Chapter 2

Damares Reese

I woke up to the slam of a fist pounding on my bedroom door. I could never really sleep past eight — they always jolted me awake like this between six and seven in the morning.

"Damares! Get out of that bed, you lazy slob! You look like a ball, you're so fat!" My mother's voice cut through the wood like a knife to my chest. "No man wants some depressed woman who can't even fit into her own clothes!"

I opened my eyes to the stained ceiling of the tiny ten-by-ten room where I still lived at twenty-six years old. The clock read 7:12. My stomach was already clenching before I even got up.

"Leave the girl alone, Marcia." My father's voice drifted from the hallway, dripping with fake pity. "Let her sleep. At least when she's sleeping, she isn't eating."

Laughter. The two of them laughing at me. Like always.

I lay there another minute, breathing deep, trying to remember the last time anyone in this house had said my name without spitting venom along with it. I couldn't.

I got up. The cold floor stung my feet. Walking down the hallway, I heard the rest:

"Look at the state of that girl, Marcia. Twenty-six and she looks forty. If she keeps this up, she'll die single and fat."

"She's gonna die of diabetes." My mother shot back. "Or shame. Just look at her — not even her hair can make her pretty with that full-moon face."

I made it to the kitchen trying to ignore them. Reached for a mug for coffee. My mother looked me up and down.

"You're really going to have coffee? Aren't you afraid of blowing out those pants? If you're gonna drink it, at least skip the sugar."

I swallowed hard. Put the mug back. Walked out without saying a word. I wished I still had the same body I'd had before I married my ex-husband. Marrying him had sent me into a spiral I never came back from.

"Eat whatever you want, babe." That's what he used to say. "I love you for who you are, not for your body."

What a fool I'd been.

In the bathroom, I locked the door and faced the mirror. Five foot three, two hundred and three pounds. Breasts too big for any department-store bra, wide hips, thighs that touched all the way down to my knees, a waist that still existed but nobody ever noticed because I buried it under oversized shirts.

I was beautiful. I knew I was. But I'd learned to hate every inch of myself because everyone else hated me first. The memory hit without warning, the way it always did.

Two years ago. Me coming home early from work. The bedroom door cracked open. Moaning — loud.

I walked in and saw my husband — ex-husband — with his back to me, fucking a girl who barely looked twenty-one. Skinny, gym-tanned skin, wasp waist, silicone tits, an ass sculpted by squats. She was on all fours on our bed, moaning loud, while he held up his phone recording.

"Yeah, you little slut, show the camera how tight you are…"

I froze in the doorway. He turned, saw me, didn't even flinch. Just smiled with contempt.

"Home early today, fatass. Wanna watch? This is what a real woman sounds like."

The woman — who I later found out was an Instagram influencer with a hundred and fifty thousand followers — turned her face, laughed, and said:

"Oh my God, babe, is that the whale you were putting up with? How did you fuck that without gagging?"

He laughed along. Kept pounding into her while staring me in the eyes. I stood there in complete shock.

"I used to pretend she was some hot skinny girl. But even that couldn't get me hard. She's flabby, saggy, she reeks. But you — you're firm, you smell good, you're sexy as hell. Look at the difference."

I cried. Of course I cried. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. When I came back, they were already dressed, taking selfies on the bed where I'd slept for five years.

"Just sign the damn divorce papers." He threw them in my face. "And lose some weight, would you? Maybe somebody'll take you as a pity fuck."

I left the house with one suitcase and a shattered heart. Went back to my parents' place because I had nowhere else to go. And here I was, two years later — fatter, sadder, more broken.

My phone buzzed in my pajama pocket. Name on the screen: Mason. I answered already smiling. She was the only person who still called me beautiful and actually meant it.

"Damares, for the love of God, save me!" Her voice was desperate and happy at the same time. "My boss needs someone he can trust to cover my maternity leave. Three months, maybe four. The salary's three times what you're making now. Three times. And it's at Marville Distilleries — the fancy cognac brand. I already told him about you and he's on board. Are you in? Please, girl, I don't trust anyone else to fill my spot!"

Three times the salary. Three times the chance to escape this prison of a house.

"I'm in," I answered without even thinking.

"Thank God!" she screamed. "Monday, nine sharp. Wear that tight black dress you've got — the one that makes you look like a plus-size Greek goddess. And red lipstick. You're gonna kill it."

I hung up the phone with my heart pounding hard for the first time in years.

I went to the closet and pulled out the black dress I hadn't worn since a cousin's wedding. Size 16, fitted, modest neckline in the front, but it hugged every curve like it had been tailor-made. I held it up against my body and looked in the mirror.

I was beautiful.

I was smart.

I was strong as hell.

On Sunday, I spent the whole day washing my hair, deep conditioning, shaving every last inch, painting my nails scarlet red. When my mother walked into my room that night and saw the dress laid out on the bed, she hit me with the classic:

"You're wearing that? You're gonna look like a sausage in a skirt."

I smiled. For the first time in years, a real smile.

"Yes, Mom. And tomorrow I'm walking out of this house so I never have to hear you call me fat again."

She opened her mouth to fire back. I shut the door in her face.

I lay in bed with my heart racing. Tomorrow was the start of a new life. Tomorrow I'd walk into Marville Distilleries headquarters as my best friend's temporary replacement. Tomorrow no one was going to humiliate me anymore.

I wasn't going to let other people tell me what to do. I was going to prove my worth.

Damares Reese

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