beauttifullife

[beauttifullife]

"Above average, my ass."  🤣🔥

“Have you ever known me not to be serious when we’re like this?” Rio murmured, leaning in close, her voice a low, intimate rasp, lips hovering just a breath away from Agatha’s ear.  

“If you want to be control, Agatha…”   

Her words were a challenge and a promise, slipping into Agatha’s skin like heat.   

“Then you can be in control.”  

She pulled back slowly, meeting Agatha’s gaze head-on, her eyes daring, intense.  

“Is that what you want?” she asked, her voice dropping even lower, a velvet softness that seemed to coil right around Agatha’s heart— squeezing .  

Agatha’s heart beat faster, as if both fighting against Rio’s hold on and responding to the question that hung in the air.   

Before Rio, she wouldn’t have hesitated, wouldn’t have even considered another option. Control was her armor, her currency, her way of keeping the world and everyone in it exactly where she wanted.   

But now?  

Now, she hesitated.  

Rio watched her intently, her gaze unwavering— waiting .   

Agatha could feel that familiar thrill bubbling up, the one Rio always seemed to draw out of her, making her question the rules she’d lived by, the rules she’d made to protect herself.  

Control had always been her safe place—the one thing she could rely on, the thing she trusted above all else.  

But, now as she actually thought about it—  

Her heart tightened, a startling realization settling over her like a revelation she wasn’t prepared for.  

Rio   

Rio had suddenly become a safe place for Agatha.

Agatha swallowed, feeling the weight of her decision settle over her, heavy and thrilling all at once. She looked up, her voice steady but low.  

“No.”  

Rio’s nostrils flared slightly as she exhaled, her eyes darkening with a new kind of understanding. She knew exactly what Agatha’s answer meant—the trust—the power she was offering up.  

“Okay,” Rio said softly, her voice low and steady. “Do you want me to get rid of the bag?”  

Agatha’s eyes dropped to the backpack— of what was inside it , and a wave of heat surged through her, this time flooding every nerve, pooling low in her abdomen. Her pulse quickened, and with another steady breath, she let go of the last thread of caution.  

Fuck it.  

“No.”  

Rio held Agatha’s gaze for a long, silent moment, as if giving her the chance to change her mind.   

But when Agatha stayed silent, that feral smirk began to spread across Rio’s lips, her eyes darkening with a gleam that made Agatha’s breath catch.  

“Okay,” she murmured, reaching up and touching Agatha’s cheek with a gentleness that was a complete contradiction to her predatory look.    

She swiped her thump a couple times across Agatha’s cheek, before taking a single, measured step back.  She folded her arms across her body and tilted her head as she looked at Agatha.  

“Open the bag,” she said, her voice low and steady—each word deliberate. “And take it out.”  

Agatha swallowed, her pulse quickening, but she rose to the challenge, her fingers steady as she reached for the bag. She reached through the opening, her fingertips brushing against a smooth strap. She curled her fingers around it, lifting it from the bag, feeling the weight settle into her hand as she pulled it free.  

As Agatha lifted it from the bag, the strap-on caught the soft glow of the bedroom light, revealing every detail. A set of sturdy black leather straps with metal buckles glinting faintly under the light. Centered in a steel ring sat a sleek, black silicone dildo slightly curved, attached securely to the harness.  

Agatha wasn’t a prude.   

She’d used sex toys before.  

Afterall, she had a perfectly reliable one in her nightstand right now.   

But this—holding it in her hand , feeling the weight of it, was different.   

As her fingers wrapped around it, and she took in its size, noting the thickness and length. She raised her eyes, arching a brow at Rio, and narrowed her eyes into a glare.  

“Above average, my ass,” she snarked.  

Rio’s smirk deepened, completely unbothered, her eyes shining with amusement.  

“Why?” she drawled, raising a brow in challenge. “Worried you can’t take it?”  

A flush crept up Agatha’s neck, her grip tightening slightly around the toy.  

“Do you want me to throw this at you?” she shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm but also a legitimate threat. “Because it feels like you want me to throw it at you.”  

Rio’s grin only widened.

[beauttifullife]

Chapter 18: The Bend Before the Break (Preview)

Agatha glanced down at the bag, the contents still an undeniable presence between them. She swallowed hard, images of what she’d seen inside flickering in her mind.  

“It just seems…like a lot,” she muttered, cringing slightly at how hesitant her voice sounded.   

She hated sounding vulnerable.  

“It’s above average,” Rio replied smoothly, without missing a beat.  

It took Agatha a second to register Rio’s words, and when she did, a snort escaped her—an unexpected laugh breaking through her tension. She could feel the knot in her chest loosen, just a little .  

She couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face, as she swatted playfully at Rio’s hip.   

“I didn’t mean the size, you asshole .”  

Rio’s lips curved into that smile— the real one —and Agatha’s heart was hammering for a very different reason now.  

Without breaking eye contact, Rio reached down, hooking her finger gently under Agatha’s chin, tilting her face up to meet her gaze. Dark eyes searched hers, steady and calm, a softness in them that sent a wave of warmth through Agatha’s chest.  

“Would it be easier for you,” Rio murmured, her voice soft, “if you were the one wearing it?”  

Agatha’s eyes widened, new images flooding her mind, and the suggestion caught her completely off guard.  

Jesus—this woman was truly trying to kill her.  

[beauttifullife]

The Backpack. 🤣🤣

"Come over tonight?" Agatha asked, her voice soft but intense, making sure to ask . 

