Campus Belle’s Construction Site Secret - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
You are reading Campus Belle’s Construction Site Secret, Chapter 1: Chapter 1. Read more chapters of Campus Belle’s Construction Site Secret.
My best friend was thrown onto the construction site like discarded trash.
I dropped to my knees, scrambling to gather her torn clothes from the dirt.
The girl in front of me was unrecognizable—nothing like the untouchable campus queen everyone worshipped.
Now, she looked broken. Used.
Behind her stood a construction worker, his skin darkened by the sun, his body lean and coiled with muscle.
His eyes locked onto me like a predator sizing up its next meal.
My name is Evelyn Langley. College student. Aspiring model.
Beauty has always been my weapon—and my curse.
At university, I found a lucrative side gig: boudoir photography.
And let's be honest—I was born for it.
My skin? Smooth as fresh cream.
My waist? Sculpted like marble.
Don't let my slender frame fool you—my curves could stop traffic.
Every step I take sends a hypnotic sway through my hips, pulling every pair of male eyes in the room.
The lingerie and stockings I wear during shoots? Just icing on the cake.
Clients always leave satisfied—some so much so that they've offered six figures just for one night.
But I don't entertain desperate men.
The thrill of being worshipped wore off a long time ago.
Sophia Valentine, my photographer—and my best friend—knew that better than anyone.
During shoots, she'd tease me with feather-light touches, whispering it was just to "help me get into character."
Bullshit.
Her real goal was obvious—to wind me up until I was putty in her hands.
Then she'd pull out her toys, leaving me sore for days.
Sophia loved tormenting me.
That girl was a full-blown nympho.
To the world, she was the university's sweetheart—prim, proper, untouchable.
Behind closed doors? A scandal waiting to happen.
A different man in her bed every night.
Half the time, she'd call me the next morning, too weak to walk, begging me to pick her up from some hotel.
I've lost count of how many times I've held her up through a lobby, her legs shaking, her breath ragged.
Watching her struggle to stand straight… sometimes, it stirred something dark in me.
A twisted curiosity.
Tonight, she called again.
I expected her usual breathless giggle, another "Come get me, Evie."
But the voice that answered wasn't hers.
It was rough. Accented. Cold.
"Your friend's at the Brooklyn Waterfront. Come get her."
The Brooklyn Waterfront?
That abandoned construction hellhole?
At 1 AM?
This wasn't just bad—this was dangerous.
I grabbed a cab and raced there.
What I saw when I arrived turned my blood to ice.
I dropped to my knees, scrambling to gather her torn clothes from the dirt.
The girl in front of me was unrecognizable—nothing like the untouchable campus queen everyone worshipped.
Now, she looked broken. Used.
Behind her stood a construction worker, his skin darkened by the sun, his body lean and coiled with muscle.
His eyes locked onto me like a predator sizing up its next meal.
My name is Evelyn Langley. College student. Aspiring model.
Beauty has always been my weapon—and my curse.
At university, I found a lucrative side gig: boudoir photography.
And let's be honest—I was born for it.
My skin? Smooth as fresh cream.
My waist? Sculpted like marble.
Don't let my slender frame fool you—my curves could stop traffic.
Every step I take sends a hypnotic sway through my hips, pulling every pair of male eyes in the room.
The lingerie and stockings I wear during shoots? Just icing on the cake.
Clients always leave satisfied—some so much so that they've offered six figures just for one night.
But I don't entertain desperate men.
The thrill of being worshipped wore off a long time ago.
Sophia Valentine, my photographer—and my best friend—knew that better than anyone.
During shoots, she'd tease me with feather-light touches, whispering it was just to "help me get into character."
Bullshit.
Her real goal was obvious—to wind me up until I was putty in her hands.
Then she'd pull out her toys, leaving me sore for days.
Sophia loved tormenting me.
That girl was a full-blown nympho.
To the world, she was the university's sweetheart—prim, proper, untouchable.
Behind closed doors? A scandal waiting to happen.
A different man in her bed every night.
Half the time, she'd call me the next morning, too weak to walk, begging me to pick her up from some hotel.
I've lost count of how many times I've held her up through a lobby, her legs shaking, her breath ragged.
Watching her struggle to stand straight… sometimes, it stirred something dark in me.
A twisted curiosity.
Tonight, she called again.
I expected her usual breathless giggle, another "Come get me, Evie."
But the voice that answered wasn't hers.
It was rough. Accented. Cold.
"Your friend's at the Brooklyn Waterfront. Come get her."
The Brooklyn Waterfront?
That abandoned construction hellhole?
At 1 AM?
This wasn't just bad—this was dangerous.
I grabbed a cab and raced there.
What I saw when I arrived turned my blood to ice.
End of Campus Belle’s Construction Site Secret Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to Campus Belle’s Construction Site Secret book page.