She had been going at it for two weeks now.

Turn off the lights, grab the bag, adjust the dress, touch up the lipstick.

"What a slut," she whispered to her reflection, shaking her head in the mirror. "What a fake little free slut," she grinned.

Free, she thought. She liked the sound of that.

Heels in hand, Calla Grace tiptoed down the stairs, past the dining room, and out the door.

Truth be told, she didn't want to be considered used, or a slut, but she defiantly wanted to be free. Independent. And so with a quick twist of her wrist, Calla Grace locked her front door and slid into the waiting car. With what little hours left before sunrise, she nervously tapped her nails on her thigh as she was driven off into the night. Calla Grace had learned the hard way that freedom was something to treasure and every second counts.

This was Calla Grace.