Rio’s eyes darkened, that unflinching gaze full of unspoken promises as she nodded.  

“I need to go home first, get a few things straightened out,” she replied, her voice rough, low. “But I’ll be by as soon as I can.” 

There was something about Rio’s voice, raw and edged with heat, that shot straight through her.  

And yet, Agatha had an inkling that the woman had nothing pressing to handle. Knowing Rio, she was probably just letting Agatha stew—making her sit while being impossibly turned on. 

But Agatha would take anything Rio offered right now.

She was that desperate. 

She nodded, moving to get out of the car, but Rio’s hand wrapped around her arm, halting her. 

“Do not even think about touching yourself before I get there,” Rio warned, her voice low and commanding. 

The words sent a jolt through Agatha, her heart thudding hard in her chest. She hadn’t planned on it, but now that Rio had forbidden it, the idea was suddenly, achingly tempting. 

Rio’s eyes narrowed, reading the mischief brewing in Agatha’s gaze. 

“Agatha,” she warned, her tone steely. 

Agatha scoffed, slipping out of Rio’s grasp with an air of nonchalance.  

“Okay—fine!” she said, throwing her hands up in mock surrender, sounding almost like a petulant teenager being told they couldn’t go to a party. “No pre-game before the game. Vibe killer. ” 

True to her word, she didn’t touch herself.  

Instead, she was now on her third glass of bourbon and had hit her 10,000-step goal just pacing her apartment like a caged tiger. Every time she glanced at her phone seeing the clock— of valuable time being wasted —her anticipation flared hotter, her patience wearing thin. 

Finally—a knock at the door.  

Did she scramble embarrassingly fast to answer it?  

Yes.  

Did she pause outside the door to take a couple of steadying breaths so it wouldn’t look like she’d just sprinted across the room?  

Also, yes. 

Once composed, Agatha swung open the door and took in the sight of Rio. She was wearing dark jeans and a sleek black jacket, her casual look somehow only heightening the anticipation building in Agatha. But then her eyes narrowed as she noticed something unexpected. 

She raised an eyebrow, her voice laced with mockery as she crossed her arms and stared at Rio.  

“Why are you wearing a backpack?  What are you, twelve?” 

Rio’s eyebrow arched at the question, and that familiar, predatory smirk spread across her face, making Agatha’s confidence waver ever so slightly. 

Agatha was beginning to recognize what that look meant.

Oh.  

What the hell did Rio Vidal have planned for her tonight? 

[beauttifullife]

Watch mama work. 🤣🔥

“You are very smart, Rio,” she said allowing the compliment to leave her mouth.  Rio deserved that much.  “You’re a natural at pulling apart documents, at tracing every single thread in a web until you find something valuable.  Your report writing is impeccable and your knowledge of case law is far beyond someone of your age and rank.”  

She paused, letting her words sink in, her eyes never leaving Rio’s before reeling the overconfident rookie back to earth.   

“But this job is more than paperwork. It’s more than strategy. It’s showmanship .”  

As the car slowed, Agatha tilted her head toward the courthouse, the large building coming into view.   

She raised her chin, her gaze drifting to the entryway as if picturing the stage that awaited her inside the courtroom.  

“This,” she continued, her voice gaining an almost electric intensity that mirrored the feeling inside her, “is theater. What separates the good lawyers from the great isn’t a well-written brief or even a solid cross-examination. It’s the ability to control the narrative. To own the courtroom. To create a story out of every detail, every witness, every piece of evidence. And to do all of that while staying two steps ahead of opposing counsel.”  

She leaned forward, relishing in the way Rio’s eyes were locked on her with an intensity.    

“From the moment you step into that courtroom, you must command it,” stressed Agatha.   

The moment hung between them, and then slowly Rio’s lips curled into a smirk, her gaze dancing with amusement, a spark of something that Agatha recognized all too well in her eyes.  

“I think I’m pretty good at commanding— as you well know ,” she murmured back easily.  

Agatha felt her breath catch.    

She really couldn’t bother to be upset about it.    

She had literally set Rio up for that one.    

But today, Agatha felt just as emboldened, with the thrill of the case that laid ahead coursing through her, feeding her confidence. She met Rio’s gaze, allowing a dangerous smile to creep onto her face.  

“Yes, you are,” she said, her tone cool, layered with a hint of playful intensity. “But this— this is different.”   

She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper, soft and charged.   

“This isn’t the bedroom, darling. This is my arena.  Here, I am in control .”  

She heard Rio suck in a breath at that, momentarily thrown by Agatha’s words.    

And Agatha taking advantage of the rare feat, reached up and touched Rio's cheek lightly, before leaning in, purposely turning her tone turning low and intimate.  

“Watch mama work, and take notes,” she murmured into Rio’s ear, before pulling back and looking at her and giving Rio’s cheek a mocking pat.  “There will be a quiz afterward.”   

As she felt the car come to a stop, she released her and pulled herself gracefully from the car, stepping onto the pavement.  

Her heels clicked against the stone steps as she moved toward the courthouse doors.  

She didn’t look back, trusting that Rio would follow. 

[beauttifullife]

Preview of the next chapter of Unraveled by simply adding two new tags.

Literally buckle up. 🔥🔥

[beauttifullife]

The Power Play Between These Two 🔥🔥🔥

“Why are you here, Agatha?” Rio’s voice dropped to a low, almost teasing murmur, her head tilted with that smirk that never quite left her face. “Do you… need something ?”

Agatha hated how easily Rio could slip into this game, how quickly she could turn the mood with a single look—with a subtle shift in her tone.

