now-cooled coffee. Her eyes are fixed on the laptop screen as she starts researching fitness and personal training industry jargon, absorbing details like the names of popular workout programs, training certifications, and nutritional plans. She opens a blank document and jots down bullet points - reliable trainer talk that she can drop naturally into conversation.

Words and phrases like “HIIT,” “macro counting,” “functional training,” and “periodization” fill the screen. Erica cross-references fitness lingo with the routines she already knows from her own regimen, making mental notes about which terms to sprinkle into her cover story. She’s thorough, ensuring that everything she’s prepared will hold up under scrutiny.

Next, she studies the profiles of some prominent trainers in New York. Their websites and social media accounts give her insight into their professional presentation: upbeat attitudes, tailored advice, subtle branding. She mimics a few introductory lines and practices speaking them aloud. “We’ll focus on core stability and metabolic conditioning.” she murmurs, rolling the words around in her mouth until they feel second nature.

Satisfied, she spends another twenty minutes curating an outline for “Erica Chapman” - her alias. The persona she crafts is down-to-earth, knowledgeable, and approachable - traits that will help her connect quickly with Shannen and her inner circle.

With the groundwork laid, she picks up her phone and dials Shannen’s number. It rings twice before the actress’s voice comes through, sounding slightly guarded but curious.

“Hi, Erica!” Shannen answers. “Any updates?”

“Hi, Shannen. Just touching base.” Erica replies warmly. “I’ve put together my cover story, and I’d like to come by your New York residence tomorrow to meet your immediate circle. That way, you can introduce me as part of your team before the party and establish some rapport. If you’re comfortable with it, I’ll use the name Erica Chapman. I’ve prepared a whole backstory for myself as your new personal trainer.”

Shannen’s voice perks up with enthusiasm. “That sounds perfect. And I love the name – “Erica Chapman” sounds like a no-nonsense type, someone who’d whip even the laziest person into shape.”

“Exactly what I was going for.” Erica says with a soft chuckle. “I’ll arrive tomorrow morning, if that works for you. We can spend some time getting everyone acquainted and work out any kinks in the story. That way, by the time the party rolls around, there won’t be any question that I’m your new trainer.”

Shannen pauses briefly, and when she speaks again, her voice carries a note of cautious optimism. “You really have thought this through, haven’t you?”

“Shannen, this is what I do,” Erica replies gently but firmly. “I don’t leave anything to chance. Once I’m there, you won’t have to worry about a thing. We’ll keep everything seamless and professional.”

“Thank you, Erica. Really.” Shannen murmurs, the gratitude genuine. “It’ll be good to have someone I trust in the room.”

“You’re welcome.” Erica says, her tone equally sincere. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. And remember: no changes in your routine or demeanor until then. Everything stays business as usual.”

“Got it. I’ll let my people know you’re coming.” Shannen agrees.

Erica nods to herself, satisfied. “Perfect. Looking forward to it. See you soon, Shannen.”

“See you tomorrow, Erica. Or should I say…Ms. Chapman?” Shannen adds with a hint of humor.

Erica smiles. “Erica Chapman it is.”

With the call ended, she sets the phone down and straightens up in her chair, the transition from preparation to execution sparking a familiar, exhilarating sense of focus. This is her wheelhouse - taking a role, perfecting it, and stepping into it with flawless precision. Tomorrow, she’ll become Erica Chapman, personal trainer. And she’ll start peeling back the layers surrounding Shannen Bowers to uncover the truth, one calculated interaction at a time.







The early morning light filters softly through the windows of Erica’s Upper West Side apartment as she finishes her routine. A sense of calm focus settles over her after her usual five-mile run. With her hair still slightly damp from the shower, she stands at the kitchen counter, spooning the last bit of Quark with oats - a perfectly balanced, protein-rich breakfast - into her mouth. She rinses the bowl, placing it carefully in the dishwasher before heading to her bedroom.

Walking into her spacious, meticulously organized walk-in closet, Erica scans the rows of tailored suits, dresses, and blouses. Her gaze shifts to a smaller section filled with athletic wear - this is where she’ll find her disguise for the day.

Disguise. The word feels strange in this context. She’s not slipping into a wig or dark glasses, not hiding behind a new face. It’s just another version of herself - a fitness enthusiast with a sharp eye for detail, dressed down in casual workout gear. It’s more about tone and demeanor than apparel. Today, she’d be Erica Chapman, personal trainer.

She selects a pair of fitted black running tights that mold seamlessly to her toned frame, paired with a sleeveless athletic top. Over that, she zips up a grey hooded sweat jacket, its lightweight material perfect for the nice fall weather outside. For shoes, she opts for her favorite pair of sneakers - comfortable, durable, and perfect for the role she’s stepping into.

