Ivy burst through the exit tunnel and the bright stadium lights gave way to dim concrete corridors. Her lungs burned. Her thighs screamed, partly from how hard she had been running, and from the extremely awkward situation currently occurring between her legs with every step.
The silicone dildo shifted with each movement and Ivy just felt like dying right there in that hallway.
Her mind raced in frantic, spiralling circles. This would be viral. It was already viral. People recorded it. And by tomorrow morning, she was going to become a meme. She would be fired. Her parents would see the video. Her grandmother. Her ex. Her coworkers. Her boss! Everyone she had ever known.
Her breath came in panicked gasps. Sweat dripped down her temple, and the guards' shouts echoed behind her, getting closer.
'Get out. Just get out. Get to the car. Drive home. Delete everything. Burn my phone. Change my name. Move to another country. Fake my death!'
She finally exploded through the exit doors into cool evening air, but this wasn't the parking lot. She had taken the wrong exit route.
She was faced with a busy six-lane street where cars streamed past in both directions, headlights cutting through the dusk.
Behind her, the doors burst open. "Stop! Security!"
Ivy's legs were already moving. She could worry about getting her car later. She would just cross the street, grab a cab and head on home for a change of clothes.
Fuelled by pure adrenaline and hysteria, she ran straight into the road.
Horns blared. Tires shrieked. And a massive truck appeared out of nowhere. The words "Thank You For Your Purchase" were printed cheerfully above the windshield in bold cheerful letters.
Ivy's sandals hit the asphalt. The headlights blinded her. And her momentum carried her forward even as her brain screamed at her to stop.
In that fraction of a second, instead of her to be worried about the injuries she would sustain or think back on her life, one useless thought slipped into her head.
Her body with a dildo still inside her.
That was the legacy she was going to leave behind.
The truck's grill filled her vision, and everything went black.
Somewhere on the internet, a video is uploaded…
"YOU WON'T BELIEVE THIS! WOMAN CAUGHT ON KISS CAM DOING THE UNTHINKABLE!"
In six hours, it would have over 40 million views.
[ - ]
Ivy woke up drowning in silk.
Her first breath came sharp and panicked, her lungs filling with air that tasted and smelled wrong. There was too much perfume. Her hands clawed at the fabric tangled around her body.
Where the hell was she?
She blinked against the assault of morning light streaming through large windows she definitely didn't own. The bed beneath her was massive, easily king-sized, maybe even bigger. And it had an ornate headboard carved from dark wood that looked like it belonged in a museum. Above her, a chandelier dripped crystal teardrops that caught the sunlight and scattered rainbows across cream coloured walls.
Confusion crashed over her first. Then frustration. Had she gotten blackout drunk? Did Jessica drag her to some rich guy's house?
'No… I had only taken a few drinks before the game and…'
The game!
She remembered everything now.
The stadium. That accursed section. The kiss cam. Trevor. And those damned headlights!
"Oh God," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "Oh God, oh God, oh God."
Her hands flew to her face, covering her eyes as the full horror of what had happened crashed over her in waves. Everyone had seen. Everyone. By now, the video would be everywhere. Tweeker. Infragram. BikTok. Creddit. Every social media platform known to humanity would be dissecting her public humiliation frame by frame.
She could see the headlines already!
Woman Caught Masturbating on Kiss Cam Dies Fleeing The Scene. Stadium Scandal Ends in Tragedy. The Most Embarrassing Death of 2026.
Her parents would have seen it. Oh God, her parents. Her mother would have to explain to her church group that her daughter died running into traffic with a sex toy inside her. Her third-grade teacher would find out. That guy she went on two dates with in college would see it and feel vindicated for her ghosting him.
She covered her face in shame and groaned into her palms.
Her coworkers would probably hold a memorial service at the office and everyone would awkwardly avoid mentioning how she died while secretly having already watched the video seventeen times.
And as for Trevor.
Still there. Still inside her when the truck hit.
Some poor forensic tech would document everything in excruciating detail.
Cause of Death: Blunt force trauma from vehicular collision.
Notable findings: Subject was found with a—
She couldn't even finish the thought. Her obituary would be a nightmare. What would they even write? Ivy Chen, beloved daughter and friend, died doing what she loved?
"Ivy was a passionate woman who lived life to the fullest. Let us pray she's in a better place now, preferably one without kiss cams or traffic."
A strangled laugh-sob tore from her throat. She thrashed against the silk sheets, her fists pounding into the mattress. This couldn't be happening. She couldn't be dead.
She was only twenty-six.
She had student loans to pay off. She had a Catflix queue. She had just bought a new plant that she'd actually managed to keep alive for three whole weeks.
But the truck…
She sat bolt upright again.
Wait.
If she was dead, why was she conscious and in a bed that looked like it cost more than her annual salary?
For the first time since waking up, she actually looked around the room. Really looked.
It was... stunning. The kind of bedroom she would see in architectural magazines or movies about rich people with too much money and impeccable taste. The walls were painted a soft cream that caught the morning light perfectly. Heavy drapes in deep burgundy framed the windows, pulled back to reveal what looked like manicured gardens outside with hedges and flower beds.
It wasn't at all like the sad patch of grass and dying bushes outside her apartment complex.
The furniture was all dark wood and elegant curves. A vanity sat against one wall, its mirror surrounded by small drawers with brass handles. A wardrobe that could have doubled as a small room stood in the corner. She crawled to the edge of the bed. Even the rug beneath it looked expensive.
"Where the hell am I?" she whispered.