The effect was immediate, visceral, and Agatha loathed how it put her on edge—yet she was acutely aware of the thrill that came with it, the way it made her senses sharpen, made her heart beat just a little faster.

And now?

Now, she was also now painfully aware of the fall that would come after.

She took a steadying breath, determined not to let it show, but Rio’s gaze was unwavering, her eyes dark and knowing. There was something almost maddening in her confidence, as though she knew exactly the effect she was having and enjoyed every second of it.

Agatha felt her cheeks warm, and she forced herself to hold Rio’s gaze, refusing to be the first to look away.

The silence between them was charged as Rio’s fingers drummed lazily against the arm of the chair, her eyes never leaving Agatha’s face.

Agatha swallowed, steadying herself.

“You know why I’m here,” she said, attempting a deflection she knew Rio wouldn't accept but grasping for it anyway.

Rio’s smirk only deepened, a glimmer of amusement flickering in her eyes.

“Do I?” Rio’s tone was dripping with feigned innocence, her gaze steady, unyielding.

Agatha’s heart hammered in her chest as she looked at her.

Here it was—the precipice.

She had two choices: she could say why she was really here, lay herself bare, and finally get what she wanted, or she could lie, turn around, and walk away, resigned to living in this endless state of frustrated longing.

But Rio seemed to sense her hesitation, the way her resolve wavered. Her feet slid down from the table, her body leaning forward, closer, every inch of her focused on Agatha.

“Say it,” Rio murmured, her voice softer, lower, coaxing Agatha to cross that final line.

Agatha’s breath hitched, her gaze locked on Rio’s, the weight of the moment pressing down on her, the choice hanging between them.

And finally, she let herself give in, her voice barely a whisper.

“I came here because… I need you.”

Rio licked her lips at that.

“Need me how?” Rio pressed, her voice smooth, her gaze unrelenting.

Agatha let out a shaky breath, knowing the push was coming but feeling the impact of it all the same.

Rio couldn’t just let things be—couldn’t let her stay in the safety of ambiguity.

She always had to push, to strip Agatha raw.

Agatha held her gaze, trying to steady herself, but her mind betrayed her, filling with everything she craved: she needed to kiss Rio, to feel her hands on her skin, her fingers tracing lines over her body. She needed Rio’s mouth, her fingers—everything she had to give, every touch, every whisper. She wanted to be undone by her all over again, in every way that mattered.

But how could she say that?

Maybe she could— at least some of it.

The words were there, tangled somewhere in her chest, yet saying them felt impossible.

She hated how Rio did this to her—how easily she could chip away at her confidence, leaving her vulnerable.

Frustration and nerves simmered inside her, and Agatha wished she could somehow throw Rio off balance for once, to push back, to make her rise to the challenge.

And then an idea sparked—a bold, terrifying idea.

It was something she’d thought about in vivid, private detail over the past few days.

Words she never intended to say it out loud, but it would certainly even the playing field, let her take control, make Rio respond to her .

Her pulse quickened as she leaned forward, her voice coming out a touch softer than she intended, betraying her nerves.

“I didn’t get to touch you,” she murmured, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks even as she held Rio’s gaze.

For a moment, Rio’s face was unreadable and then—her steady composure slipped just slightly as Agatha’s words sank in.

The tension between them felt like a tightrope, and for once, Agatha was the one holding the balance.

Rio leaned back in her chair, her gaze flicking over Agatha, her lips curving into a slow, uncharacteristically uncertain smile.

Agatha could see her processing, that ever-present confidence wavering just enough to give her a flash of something new—a vulnerability, an edge of surprise.

“You want to touch me?” Rio replied, her voice quieter, her tone still challenging but softened by a hint of intrigue.

Agatha took a slow, steadying breath as she leaned forward, inching closer, savoring the thrill of finally turning the tables.

“You told me you imagined what my fingers would feel like inside you,” she said, her voice stronger, bolder now.

Her gaze traced over Rio’s face, catching the slight widening of her eyes, the flare of her nostrils as she exhaled a slow, measured breath.

For a moment, Agatha saw Rio’s composure waver, and the satisfaction that surged through her was exhilarating.

Oh.

Now she understood why Rio played this game—why she pushed, why she teased her.

There was power in holding someone’s desire, of watching them unravel beneath it.

Emboldened, Agatha pushed further, her gaze unwavering as she met Rio’s eyes.

“I’ve had days to think about what you said,” she continued, letting her voice dip lower. “And now…I want to know what it feels like—to be inside you.”

Rio’s eyes darkened as her words landed.

Agatha could feel the tension winding between them, taut and electric, and this time, she was the one daring Rio to close the distance.

Rio opened her mouth, and Agatha saw it instantly—the moment she was trying to wrestle back control. The smirk began to curl at the corner of her lips, her eyes shifting from surprise to that familiar, daring gleam.

Agatha knew exactly what she was about to say.

Ask.

So, she beat her to it.

“Can I touch you?” Agatha murmured, her voice soft but unyielding. “Will you let me do that?”

Rio’s mouth hung open mid-sentence, her expression frozen in a rare flash of surprise.

For a heartbeat, she was speechless, and Agatha savored every second, watching Rio struggle to respond.

It was a triumph—Agatha was still playing her game, following Rio’s rules, but turning it around, using her own rules against her.

And it was addicting .

[beauttifullife]

So far these are my favorite little tie-in lines from the Agatha All Along show to the AU law/romance story of Agatha and Rio. This story has been so much fun to write!