Before heading out, she glances at her reflection in the full-length mirror. The persona is almost complete. But the details matter - those subtle touches that mark the difference between a lawyer and a fitness professional. She reaches for her university class ring, an elegant, understated piece she’s worn daily since graduation, and slips it off, placing it on the nightstand. Next to it, she carefully sets down her Rolex, her most precious possession, a gift from her father. Erica turns it over in her hand, looking at the engraving on the back of the case “Stand for something or fall for anything” – a promise she gave her father, the motto that has become her creed. Instead, she straps on her smartwatch - a practical, no-nonsense device that fits the role of a personal trainer like a glove.

Satisfied, she packs a change of clothes, shower gel, a hairbrush, and a towel into her gym bag. It’s all part of the story - what a coach might bring along for a busy day of working with high-profile clients.

Keys in hand, phone tucked securely into her pocket, she makes her way downstairs and into the parking garage. Her black Volvo, polished to a gleam, waits for her. Slipping into the driver’s seat, she pulls out smoothly onto the quiet street and sets her course for Tribeca.

The drive south along the West Side Highway is scenic and uncomplicated. As she moves through the early morning traffic, the city’s skyscrapers flash by to her left, while the Hudson River’s placid surface glints in the sunlight to her right. The route is familiar but feels different today. She’s not just driving across the city - she’s moving between identities.

It takes just over twenty minutes to reach Shannen Bowers’ elegant building in Tribeca, a sleek structure of glass and steel that rises discreetly amid the neighborhood’s historic brick facades. As Erica pulls into the reserved guest parking, she takes a deep breath, centering herself.

Today isn’t just about watching over Shannen - it’s about inhabiting a role, blending into Shannen’s world until no one questions her presence. She picks up her gym bag, slings it over her shoulder, and steps out of the car.

Time to become Erica Chapman.

[Caesar73]

I have to say I like the approach how Erica adapts to her new Role. That party will be quite interesting!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73 , you'll see how the story unfolds futher in a minute. Thanks for staying with me so sincerely.

[Jenny_S]

Erica takes a moment to take in the impressive sight of Shannen’s building. It’s everything she expected - tall and graceful, a sleek silhouette rising against the Tribeca skyline, its façade a harmonious blend of steel and glass. A subtle elegance that whispers of wealth and privacy rather than shouting it aloud. The entrance is shielded from the street by a row of neatly trimmed hedges, and two imposing glass doors, each flanked by polished steel columns, slide open as she approaches.

She strides confidently toward the entrance, noting the discrete security features embedded in the building’s design. A string of miniaturized cameras - nearly invisible unless you know where to look - monitor every inch of the lobby’s perimeter. The building is manned by a team of uniformed guards stationed at strategic points, some visible from the entrance and others further inside from where they can observe without being seen. One guard stands at attention near the entrance, his stance subtly shifting as she nears.

Erica offers him a professional smile as she steps inside. The lobby is a serene space, designed to exude tranquility and refinement. Polished marble floors gleam under the soft lighting, and the concierge desk, a monolith of dark wood and brushed metal, is manned by a meticulously groomed attendant in a tailored suit.

She walks forward, her gaze briefly flicking over the security panel at the side of the desk - a biometric scanner and ID reader connected to a security feed of guests’ profiles. A well-placed arrangement of fresh white orchids provides a pop of understated color, the scent mingling with the faint notes of the designer cologne worn by the concierge.

“Good morning,” she says, keeping her tone friendly but assured. “Erica Chapman, here to see Shannen Bowers.”

The concierge’s gaze sweeps over her, taking in her attire and demeanor. He taps a few keys on his panel, checking his screen. Erica notes his hesitation, a flicker of confusion as he searches for the unfamiliar name. But the moment passes, and he nods.

“Ms. Bowers is expecting you. I’ll inform her of your arrival.” He speaks softly into a headset, murmuring a quick update to the building’s private security team. As he does, one of the guards steps forward, subtly shifting his position to have a clear line of sight on her.

Erica waits patiently, her gaze remaining casual, though she’s keenly aware of each security feature. The cameras positioned overhead that will track her every move, the silent alerts that could be triggered if something goes amiss. Shannen’s safety - and the safety of her secrets - has been given considerable thought.

The concierge finishes his call and looks back up at her, his professional smile firmly in place. “Ms. Bowers has given you clearance. You can head up to the 22nd floor - her private elevator is just to your right.”

“Thank you.” Erica replies smoothly, giving him a polite nod.

One of the guards steps aside to grant her access to the elevator bay. As she walks past, she feels the subtle weight of their scrutiny - the unspoken assessment of whether she belongs in a place like this. Erica holds herself with a poised ease, projecting the quiet authority and focus of someone accustomed to navigating complex situations. She’s here on business, and she looks every inch the professional she claims to be.



Erica steps into the private elevator, the soft click of the doors closing behind her sealing her in a cocoon of silence. The interior is lined with brushed steel and dark wood, the only illumination coming from a soft, indirect light that gives the space a warm, ambient glow. She presses the button for the 22nd floor, feeling the subtle lurch of the elevator as it begins its smooth ascent.

