Eventually, the news reached Kristine.
She hadn't been actively looking for it—just scrolling casually through her feed when a familiar face caught her attention.
At first, she thought it was some kind of mistake, a lookalike. But the longer she stared, the colder the pit in her stomach grew.
There, in a dimly lit photo with tousled sheets and bare skin, was Sasha. Her best friend.
On top of Ross—the great Ross Oakley—the same man who was infamous for being untouchable, always in the center of some scandal or another.
He lay there smirking, hand resting on Sasha's thigh as she kissed his chest like it was the most natural thing in the world.
And it didn't stop there.
Another photo. Then another. Then an entire thread, each more provocative than the last.
Sasha wearing nothing but Ross's shirt. Sasha with her leg draped over him.
Sasha's flushed face, lips parted, her body pressed against his.
Kristine's jaw dropped. Her heart pounded in her chest as disbelief flooded through her.
"This… this can't be true," she whispered to herself.
She scrolled down to the comments.
"Is that the new girl?"
"Sasha's got guts, I'll give her that."
"Ross is definitely not sleeping alone tonight."
"She looks like she's been ruined in the best way."
Kristine winced. Her fingers trembled as she tapped on Sasha's profile—filled now with sultry captions and bold selfies. It was like looking at a stranger.
This wasn't the Sasha she knew. The sweet, soft-spoken girl who used to panic over double texting a crush.
The one who blushed when someone mentioned thongs or dared her to wear a low-cut top.
What the hell happened?
Her thumb hesitated for a second before she hit Call.
She needed to hear Sasha's voice. She needed to believe there was a reasonable explanation, that this was just a misunderstanding—or a stunt, or a joke.
Something. Anything.
The phone rang.
Once.
Twice.
Then Sasha picked up.
But the moment Kristine heard the background, her breath caught in her throat.
"Ahhhhh…"
"Ohhhhh…"
"Ughhhhh…"
Pak. Pak. Pak.
The unmistakable rhythm of sex—the sounds of bodies colliding, of someone being thoroughly and unapologetically ravished.
Sasha's voice echoed through the receiver, a mix of gasps and laughter, totally unbothered.
"What's—ahhhh—up, girlfriend?" Sasha finally said, her voice breathless but chipper.
She followed it with a sharp moan, and then a giggle, like this was the most casual call in the world.
Kristine's face went scarlet. "Are you… are you doing what I think you're doing, Sasha?!"
Another moan.
Then Sasha's voice, smug and teasing: "Mmmh… and what's that?"
"I—just—call me back when you're done!" Kristine blurted, scandalized. "I can't talk to you like this!"
She hung up, nearly throwing her phone across the bed as she sat there in complete shock.
She didn't move for a full minute.
Her heart was still racing, her mind spinning with disbelief.
The Sasha she knew would never answer a call in the middle of sex. Sasha was a virgin!
The Sasha she knew would never post half-nude pictures with a man known around the world for his hedonism and power.
And yet… she had. And clearly, she didn't care what anyone thought.
Kristine ran a hand through her hair, trying to make sense of it all.
It wasn't just that Sasha was with someone. It was who she was with. Ross.
A man with a reputation sharp enough to cut. A billionaire playboy, a ruthless businessman, and now apparently, Sasha's lover.
She remembered all the times they used to stay up late talking about love and anything else under the sun.
Never did Kristine imagine her bestfriend for Ross of all people.
As far as she knew, they had only met once and that was when Kristine was there also.
And now here she was—moaning into the phone while being wrecked by the most infamous man on the internet.
Kristine didn't know whether to be horrified… or be shocked.
A strange mix of emotions bubbled inside her—disbelief, confusion, maybe even utter surprise.
What had changed? What had Ross done to her? Or was this always inside Sasha, waiting to be unleashed?
Kristine glanced at her phone again, still buzzing with notifications about Sasha's latest posts.
She clicked on one of the photos. It was Sasha lying across Ross's lap, wearing nothing but a sheet and a lazy smile.
Ross's hand was between her thighs, and his smirk looked like a promise of sin.
This can't be real, Kristine thought again.
But it was.
And for the first time… she wasn't sure if she wanted to pull Sasha away from that life—or dive in after her.
An hour later, Kristine finally received a call back from her best friend.
"Sasha!" she blurted out the moment she answered. "What the hell is going on with you?"
Her voice trembled between frustration and disbelief, but Sasha sounded calm—almost too calm, like she was floating in her own little world, untouched by reality.
"I don't know why you're so worked up," Sasha said with a dreamy sigh. "I'm just a woman in love, Kris. And Ross? He said he's going to marry me soon."
Kristine was momentarily speechless.
"Marry you?" she echoed.
"Yes," Sasha replied, like it was the most natural thing in the world. "He told me I'm different. Special."
Kristine's mouth opened, but no words came out. Deep down, she believed Sasha—after all, Ross had done this before.
Lavish attention, whispered promises, extravagant gifts. He collected women like trophies, and many of them proudly wore his name like a brand.
It was no secret that Ross had a harem of wives and lovers across cities and countries.
And apparently, Sasha was just the latest addition.
It should've been disturbing. But Sasha didn't sound like a victim. She sounded… blissful. Almost intoxicated.
Still, Kristine tried to convince herself it was just a phase, something that would pass once the initial thrill wore off.
She was wrong.
Because over the next few weeks, things escalated fast.
One photo broke the internet.