Quote 1:

Agatha remembered being a child, dreaming of being a superhero, of wielding magic, saving the day, and standing above mortal men. But that was fantasy.

Magic didn’t exist.

Power, though—that was real.

And she had it.

Quote 2:

The Witch of Wall Street.

At first, the term irritated her. A witch? As if she relied on magic or illusion to get to where she was. But then she understood. It wasn’t her presence they doubted—it was the control she commanded. The icy stillness that filled the room the moment she walked in, the subtle shift in posture, the way conversations died on people’s lips. Her arrival wasn’t seen—it was felt. A chill that made everyone sharpen their focus, as if they could sense the power she carried in her wake.

She wasn’t invisible; she was inescapable.

Agatha didn’t just win cases or close deals—she devoured them. She dismantled everything in her path, leaving no room for her opponents to recover. When she entered a courtroom, it wasn’t just about money; it was about domination. She didn’t simply defeat people—she unraveled them, stripping away their confidence, their sense of self, leaving nothing but a hollow shell of who they once were.

She didn’t just win; she consumed.

When Agatha Harkness stepped into a courtroom, she didn’t just take your money.

She took your power.

Quote 3:

Red was overrated. It washed her out, and besides, it carried too much cliché. Everyone thought power was red. But if you listened to the real whispers of Wall Street, the ones that floated through the corridors of power and wealth, they knew the truth.

The devil didn’t wear red.

It wore purple.

Quote 4:

“What?” she snapped into the phone.

Silence.

“Hello, Jen. How are you doing, Jen?” came the mocking tone on the other end.

Agatha rolled her eyes harder, settling back into her seat.

“Talking to yourself now? All those illegal moisturizers you put into your face finally melting your brain?” she bit back, the sharpness of her tone unmistakable.

Quote 5:

Agatha gave her a look, full of skepticism.

“And here I thought you were finally inviting me into your little sisterhood of the traveling jade egg.”

Alice gagged at the comment.

“Gross, Agatha.”

Quote 6:

It was enough to bring a suit, but Agatha knew this was going to be an uphill battle. Vanguard was too big, too powerful. And they’d already hired the only firm in the U.S. that had a reputation to rival her own.

A firm out of Boston: Crescent, Hillman, Dawson, Raines, Torres, Finch, and Chen.

A fucking mouthful.

But most people just called them The Salem Seven.

It had a certain gravitas to it, didn’t it? 

The Witch of Wall Street v. The Salem Seven. It felt like something ripped from a Marvel movie—two juggernauts going head-to-head, each wielding their own brand of legal magic.

But this wasn’t a movie, and reality was a much harsher beast.

Quote 7:

The scar on her elbow was proof enough—a lasting reminder from when she was eight years old, and the neighborhood boys had goaded her, claiming she’d never make it over the Grand Canyon-sized ditch outside their trailer park.

Every kid in the neighborhood had tried and failed.

But not Agatha.

She pedaled harder than her little legs could manage, threw caution to the wind, and fucking flew.

She cleared it—of course, but the landing was less than graceful.  Her front tire caught on a rock, sending her flying over the handlebars and straight into a barbed-wire fence.

Twenty stitches later, she’d earned her first scar and her mother’s fury.

Quote 8:

Rio Vidal had to be death personified, because this woman was definitely trying to kill her.  

Quote 9:

The next few days were, in every way, a gauntlet Agatha could never have anticipated. It was like some cruel twist from a TV show Disney would make—where the heroine must face an endless string of trials to reach her goal.   

Only, in this version, Agatha’s prize wasn’t a throne or treasure at the end, but the chance to make it through each day with her dignity intact.   

Quote 10:

The door swung open almost instantly, and there was Rio, phone pressed to her ear. She gave Agatha an apologetic look and gestured for her to come inside.   

Agatha didn’t move, instead her gaze traveled over her—hair thrown up in a messy ponytail, loose gray sweatpants, and a faded ¾-sleeve T-shirt that read, “Bohner Family Reunion: Pitch a Tent.”   

Quote 11:

Turning back to Rio, she broke the silence.   

“I didn’t peg you as a ‘ plant person ,’” she said, gesturing to the lush surroundings.  

Rio gave a casual shrug, glancing around the greenhouse as she took a slow pull from her bottle, her eyes eventually finding their way back to Agatha’s.  

“I come from a family of migrant farmers,” Rio said, her tone softened by a hint nostalgia. “I grew up working in the fields with them. I find it comforting, having dirt under my nails. It feels like… home .”  

[beauttifullife]

Chapter 15: Taking Root

The next few days were, in every way, a gauntlet Agatha could never have anticipated. It was like some cruel twist from a TV show Disney would make—where the heroine must face an endless string of trials to reach her goal.   

Only, in this version, Agatha’s prize wasn’t a throne or treasure at the end, but the chance to make it through each day with her dignity intact.   

No client emergencies, no pressing meetings; it was as if the universe itself had aligned to trap her in Rio's orbit.   

No escape routes.   

No distractions.   

Just Rio, haunting her like a ghost she couldn’t banish.  

And Agatha?   

She was impossibly, unbearably turned on.   

And Rio— damn her —knew it.   

The flicker of awareness in those dark, relentless eyes, the curve of her smirk that teased but gave nothing away, made Agatha’s skin prickle with an intensity she hadn’t felt in years.  

Rio didn’t push too hard—she was far too clever for that.   

Her gestures were maddeningly subtle.   