Her reflection in the polished steel panels is a reminder of the role she’s stepped into today: Erica Chapman, personal trainer. The persona is an easy fit, she thinks, as she adjusts the strap of her gym bag. But even with the casual clothes and minimal accessories, there’s a sharpness in her gaze, a readiness that’s all her.

The elevator glides upward without a sound, and Erica takes a moment to review her strategy. Meeting Shannen before the others arrive will give them time to establish some ground rules, clarify her role, and map out how they’ll handle the introductions. Shannen needs to sell this, and Erica knows that the more seamless they are as a team, the less suspicion they’ll draw.

A soft chime announces her arrival. The doors open directly into the penthouse foyer, a space that exudes both opulence and restraint. The polished wood floors are covered by an understated but luxurious rug, and the walls are adorned with a few select pieces of contemporary art. To her left, a wide hallway opens into what appears to be a spacious living area. To her right lies the kitchen, a minimalist masterpiece of marble and high-end appliances.

Erica steps out of the elevator, taking in the surroundings with an appreciative but unhurried gaze. The air is scented faintly with something fresh - perhaps citrus and white tea. It’s a home designed to feel welcoming but also to impress, with an attention to detail that hints at both wealth and taste.

She hears a door open and looks up to see Shannen approaching. The actress is dressed casually, her hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, wearing a smile that’s equal parts relief and nervous energy.

“Erica! You made it.” Shannen says, her tone warm but edged with tension.

“Of course.” Erica replies with a reassuring smile. “And it’s Erica Chapman today, remember?”

“Right.” Shannen laughs softly, then glances around, as if expecting her staff or inner circle to materialize at any moment. “I’m glad you’re here early. It gives us a chance to go over a few things before everyone else shows up.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.” Erica says, dropping her gym bag lightly onto a nearby chair. “We should make sure we’re on the same page.”

Shannen nods and gestures for Erica to follow her into the living room. The space is expansive, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the Hudson River. A plush sectional sofa is arranged around a glass coffee table, and a few personal touches - a stack of script pages, a scented candle - add a lived-in feel to the otherwise pristine space.

“Coffee?” Shannen offers, moving toward a sleek coffee maker set up on a sideboard.

“No, thanks. I’m all caffeinated up.” Erica replies with a faint smile. “Let’s talk strategy.”

Shannen nods, setting her hands on her hips. “Okay. My assistant and stylist will be here soon, along with Boyd, my boyfriend. He knows I’m bringing on a new trainer, but nothing else about… well, everything we discussed yesterday.”

“Good. The less people know, the better.” Erica pauses, her gaze sharpening. “Remember, I’m here to blend in and observe. We want to keep things as normal as possible. Let me know if there are any sensitive dynamics I should be aware of.”

Shannen hesitates, then shakes her head. “Nothing specific, just… be prepared for questions. Everyone’s curious when I bring someone new into my life.”

“I can handle curious.” Erica assures her. “And I’ll make sure no one looks too closely at why I’m really here.”

They exchange a look of understanding, and Erica can see some of the tension easing from Shannen’s shoulders. This is a good start - now it’s just a matter of staying one step ahead of everyone else in the room.

“Let’s get to work then.” Erica says, her smile shifting to something more determined. “We’ve got a role to play, and I intend to make it convincing.”



Shannen’s penthouse is as grand and polished as Erica imagined, exuding both luxury and taste. It’s a sprawling space with high ceilings, a sweeping view of the city through floor-to-ceiling windows, and custom décor that speaks to Shannen’s refined aesthetic. The floors are a rich, dark hardwood, and plush rugs create a sense of warmth in the open-plan living areas.

“This is the main living area.” Shannen says, gesturing around the expansive room. An array of modern art pieces adorns the walls, and a few carefully placed sculptures provide a touch of sophistication. “I like to keep it open, inviting…you know, a place for people to feel comfortable.”

Erica nods appreciatively, taking in the details. “It’s beautiful. You’ve got great taste.”

They move through the space, Shannen showing Erica the kitchen with its state-of-the-art appliances, then on to the study, and finally the corridor that leads to a series of doors - guest bedrooms, she assumes, and perhaps a private gym or studio.

Erica’s gaze discreetly scans the ceilings and corners. She notes the small, unobtrusive black domes - standard for high-end surveillance systems. They’re positioned in strategic areas: covering the main entrances, living room, and hallways. Nothing invasive, but still, enough to monitor comings and goings.

“Nice setup.” Erica remarks, gesturing subtly toward one of the cameras.

Shannen hesitates, glancing at it almost self-consciously. “Yeah, the building’s security team recommended it. They cover the main entry points, some of the hallways… basic stuff, really.”

