Become what you hate: Cursed by an escort

The restaurant was the kind of place that charged too much for small plates and dim lighting. Soft jazz drifted under the low murmur of conversation. Candles flickered on white tablecloths. Jess had chosen a simple black dress that hugged her waist just enough to feel special without trying too hard. Leo sat across from her, sleeves rolled, smiling the way he did when he was actually present. They were halfway through the appetizer when the noise arrived. Two women dropped into the booth right beside them, laughing too loud, perfume sharp and sweet. Short skirts, high heels, tops that left almost nothing to the imagination. One had platinum hair that fell in deliberate waves; the other wore a tight red dress that rode high when she sat. They ordered cocktails by brand and volume, then started trading stories about clients and rates without lowering their voices. Jess’s fork paused. She glanced sideways, then back at Leo, and rolled her eyes—quick, sharp, unmistakable. The platinum blonde caught it. She went quiet for half a second. Then she smiled. Not the friendly kind. The kind that said she’d decided something. While her friend kept talking, the blonde leaned just far enough that her elbow brushed the edge of their table. She locked eyes with Jess and murmured something under her breath, soft enough that only the two of them could hear it. The words didn’t sound like English. A strange, prickling heat slid across the back of Jess’s neck and settled low in her stomach. The blonde sat back, still smiling, and turned to her friend as if nothing had happened. Jess blinked. The feeling faded almost as fast as it came. She shook her head and reached for her wine. “You okay?” Leo asked. “Yeah. Just… some people.” She forced a small laugh and tried to focus on him again. Across the aisle, the two women ordered another round and laughed even louder. Jess told herself she was fine. The evening would continue the way it was supposed to. She didn’t notice the way her posture had already shifted a fraction—shoulders a little looser, chin tilted just slightly higher. Or the faint warmth still lingering under her skin. The curse had already begun.