She had found new ways to murmur Agatha name, her tone so low and deliberate that Agatha’s pulse raced. She brushed against her with the smallest touch, the barest graze of fingers when handing her a file or slipping a pen across her desk.   

None of it was overtly sexual.  

But to Agatha? It was everything.  

Now that she knew the sharp precision of Rio’s hands, the control held within those strong, capable fingers, her mind flooded with images of what they could do. She knew the wicked skill of her tongue, the way those dark eyes could blaze with something wild, almost feral, when Agatha finally gave in and came undone beneath her.  

The flicker of memory alone was enough to leave her breathless, pulse quickening, her muscles tightening with a need that was impossible to ignore.  

After three days of utter, unrelenting torment, Agatha found herself lying awake, staring at the ceiling of her bedroom. Even her own bed—her sanctuary—had become a shrine to Rio Vidal. She’d washed the silk sheets, sure, but the memory of Rio was impossible to cleanse. No matter how many times she stripped the linens, the ghost of what Rio had done to her here lingered, as vivid and stubborn as ever.  

She gritted her teeth, frustrated and desperate, fingers trailing to where she thought she could find relief.   

But it was just... okay.   

Fine.    

Nothing could match the real thing, and the ache only deepened, pulsing stronger with every touch that couldn’t quite measure up.  

Before she even realized it, Agatha grabbed her phone and typed a quick message to Billy. Her finger hit send almost instinctively.  

Get me the phone number for Rio Vidal.  

[beauttifullife]

[beauttifullife]

Maybe you need a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend.

Agatha had just taken a bite of her pizza when Nicky blurted out.

“Daddy has a new girlfriend. Amanda. She’s nice. She took me to the zoo.”

She froze mid-chew.

So, James is seeing someone—again.

Her ex-husband had gone through a rotating lineup of women since their separation, most of whom came and went before she even had the chance to meet them. And, like a cliché of wealthy divorced dads, James didn’t exactly date in his age group. Agatha had met one or two over the years, all of them at least twenty years his junior.

James was fifty-two, for God’s sake.

It was ridiculous.

Nicky kept talking, oblivious to her thoughts.

“Daddy is happy. He smiles more.”

He took another bite of pizza, then paused, his small brows drawing together as his nose scrunched up in that familiar way he did when he was thinking hard.

Agatha braced herself, recognizing that look all too well. Her son had a habit of speaking with the brutal honesty only a child could wield.

He reached up, pressing his greasy, pizza-stained fingers to her cheek, looking at her with a curious expression.

“You don’t smile a lot.”

Ow.

Agatha winced inwardly.

It is amazing how kids could unknowingly bury daggers in their parents’ hearts with their blunt, innocent observations.

She managed to keep her composure, setting her pizza down as she wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

“I smile,” she insisted softly, and then, with a mischievous grin, she tickled him, smiling as he burst into giggles and squirmed in her arms. “See? I smile all the time with you.”

When the tickling subsided, Nicky’s laughter faded, and he looked at her with that same serious, searching gaze.

“But what about when I’m gone? Do you smile when I’m gone?”

Damn it.

This kid was trying to kill her.

Agatha opened her mouth, ready to give him a reassuring lie—something simple. Of course, I smile when you’re not here, even though the truth was far from it.

But before she could speak, Nicky’s eyes lit up as though he’d had the best idea in the world.

“Maybe you can get a girlfriend like Daddy—so you can smile even when I’m not here.”

Agatha laughed at that, a startled, genuine laugh.

“You mean a boyfriend, honey,” she corrected gently.

But Nicky only shrugged, as if it made no difference to him.

“You didn’t smile with any of your boyfriends.”

Agatha stilled, her breath catching as she absorbed his words.

She hadn’t realized Nicky had been watching her so closely, hadn’t known he’d picked up on the things she kept so carefully hidden. She’d thought she’d shielded him from her own disappointments, put on a brave face as she tried to navigate dating again after the divorce.

Yet here he was, perceptive in that unfiltered way only her child could be, seeing through her mask to the truth she hadn’t even fully admitted to herself: that the men she’d dated hadn’t made her happy.

Since the divorce three years ago, she’d tried to move forward. She’d gone on plenty of dates, a few even turning into short-lived relationships, but none had ever clicked. She even introduced Nicky to one or two men she’d thought might last.

They hadn’t.

He hadn’t liked them, and she hadn’t blamed him.

Honestly, she’d barely liked them herself.

Her attempts at dating had all felt empty, like trying to force pieces into a puzzle that just didn’t fit.

Nicky, meanwhile, picked up his slice again and took a big bite, chewing thoughtfully before looking back up at her.

“Maybe you need a girlfriend instead of a boyfriend,” he said, words muffled around his mouthful but clear enough.

Agatha blinked, caught completely off guard by the innocent but strangely perceptive comment. She forced a small, wry smile, hoping he’d move on to a less jarring topic.

But Nicky just kept looking at her, waiting, his wide eyes expectant and curious.

She let out a breath, her mind racing through the events of the past few days, the revelations she’d had, and her unexpected, undeniable connection with Rio. Her son’s words lingered, pressing gently but insistently against the parts of herself she’d barely started to acknowledge.

Finally, she gave a small shrug, her voice softer than usual.

“Maybe, kiddo,” she murmured, reaching out to ruffle his hair with a gentleness that felt like both a reassurance to him and a grounding touch for herself. “Maybe.”

Nicky grinned, clearly pleased with her response, and dove back into his pizza, blissfully unaware of the quiet stirrings within his mother’s heart.