“And they’re monitored in real-time?” Erica asks, her voice casual, as if she’s just making small talk.

“By a private security firm, yes.” Shannen confirms. “They’ve been with me for years - good people, very discreet.”

Erica tilts her head slightly. “Inside here, do they record footage, or is it just live feeds?”

Shannen furrows her brow, as if considering the implications of the question. “I think it’s just live… but I’m not entirely sure.” She shrugs, almost dismissively. “I don’t really look into it, to be honest.”

Erica nods slowly, choosing her next words with care. Lowering her voice, she steps a little closer. “Shannen, do you think it’s possible that someone in security might have seen you during a… private moment? Someone who might have been watching you, either here or through your building’s system?”

Shannen’s eyes widen slightly, and she glances around as if suddenly aware of the cameras. “What do you mean?”

Erica leans in, speaking just above a whisper. “I’m talking about your private time… the bondage. Is there any chance someone could have seen you through one of these cameras?” She hesitates for a beat and then adds, “I’m just asking because the threatening photos you received - showing you in fetish gear and restraints - aren’t just random nudes. They’re very specific.”

Shannen’s gaze flits to the nearest camera and then back to Erica, a flicker of fear crossing her face. “No… I mean, not in here. The bedrooms and personal spaces don’t have cameras.” She swallows, her voice lowering further. “But I have used the living room before. And the studio…”

“The studio?” Erica’s voice is soft but insistent. “Does that room have a camera?”

Shannen bites her lip, nodding reluctantly. “It’s one of the places I felt comfortable… because it’s supposed to be secure. But I usually cover up the lens when I’m - when I don’t want to be seen.”

Erica holds Shannen’s gaze. “And are you sure it was covered every time?”

Shannen’s silence is telling. She glances away, worry etched in her features. “I think so… but now I’m not sure. Someone could have accessed the feed, or maybe the security team has some sort of override. I never really thought..”

“It’s okay.” Erica interrupts gently. “I’m not saying anyone has. But it’s something we need to rule out.” She takes a breath, softening her tone. “Would you be willing to check with your security firm? Discreetly, of course. Maybe see who has access to your feeds and if anyone outside the team has requested footage.”

Shannen nods slowly, a determined look forming in her eyes. “Yeah, I can do that. I’ll call them later today.”

“Good,” Erica murmurs, giving her a reassuring smile. “We’ll cover every angle, no matter how unlikely it seems. For now, let’s finish the tour.”

Shannen exhales, visibly steadying herself. She gestures toward another door at the end of the hall. “Let me show you the studio. It’s one of my favorite places - we can make it look like our ‘training space’ for when the guests arrive.”

“Lead the way.” Erica replies, her voice light but her mind still focused. The more they uncover about Shannen’s surroundings, the closer they’ll get to finding the leak - or the person behind these attacks.




Shannen leads Erica down the hall to a sleek, frosted-glass door. She pushes it open, revealing a spacious, airy studio flooded with natural light. The room is stunning, with a wide wall of windows overlooking the city skyline and polished wood floors that give the space a serene, almost spa-like atmosphere.

“This is where I do most of my workouts and physical prep.” Shannen explains as she steps inside, her voice echoing slightly in the open space.

The studio is equipped with a mix of high-end fitness equipment that looks like it’s been selected with both aesthetics and functionality in mind. There are two professional-grade treadmills facing one of the large windows, a spinning bike, and a sleek, minimalistic pulley machine tucked against the far wall. A compact set of free weights in varying sizes is neatly arranged on a low rack.

In one corner, a thick yoga mat is laid out next to a small shelving unit that holds foam rollers, yoga blocks, and a selection of workout accessories. A large mirror covers an entire wall, giving the illusion of even more space and allowing Shannen to check her form during exercises. The ceiling is slightly higher than the rest of the penthouse, making the room feel even more expansive.

“What do you think?” Shannen asks, her tone hopeful as she looks around. “I use it for everything - strength training, yoga, Pilates, you name it. I had it designed so I could do whatever I needed to without leaving the house. That way, I’m always in shape for the next role.”

Erica steps further inside, taking in the details. “It’s perfect. Plenty of space to move around, versatile equipment… and it looks professional, which helps if anyone asks. We can set up here and keep things looking like a genuine personal training session.”

Shannen nods, a smile tugging at her lips. “I’m glad you like it. I don’t let many people in here - it’s my private space, where I can just be myself.”

Erica’s eyes catch on the discrete, dome-shaped camera mounted high on the wall opposite the windows. It’s small, almost unnoticeable, but its position gives it a clear view of the entire room. Her gaze lingers on it for a moment.

“Is that the only camera in here?” she asks, keeping her tone neutral.

Shannen glances up and nods. “Yeah, it’s the only one. But like I said, I usually cover it up with a cap when I’m here doing personal stuff. It’s just… sometimes I forget. And then…” She trails off, her voice tight with a hint of anxiety.

