Author's Note: This is the hardest entry I've ever had to write. I thought I knew the rules of the game. I thought I was the one in control. But today, the mask of "Fernanda" didn't just slip—it was shattered. This is the final free chapter of the Secret Diary.
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October 7, 2017
The air in the Emporium felt heavy this morning, thick with a tension I couldn't quite name. It started with Tony. He didn't greet me with his usual calm, fatherly smile. Instead, he pulled me into the small office, his expression etched with a gravity that made my blood run cold.
"The fifty-year-old," Tony whispered, his eyes flicking toward the security monitors. "He's crossed a line, Fernanda. He's becoming a real risk to your safety. Do not go anywhere alone."
I wanted to laugh it off. I wanted to believe I was stronger than any obsession. But the universe had other plans.
The day began with the usual carousel of the strange and the mundane.
First, there was the man with the fresh coffee burn, more interested in his pain than in me. Then came John, who paid for the usual "pegging" routine with the mechanical precision of a man checking items off a grocery list. Finally, the two gardeners arrived for the threesome. It was intense, a chaotic blur of bodies and breath that was supposed to be the climax of my shift.
But the real climax was waiting on the sidewalk.
When I walked the gardeners to the door, I saw him. He was standing across the street, as still as a statue, his eyes burned into the entrance of the Emporium. The moment he saw me, he didn't just approach—he charged. He stormed into the lobby, his face a contorted mask of possessive rage, and grabbed my arm with a grip that I knew would leave purple thumbprints by morning.
"You're mine," his eyes screamed, even if his mouth stayed shut.
Terrified but acting on survival instinct, I demanded payment upfront. My voice didn't tremble, though my knees did. I led him upstairs to the room on the left, leaving the door slightly ajar—a silent prayer that Tony or one of the girls would hear if things went south.
The encounter wasn't an act of pleasure. It was a war. It was rough, degrading, and fueled by a sickness I couldn't cure. Afterward, the monster vanished, replaced by a broken child. He shifted from sobbing into his hands to hurling jagged insults at me, his fingers digging into my cheeks as he held my face, searching for a reassurance I physically couldn't give. I was so paralyzed by the thought of him waiting for me outside that I forced him to pay for two extra hours. I needed him contained. I needed him where I could see him.
I stepped out for five minutes to splash cold water on my face, trying to find "Fernanda" in the mirror again. When I walked back into the room, I froze.
He was lying on the bed, his eyes closed, clutching my discarded dress to his chest like a security blanket. It was the most chilling thing I have ever witnessed—a man in love with a ghost, a man obsessed with a garment because he couldn't own the woman.
Then, he sat up. He didn't look angry anymore. He looked proud.
"I see you everywhere, you know," he whispered, pulling out his phone.
He swiped through the gallery, and the room began to spin. It was me. Me at the supermarket, reaching for a carton of milk. Me at the driving school, looking frustrated behind the wheel. Me walking down the street, my head down, completely unaware that a predator was documenting my every breath.
He hadn't just been a client. He had been a shadow. He had been a silent witness to my real life, invading the spaces where I thought I was safe, where I thought I was just Christine.
My heart was thundering against my ribs, a trapped bird in a cage, but I forced my expression to remain blank. I couldn't trigger him. I had to play the part until he left. When the door finally closed behind him, I collapsed.
I told Tony only part of the truth. I couldn't bring myself to say the rest. He told me I shouldn't leave the club for a single second. "Sleep here," he commanded. "We have the cameras. We have the locks. We have people who can intervene."
So tonight, I am a prisoner in my own sanctuary. I am sleeping in a room filled with the scent of other people's secrets, listening to the hum of the security cameras, knowing that somewhere out there, a man is scrolling through photos of me.
Fernanda is no longer a mask. She is a target.
[END OF FREE PREVIEW]
The Secret Diary is about to take its darkest turn yet.
Fernanda's life in the Emporium is about to reach a breaking point. The walls that protect her are also the walls that trap her. But what happens when the stalker isn't the only danger? What happens when a moment of desperation leads to bloodshed in the kitchen?
In the full version of "My Pleasure, Starla," you will discover:
The Escape: How Fernanda vanishes into the night to escape the shadow following her.
The Transformation: The moment she cuts her hair, dyes it red, and leaves "Fernanda" in a shallow grave.
The Savior: Who is Carlo Carrera, the man who risks everything to protect her?
The Ultimate Secret: The day she opens a folder to find a marriage certificate she never signed—and the birth of Starla.
Don't leave the story here. Find out how she survived the impossible.
👉 GET THE FULL, UNCENSORED BOOK NOW:
https://www.amazon.com/My-pleasure-Starla-secret-Worker-ebook/dp/B09D92ZD18
"Starla was born today, from the ashes of all the pain I have lived through. I belong to Carlo, and I always will."
Author's Note: Thank you all for reading this journey. Writing this has been a way to process the testimonies of so many women whose stories are often pushed into the shadows. If you want to support my work and read the rest of Starla's incredible transformation, please consider purchasing the full book. Every sale helps me tell more stories like this one.
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