[beauttifullife]

Chapter 14: Reflections in the Mirror

She made her way to the bathroom, flipping on the light, and caught her breath as she approached the mirror.   

As her gaze traveled over her body, she let out a low, shaky breath, her eyes narrowing at the dark hickey right where her neck met her shoulder. And there, on the top of her breast—was that a bite mark?   

She didn’t even remember that happening.  

She examined her reflection, half-relieved and half-disappointed to see that the rest of her skin bore no visible signs, though her body still felt marked.   

It was as if Rio’s hands, her mouth, her tongue—hell, even her teeth—had seeped into her muscles, leaving traces only she could feel.   

She gripped the edge of the sink, steadying herself, and lifted her gaze, meeting her own eyes in the mirror.  She let out another shaky breath, trying to process the enormity of it all.  

She’d just had the best sex of her life.  

At forty-eight years old.  

And it was with a woman.  

As she stared into the mirror, something shifted. She’d danced around this realization before, but here it was, undeniable, hovering right in front of her:   

Maybe she was a little bit gay.  

It wasn’t a jarring epiphany, not a thunderous shift, but rather a soft acknowledgment she’d kept buried for too long. It wasn’t even surprising, but it was the first time she’d really let herself recognize it, to own it fully.  

She looked herself in the eye, and for a moment, it was as if her own reflection had something to say back. If her inner self could crawl through that mirror, she’d probably shake her for taking this long, for resisting something so deeply true. And for all her resistance, here she was, staring herself down, a wry smirk tugging at her lips.  

This wasn’t the grand revelation she might have expected.   

It was simply her own truth, finally acknowledged, finally allowed to exist without the usual defenses.  

Agatha looked herself in the eye, letting that quiet acceptance settle deeper within her, a strange comfort wrapping around her like a warm blanket. For the first time, she felt at peace inside her, a sense of knowing that felt right, like slipping into a pair of well-worn shoes.  

But then, a new thought crept in, making her breath hitch as a startling realization hit her with the force of a cold shower:   

How in the hell was she supposed to look Rio Vidal in the eye on Monday?  

[beauttifullife]

Preview of the next chapter of Unraveled from my rough notes outline 😂

[beauttifullife]

Unraveled

[beauttifullife]

"Good Girl."

“Agatha,” Rio murmured, her voice softer, almost a breathless whisper, stripped of its usual control. “You are… stunning.” 

The words sent a fresh wave of warmth through Agatha, the sincerity in Rio’s tone striking her deeper than she expected. It wasn’t a compliment tossed lightly, wasn’t an empty praise. It felt raw, almost reverent. 

And God, Agatha felt beautiful in a way she hadn’t before—powerful, desired, and entirely herself. 

“Come here,” murmured Rio. 

Without a second’s hesitation, Agatha stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and lowered herself into Rio’s lap. 

Rio took Agatha’s hands, one by one, guiding them to the back of the couch over her shoulders, positioning them with a calm certainty. Then she looked up, her gaze holding Agatha’s with a tenderness that sent a shiver down Agatha’s spine. 

“Do not move your hands,” Rio said, her tone almost tender. “Can you do that for me?” 

The request so gentle, so deliberate, that Agatha’s stomach tightened. 

She hadn’t known what to expect when Rio took control.  

She’d anticipated something dirtier, rougher—Rio pinning her down, demanding, taking . And while that thought had its appeal, this… this was something else entirely .  

It was soft yet charged, electric, and it made her body respond in ways she hadn’t imagined. She could feel the dampness pooling in her underwear, the ache of wanting Rio to touch her.  

Every movement, every word, was building, stacking moment upon moment, until she felt she might break—and Rio had barely laid a hand on her. 

God, she wanted her to touch her.  

Agatha nodded, then caught herself, realizing Rio would want her to say it aloud. She swallowed, as though needing to brace herself, to prepare her voice for a single word. 

“Yes.” 

The way Rio’s eyes darkened at her response sent another thrill through her, as if she recognized the commitment in Agatha’s answer, the surrender to the game they were playing. 

“Good girl,” she murmured. 

[beauttifullife]

"I want you to listen."

Without another word, Rio walked across the floor and into the living room, settling onto the middle of the couch that faced the kitchen. She leaned back, arms draped casually over the backrest, exuding a relaxed confidence, unaffected and—to Agatha’s reluctant admission— very sexy. 

As Agatha watched, Rio tilted her head, her dark eyes seeming even darker in the faint light, her gaze holding a quiet intensity that rooted Agatha in place. 

Then, her voice rougher than before, Rio gave a simple command.  

“Come here.” 

At Rio’s command, a shiver ran down Agatha’s spine, her body responding instinctively.  

But old habits die hard—and defiance flared just as hot as desire, leaving her feeling trapped—caught between the control she wasn’t quite ready to set sacrifice and the insistent pull of her body, practically begging to be the sacrificial lamb. 

Without a word, Agatha reached for Rio’s abandoned glass, the one with a splash of very expensive bourbon left, and brought it to her lips, drinking as if the liquor could force her past this internal tug-of-war, as if it might silence the part of her that rebelled. 

Across the room, Rio’s eyes narrowed, a dark edge flashing through them. 

“Agatha ,” she said, her voice a warning, laced with a challenge. “If you’re struggling with something this simple, then you’re going to have a very long night ahead of you.” 

The words hit hard, a quiet promise that left Agatha’s pulse racing, her nerves fraying and her instincts telling her she was in way over her head. She finished off Rio’s drink in a single gulp, setting the glass down with a clink, the liquor making her feel reckless as she leaned against the countertop. 