“Don’t worry.” Erica says softly. “I’m not here to judge - just to help. We’ll use this room as our base, and when your guests arrive, it’ll look completely natural for us to be working out. Do you have any other equipment I should know about? Resistance bands, balance balls?”

Shannen brightens, a hint of excitement creeping back into her voice. “Oh, I’ve got all that. Check this out.” She walks over to the corner and opens a sleek, lacquered cabinet built into the wall. Inside is a neatly organized array of additional fitness gear: resistance bands in different colors and tensions, a medicine ball, a pair of lightweight boxing gloves, and even some agility cones.

“Impressive.” Erica comments, genuinely appreciative of the setup. “We won’t even need to bring anything in. I think we’ll make Erica Chapman look like a top-tier trainer in no time.”

Shannen laughs, her earlier unease easing away. “I have no doubt. I’m really glad you’re doing this, Erica. I know it’s not… exactly what you signed up for when you took me on as a client, but…”

“Hey.” Erica’s voice is gentle but firm. “We’re in this together, remember? Whatever it takes.”

Shannen meets her gaze, gratitude shining in her eyes. “Thank you.”

Erica nods and gestures around the room. “Let’s figure out the layout for when the others arrive. We’ll set up a couple of stations, make it look like you’re really putting in some serious work. And…” She glances at the camera again, then back at Shannen, voice dropping to a near whisper. “For today, let’s leave that lens covered. No sense taking any risks.”

Shannen nods, quickly grabbing a black cap from a drawer and tossing it up over the camera’s lens. With the camera obscured, the room feels a little more private, a little more secure.

“Okay,” Shannen says, exhaling softly as if a weight has been lifted. “Let’s get to work.”

“Let’s do it.” Erica replies, a determined glint in her eye. “And when your visitors arrive, we’ll be ready.”

They begin to arrange the space, discussing the best way to present their “training” sessions. For the first time, Shannen seems to be relaxing into the role Erica has outlined for her - a far cry from the nervous, uncertain woman who had walked through Erica’s office door just days ago.

As they prepare, Erica’s mind remains focused on the larger picture - this room, these cameras, the people in Shannen’s life. Every detail could be a clue, every setup a potential trap. But for now, all she needs to do is stay one step ahead, and make sure they have the perfect cover when the party guests start arriving.

[LunaDog]

Been away working, servicing a machine at a refinery in Turkey, so i've only just caught up with this magnificent story. WOW!

[Jenny_S]

@LunaDog Thank you for being one of my most avid readers. I'm glad you like the story.

[Caesar73]

Very good story telling. We get a look into Shannen's private life. How she lives. Slow and careful build up. I like that Jenny!

[Jenny_S]

Dear @Caesar73 , in all of my stories, I try to show my readers a little more or a different aspect of who Erica Sinclair is and what makes her tick. We get glimpses of her past (not all of them positive) and -so to speak- look behind her public persona. I am glad you can dig this.

[Caesar73]

I like your Approach @Jenny_S - Characters become more lifelike this way. I do the same in my Stories. Building a Character, developing it is so much fun. And with Erica you have created a Character with very much Potential.

[Jenny_S]

The sound of muffled voices and light laughter drifts down the hallway, signaling the arrival of Shannen’s inner circle. Erica straightens her posture, her expression shifting into that of a poised professional as she glances at Shannen. The actress gives her a subtle, reassuring nod, then moves toward the door just as it swings open.

Two young women enter, both stylishly dressed, their energy filling the spacious studio. One has a cascade of honey-blonde hair and wears an effortlessly chic outfit - Shannen’s stylist, no doubt. The other, slightly shorter, with dark, sharp eyes and a purposeful stride, carries a sleek leather notebook and phone in hand - her personal assistant.

“Hey, ladies!” Shannen greets them with a smile that momentarily eases the tension lingering in her eyes.

“Shan! Look at you.” the stylist, Jenna, says warmly, dropping her designer bag on a chair and giving Shannen a quick hug. “You look absolutely glowing today. I’m loving the casual vibe.”

The assistant, a bit more reserved but still affectionate, gives Shannen a formal nod and a quick smile. “Good morning, Shannen. Everything is set for your afternoon meetings, and I’ve confirmed the details for tonight’s dinner.” She glances around, then notices Erica standing just behind Shannen. Her brow furrows slightly. “Oh, hi. I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had an early visitor.”

“Yes, and I’m glad you’re both here because I’d like to introduce you.” Shannen says, gesturing toward Erica with a slight flourish. “This is Erica Chapman - my new personal trainer. We’re going to start working together regularly.”

Jenna’s eyes widen with intrigue. “A personal trainer? Wow, that’s amazing! It’s about time, honestly - you do everything else with such precision. I’m sure she’ll be fantastic.”

