Confessions of an Escort：The Dark Hobbies of the Wealthy - Chapter 1: Chapter 1
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Compared to the "sperm lottery"—where a dozen men gamble on impregnating a woman, only for the winner to claim his prize after an amniocentesis—the "eel challenge" was far more brutal.
Even now, after living through it, I still don't know if my choices were right or wrong.
But I've made my decision. There's no going back.
My name is Jessica Laurent, and I grew up in a sleepy little town buried deep in the southern mountains.
Fate gave me beauty—the kind that turns heads. A slender waist, curves that made men stare, legs that went on forever, skin like porcelain, delicate features, bright eyes, and lips like ripe cherries.
At least, that's how the wealthy heirs who paid for my company described me.
Yes, I was an escort.
I don't know if destiny led me down this path or if I just made one bad choice after another.
But when I think back to the days before this life—hard as they were—they were also simple. Happy, even.
That happiness didn't last.
Back then, I had just graduated high school without getting into college.
My boyfriend, Ethan Roscente, had bombed his exams too.
We each stole two grand from our families and ran off to the coast, chasing dreams of a better life.
When I first set foot in the city, the skyscrapers left me breathless.
That awe hit me harder than the first time a rich heir casually handed me a designer bag worth more than my parents made in a year.
Back then, I was just a mountain girl—dusty, a little sun-worn, dressed in clothes that screamed "small town."
Watching the city women glide past in their designer heels and flawless makeup, I burned with envy.
We rented a shoebox apartment—just a cramped space with a rickety metal-framed bed and barely enough room to turn around.
Our suitcases sat in the corner, eating up what little floor we had.
On that bed, I curled against Ethan's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
"We'll make it, won't we?"
"Damn right we will."
"One day, we'll buy a place in the city. Have two kids. Fill the balcony with flowers—every inch of it."
We dreamed big.
But reality didn't care about dreams.
Neither of us had degrees. He scraped by delivering food while I bounced between dead-end jobs.
"It's fine. I've got you. We'll make it work if we're smart."
Ethan always said that, his voice steady, like he could will our luck to change.
He worked himself to the bone—out before dawn, home long after dark.
Even then, the money barely kept us fed.
Then his electric bike got stolen.
I broke down, sobbing into the mattress, cursing the thief who'd kicked us while we were down.
Ethan couldn't even fake optimism anymore.
He got a credit card, bought another bike.
To pay it off faster, we squeezed every penny.
I was always hungry. So was he.
Then one day, he came home grinning, tossing a hundred-dollar bill at me like it was nothing.
"Got a fat tip today."
He looked proud. "Guess food delivery's got its perks."
I clutched that money like it was gold.
I thought it was the start of something better.
Instead, it was the beginning of the end.
Even now, after living through it, I still don't know if my choices were right or wrong.
But I've made my decision. There's no going back.
My name is Jessica Laurent, and I grew up in a sleepy little town buried deep in the southern mountains.
Fate gave me beauty—the kind that turns heads. A slender waist, curves that made men stare, legs that went on forever, skin like porcelain, delicate features, bright eyes, and lips like ripe cherries.
At least, that's how the wealthy heirs who paid for my company described me.
Yes, I was an escort.
I don't know if destiny led me down this path or if I just made one bad choice after another.
But when I think back to the days before this life—hard as they were—they were also simple. Happy, even.
That happiness didn't last.
Back then, I had just graduated high school without getting into college.
My boyfriend, Ethan Roscente, had bombed his exams too.
We each stole two grand from our families and ran off to the coast, chasing dreams of a better life.
When I first set foot in the city, the skyscrapers left me breathless.
That awe hit me harder than the first time a rich heir casually handed me a designer bag worth more than my parents made in a year.
Back then, I was just a mountain girl—dusty, a little sun-worn, dressed in clothes that screamed "small town."
Watching the city women glide past in their designer heels and flawless makeup, I burned with envy.
We rented a shoebox apartment—just a cramped space with a rickety metal-framed bed and barely enough room to turn around.
Our suitcases sat in the corner, eating up what little floor we had.
On that bed, I curled against Ethan's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat.
"We'll make it, won't we?"
"Damn right we will."
"One day, we'll buy a place in the city. Have two kids. Fill the balcony with flowers—every inch of it."
We dreamed big.
But reality didn't care about dreams.
Neither of us had degrees. He scraped by delivering food while I bounced between dead-end jobs.
"It's fine. I've got you. We'll make it work if we're smart."
Ethan always said that, his voice steady, like he could will our luck to change.
He worked himself to the bone—out before dawn, home long after dark.
Even then, the money barely kept us fed.
Then his electric bike got stolen.
I broke down, sobbing into the mattress, cursing the thief who'd kicked us while we were down.
Ethan couldn't even fake optimism anymore.
He got a credit card, bought another bike.
To pay it off faster, we squeezed every penny.
I was always hungry. So was he.
Then one day, he came home grinning, tossing a hundred-dollar bill at me like it was nothing.
"Got a fat tip today."
He looked proud. "Guess food delivery's got its perks."
I clutched that money like it was gold.
I thought it was the start of something better.
Instead, it was the beginning of the end.
End of Confessions of an Escort：The Dark Hobbies of the Wealthy Chapter 1. Continue reading Chapter 2 or return to Confessions of an Escort：The Dark Hobbies of the Wealthy book page.