“ You promise? ” she mocked, her tone daring. 

That one landed.  

She saw it in the subtle shift in Rio’s face, the tick of her jaw, the flare of her nostrils.  

Suddenly, Agatha felt like a wildlife photographer admiring the beauty of a grizzly bear—right before it mauled her to death.  

She stood there, wondering how this would unfold, how Rio would handle her defiance. Maybe part of her was doing this on purpose, just to test the boundaries, even if it was dangerous. 

Rio didn’t move; she just held her gaze, a quiet storm simmering behind her eyes. 

“Did you know I have total recall?” she asked, her question abrupt, seemingly out of nowhere. 

Agatha blinked, caught off guard.  

As she thought about what Rio said, it wasn’t entirely surprising. The way Rio moved through massive stacks of paperwork without missing a detail, connecting things that even Agatha missed—it made sense. 

What didn’t make sense is why she was telling Agatha this now.   

Rio’s leaned forward, her eyes locked on Agatha.  

“I can recite word for word the shipping report I read yesterday,” she continued. “I can tell you by memory alone the report I wrote on blue whales in fifth grade. And I can still remember the exact color, taste, and texture of the birthday cake my abuelita made me on my thirteenth birthday.” 

Agatha raised a brow at that. 

“I already figured you had something—photographic memory or close to it,” Agatha replied, though a prickling sensation warned her that Rio was leading her somewhere with this monologue. 

Rio leaned in closer, her gaze steady, unyielding. The silence thickened between them, and suddenly, Agatha’s 4,000 square foot condo felt as tight as a closet. Rio’s presence, calm and controlled, filled the room, and Agatha could feel her pulse thrumming in response. 

“If you knew I have a memory like that,” Rio said, her voice a quiet, deliberate murmur, “then why are you already pushing me on something as simple as asking you to come over here … knowing I won’t forget it? ” 

The question lingered, heavy and challenging.  

Agatha had to give it to her— game recognizes game.   

Rio Vidal not only knew how to choose her words but also how to set the stage, to weave tension so skillfully it felt like a physical force. Agatha could already picture her in a courtroom, drawing in the jury and opposing counsel alike, leading them through her story with the same calculated ease. 

Swallowing, Agatha felt the weight of Rio’s words sink in—the subtle promise and warning layered beneath them. A shiver ran down her spine, and for once, she felt completely, deliciously outmatched. 

Agatha found herself moving forward, each step deliberate, and yet, she told herself, it was her choice. Not because Rio had asked, but because a fierce curiosity had ignited within her. She wanted to know where this was going, wanted to see if Rio really could handle her—if anyone could. 

With every step, her condo seemed to stretch, feeling endless as Rio’s eyes tracked her movement, unrelenting and heavy. The space between them seemed to thicken, each footstep like walking through quicksand, her pulse pounding louder with each inch closed. 

And then, finally, she was there, close enough to feel Rio’s calm, steady presence.  

Agatha stopped just short of reaching out, her heart hammering as she looked up to meet Rio’s gaze.   

She moved to sit down, but Rio’s voice stopped her in her tracks. 

“No ,” Rio said, her voice calm but firm, tapping her thigh. “Here.” 

Agatha sucked in a sharp breath, her eyes widening.  

“You want me to straddle you?” she asked, disbelief edging her tone. 

Rio’s eyes narrowed, her gaze never wavering.  

“I want you to listen,” she replied, her voice carrying an unspoken command that sent a shiver down Agatha’s spine. 

Every part of her bristled at the order, but the pull was undeniable, leaving her caught in a silent war between mind and body. She stood there, resisting, a flicker of defiance still holding her in place. 

“Agatha ,” Rio warned, her tone low and measured, “I am exactly three seconds away from getting up and walking out that door.” 

Agatha’s eyes narrowed.  

She wouldn’t.  

Rio held her gaze, unwavering, her face deadly serious.  

“Three.” 

A spark of panic flared in Agatha’s chest.  

Okay, maybe she would.  

“Two.” 

Rio placed her arms down by her side, as if ready to push herself up. 

Agatha clenched her teeth, already hating this game. 

“Okay, fine!” she exclaimed, stepping forward and settling herself across Rio’s lap, one leg on either side.  

The flush of embarrassment crept up her neck, her pride prickling at the position.  

Straddling a lover was nothing new—she’d done it countless times, always as a power play, her way of showing she was in charge. 

But this was different.   

She hadn’t chosen this position; Rio had forced her into it, demanded it.  

And Agatha had answered.  

She hated herself a little for it, that stubborn pride twisting in her chest. 

Trying to salvage what was left of her control, Agatha put an overtly fake sexual look on her face as her eyes locked onto Rio’s.  

“Is this the part where you tell me I’ve been a bad, bad girl ?” she taunted, her tone raspy and mocking. She needed to put on a front, to claw back some piece of control, anything to level the playing field. 

Rio rolled her eyes at Agatha’s dramatis, though the faint flick of a smile betrayed her feigned annoyance. 

[beauttifullife]

Rio coming in hot 🔥🔥

Rio’s gaze held steady, lingering on Agatha, as if she were savoring the charged silence, waiting to see her reaction. Finally, she spoke, her voice low, carrying a weight that seemed to settle deep into Agatha’s bones.

“Before we get into rules,” Rio began, her tone soft yet unyielding. “I have a question.”

Agatha huffed, rolling her eyes and flicking her hand impatiently, a gesture urging her to get on with it.