But the assistant, whose name Erica picks up as Rachel from Shannen’s quick introduction, looks a bit taken aback. “A new trainer? I didn’t know you were looking for one, Shannen. You didn’t mention wanting to switch up your routine.”

Shannen’s smile tightens just a fraction, but she maintains her light tone. “I know, Rach, I didn’t tell you. I’ve just been feeling like I’ve been putting in the time without seeing the results I want. Erica’s here to help me refine things, figure out a strategy that’s more effective.”

Rachel glances at Erica, assessing, then back at Shannen, concern flashing in her eyes before she masks it. “I see. Well, if you think it’ll help, then that’s what matters.” She nods politely at Erica. “Welcome, Erica. I’m Rachel Sterling, Shannen’s assistant. I handle her scheduling and day-to-day logistics, so if there’s anything you need, feel free to reach out.”

“Thank you, Rachel. It’s a pleasure to meet you both.” Erica’s voice is steady, professional, with a hint of the warmth she’s used to put Shannen at ease. “I’m looking forward to working with Shannen and helping her reach her goals.”

Jenna grins and tilts her head, eyeing Erica’s athletic frame and relaxed stance. “I have to say, Erica, you definitely look like you know what you’re doing. Maybe you can show me a move or two sometime - God knows I could use it.”

“Anytime.” Erica replies smoothly. “I’m all about personalized approaches, so just let me know.”

“Great!” Shannen interjects with an upbeat lilt, sensing the subtle tension beneath the pleasantries. “Erica and I have already discussed some initial ideas, and we’ll be working on a plan over the next few days. I really think it’s going to make a difference.”

Rachel nods slowly, clearly still digesting the news, but Jenna looks genuinely enthusiastic. “Well, I’m all for it. You deserve to feel your best, Shan. Absolutely.”

With that, the atmosphere seems to relax a bit more. Shannen gestures for them all to sit, and they gather around the seating area off to the side of the studio. Erica remains standing, giving them space, yet always within earshot.

As the conversation shifts to their usual routine - discussing wardrobe choices, upcoming press events, and travel plans - Erica listens carefully, noting the dynamics between Shannen and her closest team. These are the people she relies on, the ones she trusts most. Yet even within that trust, there are hints of wariness, guardedness. And why wouldn’t there be? Trust, in Shannen’s world, is both a currency and a weapon.

She folds her arms loosely across her chest, maintaining a professional demeanor while mentally cataloging every interaction. Today is all about establishing herself within Shannen’s inner circle - one careful step at a time.



The conversation flows naturally, Jenna’s easy laughter contrasting with Rachel’s focused demeanor as she jots down notes and updates on her tablet. Erica remains nearby, her posture relaxed yet attentive, keeping her distance while still being part of the room.

As Jenna flips through fabric swatches and Shannen contemplates dress options for an upcoming charity gala, Rachel’s gaze flickers over to Erica. Her fingers move swiftly across her tablet, and Erica catches the subtle tightening of Rachel’s lips, the almost imperceptible shift in her body language - she’s found something, or rather, “not” found something.

Rachel looks up, her expression neutral but eyes sharp. “Erica, I hope you don’t mind me asking, but I couldn’t find much about you online. No website or social media presence - kind of rare for a personal trainer these days, isn’t it?”

Jenna glances over, curious but unbothered. Shannen, however, tenses slightly, shooting a quick look at Erica, who remains unflappable.

With an easy smile, Erica shakes her head. “Not at all, Rachel. It’s actually by design. Most of my clients prefer privacy - they’re not looking to advertise that they’re working with a personal trainer, especially in high-profile circles.” She shrugs casually, like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Discretion is part of what I offer.”

Rachel’s gaze doesn’t waver, her brow knitting slightly. “I see. So, you’re more of a word-of-mouth type?”

“Exactly.” Erica’s voice is smooth, professional, yet carries a hint of warmth. “I’ve found that maintaining a low profile works best for me in this industry. My clients know they can count on me to be focused on them - not on building a following on social media.”

Jenna nods, her curiosity satisfied, but Rachel isn’t quite done yet. “That makes sense, I guess. But if you don’t mind me asking - how did Shannen find you?”

Before Erica can answer, Shannen interjects with a bright, breezy tone. “Oh, Chris recommended her - Hemsworth, you know?” She flashes Rachel a smile. “We got to talking at an event, and I mentioned I was looking to shake things up. He said Erica was the best trainer he’d ever worked with. You know how serious he is about his fitness.”

Rachel’s expression shifts, skepticism giving way to mild surprise and a bit of admiration. “Chris Hemsworth? Wow, that’s a pretty solid endorsement.” She glances back at Erica, some of the suspicion fading. “I guess that explains the whole low-profile thing then.”

Erica inclines her head graciously. “Chris is a great guy. And yes, it’s all about tailoring my approach to the client’s needs - whether it’s pushing for a role or just wanting to feel better in their own skin.”

Jenna beams, seemingly reassured. “Well, if it’s good enough for Thor, it’s good enough for Shannen, right?”

Shannen laughs softly, the tension from a moment ago dissipating. “Exactly. Erica’s already given me some great tips this morning, so I’m feeling really optimistic.”

Rachel seems to accept this, though there’s still a glimmer of caution in her eyes. “That’s good to hear, Shannen. I just want to make sure you have the best around you.” She offers Erica a polite, if slightly reserved, smile. “Welcome aboard, Erica. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Thank you, Rachel. I look forward to it.” Erica replies smoothly, maintaining eye contact just long enough to convey confidence, then glances at Shannen with a slight nod, as if to reinforce her commitment to the actress’s wellbeing.

Rachel returns to her notes, the questioning session seemingly over, but Erica knows Rachel will keep her guard up. “No problem”, she thinks, letting her gaze wander back to Shannen, who offers her a small, appreciative smile. “Every circle has a gatekeeper”. It’s just a matter of time before Erica earns her trust - or at least keeps her suspicions at bay.

For now, though, the first hurdle is cleared. Erica has established her presence, and more importantly, cemented her position as Shannen’s trusted ally.




The doorbell chimes softly, breaking the relaxed chatter between the women. Shannen’s head snaps up, her eyes flickering with anticipation. She pushes herself up from the couch, smoothing down her blouse with slightly nervous hands.

“That must be Boyd.” she murmurs, half to herself, half to the room, as she heads towards the entryway.

Erica and the others follow at a more casual pace. Jenna trails behind with a curious look, and Rachel remains near the rear, still watching Erica with a cautious eye.

Shannen opens the door, revealing a tall, striking figure leaning casually against the doorframe. Boyd Loudon stands with easy confidence, his chiseled features framed by tousled brown hair. He’s dressed in a tailored suit jacket over a crisp white shirt - polished, yet relaxed. A smile spreads across his face as his gaze locks onto Shannen.

“Hey, gorgeous.” he greets her warmly, stepping inside and bending slightly to kiss her cheek.

Shannen’s face lights up, her earlier anxiety replaced by a more genuine happiness. “Hi, Boyd. I didn’t know you’d be here this early.”

“Wanted to surprise you.” he replies smoothly, his voice deep and mellow. “Plus, I figured I should meet your new trainer.” He glances over Shannen’s shoulder, his eyes landing on Erica. There’s a quick assessment in his gaze - sharp and calculating - before he shifts back to his charming smile.

Shannen turns to Erica. “Boyd, this is Erica Chapman. She’s going to help me switch up my training routine a bit.”

Erica steps forward, extending her hand with a professional, friendly smile. “Nice to meet you, Boyd.”

“Likewise.” he says, shaking her hand with a firm but measured grip. His eyes linger on Erica’s for a second longer, studying her with the ease of someone used to sizing people up. “Chris Hemsworth, huh?” he teases lightly. “Takes someone impressive to get a referral like that.”

Erica nods, playing along with the persona effortlessly. “Well, I try to keep up.” she says, with just the right hint of modesty. “Shannen’s got a good base already, so it’ll be about refining some things and pushing her just a little harder.”

Boyd chuckles, sliding an arm around Shannen’s waist. “I don’t know if she needs pushing, but I guess that’s why you’re here.”

Shannen laughs softly, leaning into his side. “You’re just saying that because you like when I’m lazier. Besides, I think it’ll be good to get some professional guidance.” She turns back to Erica with a grateful smile. “And Erica’s been really helpful already.”

“I bet she has.” Boyd replies, his smile not quite reaching his eyes as he glances back at Erica. “So, do you work with a lot of celebrities, or is Shannen your star client?”

Erica meets his gaze evenly, unfazed. “My clients are mostly word-of-mouth. Some high-profile, some not. I’m more about the results than the spotlight.”

“Good answer.” Boyd’s tone is friendly enough, but there’s a trace of something darker beneath it, something almost wary. He’s playing the supportive boyfriend, but he’s clearly testing her.

Jenna, sensing the subtle tension, pipes up with a grin. “So, Boyd, what brings you by? Not that we’re not happy to see you.”

“Oh, just wanted to see my girl.” he says easily, his smile softening as he looks at Shannen. “And I’m curious to see what you guys are planning for her new routine.” He glances at Erica again, his expression more guarded now. “You’ll have to show me some of the moves.”

“Maybe later.” Erica replies smoothly, sensing the subtle shift. “Today’s more about getting to know each other and seeing what Shannen’s comfortable with.”

Boyd gives a slight nod, then turns his attention back to Shannen. “Makes sense.” He leans down, brushing a kiss on her temple. “You know I’m just happy to see you making time for yourself.”

Shannen smiles up at him, a hint of relief in her eyes. “Thanks, Boyd. I really appreciate that.”