Rio’s smile spread, slow and wide, her teeth flashing in an almost predatory grin that instantly set Agatha on edge.

Whatever was coming, she knew it was going to throw her completely off balance.

“Can you cum multiple times,” Rio asked, her voice casual, as if she were inquiring about Agatha’s favorite color, “or just once?”

Agatha’s mouth fell open, words failing her.

The audacity of this woman.

“How—what—why…” she stammered, tripping over half-formed thoughts.

How was she even supposed to respond to something so bold, so casually delivered?

Rio leaned forward, her gaze intensifying, focused in a way that made Agatha’s heart hammer against her ribs.

“Agatha,” she murmured her voice like velvet, edged with command. “Tell me.”

She moved closer now, her fingers dragging slowly up Agatha’s leg, each inch an intentional, maddening tease. Her hand traced along the inside of Agatha’s thigh, moving higher until Agatha’s breath caught again, her nerves on fire. Just as Agatha’s head lulled back, a traitorous sigh escaping her lips, Rio withdrew her hand, her breath warm against Agatha’s ear.

“Can you cum multiple times, or just once?” she repeated, her tone laced with dark amusement.

Agatha’s pulse thudded as her eyes slipped shut against the sensation, her head pressing back into the leather.

“Why…why do you need to know that?” she managed, her voice barely steady.

Rio chuckled, low and rich in her ear.

“Because, Agatha—it tells me exactly how I should treat you,” Rio murmured, her voice a slow, tantalizing drag that seemed to slip under Agatha’s skin.

She pulled back and looked Agatha in the eye at her next words.

“Should I take my time with you…” she murmured, her words were deliberate and calculated. “Pull it from you, inch by inch, bringing you closer and closer to the edge until I decide to let you fall?”

Her fingers were back on Agatha’s, sliding up once more this time not stopping, just barely grazing her the fabric of her leggings with a featherlight touch that made Agatha’s whole body tense. She gripped the door with white-knuckled intensity, struggling to keep her breath steady.

“Or…” Rio continued, her voice dark and rich, “can I push you over again and again, until you have nothing left to give?”

And then, just as her hand reached the place Agatha’s pulse was hammering for her, she withdrew, leaving Agatha breathless and reeling.

Her mind raced.

With men, she typically only came once—twice was rare, reserved for the few lovers who knew her body well enough to bring her there. But on nights when she was alone and feeling especially frustrated, she had managed to push herself over the edge a couple of times.

So, technically, she knew she was capable.

She felt Rio’s fingers tap impatiently against her thigh, a silent reminder to answer.

Agatha swallowed, feeling a flush creep up her neck, and opened her mouth, her voice coming out softer than she’d intended.

“Multiple,” she said, hating the breathlessness in her own voice.

The smile that overtook Rio’s face was nothing short of predatory. She leaned back, her gaze assessing, as though seeing Agatha in a whole new light—like a child with a new toy she couldn’t wait to explore, to test, to push every button.

[beauttifullife]

Scars.

Agatha was many things, but unaware of herself?

Absolutely not.

She was, as the kids today would say, a “Self-Aware Queen.”

She knew her faults—more than she cared to count.

She knew her strengths—probably too well.

And she knew her weaknesses, which she could name without hesitation, simply because there weren’t many of them.

The biggest, the one that could be both curse and crown, was her inability to back down from a challenge. Agatha could make a case that it was a strength just as much as a flaw, a trait that had shaped her into the relentless force she was. 

But she knew it was a weakness based solely on its knack for landing her in unbelievably tight spots.

The scar on her elbow was proof enough—a lasting reminder from when she was eight years old, and the neighborhood boys had goaded her, claiming she’d never make it over the Grand Canyon-sized ditch outside their trailer park.

Every kid in the neighborhood had tried and failed.

But not Agatha.

She pedaled harder than her little legs could manage, threw caution to the wind, and fucking flew.

She cleared it—of course, but the landing was less than graceful.  Her front tire caught on a rock, sending her flying over the handlebars and straight into a barbed-wire fence.

Twenty stitches later, she’d earned her first scar and her mother’s fury.

And it was on that day, at eight years old, that Agatha Harkness developed an addiction to proving people wrong, no matter how much it hurt, no matter what it cost her.

Now, sitting in the back of the town car on her way to her condo, Agatha traced the raised edge of that scar on her elbow through her sweater, her mind wandering back to it—to the first mark she earned and all the ones that she collected along the way, both visible and unseen.

Not all scars were physical.

Some cut deeper, hidden under her skin, the psychological marks left behind by every challenge she’d taken head-on, every time she refused to back down. They’d shaped her, sharpened her into who she was today, and as painful as they’d been, she wore each one with a fierce sense of pride.

But then her gaze drifted to the woman beside her—the newest challenge life had thrown in her path.

Rio Vidal sat there, so impossibly calm that Agatha wanted to kick her out the door.  But instead, she kept her hands busy, her fingers tracing absently over the old scar on her elbow, while her pulse quickened, her thoughts unwillingly shifting to this new challenge beside her.

Rio.

She was unlike anyone Agatha had ever encountered—a challenge that left Agatha torn between charging forward and retreating. And somewhere deep down, she felt it—knew it with a bone-deep certainty—that this one wouldn’t just pass.

She wasn’t going to make it through this one without a mark.

Rio Vidal was going to carve herself into Agatha.

And the scar she was going to leave in her wake, was going to be just as deep and just as enduring as the one on Agatha’s elbow.