He nods, giving her waist a gentle squeeze before releasing her. “So, what’s the plan for today? Just you and the ladies?”

Shannen nods. “Yeah, Jenna’s helping me with some wardrobe stuff, and Rachel’s got some scheduling things. We’re all just getting on the same page.”

“Sounds good.” Boyd says easily, then glances back at Erica. “I’ll let you guys get to it, then. Just wanted to stop by and see my favorite person.”

Shannen’s smile widens, and she squeezes his hand. “Thanks for coming by.”

Boyd offers one last, fleeting glance at Erica before leaning in to give Shannen another kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Of course.” Shannen replies softly.

With that, Boyd steps back, his gaze lingering on Erica for a beat longer before he nods at Jenna and Rachel. “Ladies, have a good one.”

He turns and heads towards the elevator, his stride confident and unhurried. As the door closes behind him, the room seems to exhale, the air subtly lighter without his presence.

Erica watches him go, keeping her expression neutral. He’s good - charming, handsome, attentive. But there’s something underneath, something she’s not quite ready to put a name to yet.

She exchanges a brief look with Shannen, who shrugs and gives a small, almost apologetic smile. “He can be a little intense sometimes.”

“No problem.” Erica replies, voice steady and reassuring. “He seems like he cares about you a lot.”

“He does.” Shannen murmurs, but her gaze flickers away, a shadow of uncertainty passing through her eyes before she quickly smiles again. “Anyway, where were we?”

Jenna jumps back in with an easy laugh, breaking the moment. “Talking wardrobe! Come on, let’s get you looking fabulous.”

The tension dissipates as the conversation shifts back to lighter topics, but Erica files away every little detail - the glances, the pauses, the undercurrents.

This is just the beginning. Boyd Loudon is someone to watch closely.




As Shannen and Jenna head towards the expansive closet filled with racks of designer clothing and accessories, Erica offers a polite smile. “I’m just going to set up the equipment for a quick assessment. Shouldn’t take long.”

Rachel gives her a quick nod but still watches her with that lingering wariness. “Sounds good. I’ll be around if you need anything.”

“Thanks.” Erica replies smoothly, making her way back towards the studio.

Once inside, Erica closes the door softly behind her, allowing herself a moment of silence. The studio feels larger now without the other women present - airy and filled with potential. She moves to the corner where a compact fitness station is set up and crouches down, pretending to check the settings on one of the machines.

Her fingers move with practiced ease, but her attention is elsewhere. She slips her phone from the side pocket of her gym bag, keeping it low and angled away from any potential surveillance. Tapping out a quick message, she hesitates for a second before hitting send:

“Got the first contact. Look into the inner circle too. Jenna Park (stylist), Rachel Sterling (PA), and - most importantly - Boyd Loudon (boyfriend). Dig deep for any skeletons. Can’t rule anyone out.”

She stares at the message for a moment, then adds one more line: “Might be someone close. Let me know what you find.”

As soon as the text is sent, she slips the phone back into her bag, her movements unhurried and deliberate. She stands, adjusting the weights on a nearby dumbbell rack, making a few subtle changes to keep up the pretense of prepping equipment.

Her thoughts churn quietly as she goes through the motions. Jenna, with her warm personality and easy rapport with Shannen, seems harmless enough. Rachel, on the other hand, has the sharp instincts and protective nature of someone used to managing not just a career, but a life. Both women have been in Shannen’s orbit for a while, long enough to become fixtures in her life.

Then there’s Boyd. He’s the outlier. Newer. More opaque.

Erica straightens, brushing off her hands. She knows John Dance will get back to her with something soon - he’s thorough like that. Until then, she’ll keep observing, keep noting every detail, no matter how small. The bondage photos were too precise, too intentional to be the work of an outsider with only a passing interest. Whoever did it, knew exactly where to hit Shannen so it would hurt.

No, it feels like someone is close. Closer than Shannen might even realize.

Taking a deep breath, Erica schools her features into a calm, professional expression. She’ll need to maintain her cover as Erica Chapman and focus on the training assessment. If Rachel or anyone else is still watching her with suspicion, they won’t find any cracks.

For now, her role is just the trainer - no more, no less.

With everything set up, she exits the studio and heads back into the hallway, her stride relaxed but purposeful. Time to shift back into trainer mode and see what other pieces she can put together.

[LunaDog]

Beautifully set up here, Jenny. You've introduced a full range of characters, some of whom COULD be the 'baddie' here, but you've left us in suspense! Just like the best crime writers do. Very much looking forward to more of this superb story. Although, i'm working away from home again this week, so it might be some time before i get to enjoy just what you do come up with.

[Jenny_S]

Dear @LunaDog, thank you very much for your kind comment. I'll upload the next part in a minute so you might have the chance to look at it before you've got to leave.
In case you are rearing to see the rest of the story, I publish my stories in full length over on Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/user/JS_writing