One.

It might sound corny, but I don’t care: Sloane, Drake, and I have become one. Unity, that’s the right word for us. Sure, ours isn’t exactly a normal relationship, but who cares? It makes us happy. The whole world might judge us, but it’s not like I’ve ever let society dictate my next move. I am, after all, the proud owner of a sex toy company. And, besides, it’s just perfect with them.

Since that night at Python, when we came clean about our true feelings, we progressed from just fucking to actually having a relationship. Which, if you think about it, is totally weird. Not weird because we’re three people in a relationship, but weird because the three of us were never known as ‘relationship people’.

Drake has already been married twice, Sloane always dreaded the world ‘commitment’, and I never really bothered with boyfriends. One and done, that was the way I lead my life.

But this feels right, you know? More than right, actually. With them, I feel exactly the same thing I felt when I quit my job in finance and started my own company: the feeling that the planets are aligned, and that the future couldn’t be brighter.

Seven.

We’ve gone on seven dates now. And when I say dates, I mean proper dates. We spend most of our time indoors, too busy having fun with our bodies, but it feels good to get out of the house from time to time.

Dinner, movies, and a walk in Central Park. Simple stuff, sure, but at the same it just makes so fucking happy.

We’ve tried to keep our cards close to our chests, though. I could feel my mother lurking in the shadows, ready to come out swinging, and I thought it would be better if we didn’t offer her a clear target.

In the end, though, it didn’t matter.

Two days.

That was how long it took Drake to get his board to come around and remove the hold they had on the banks from lending money. He had to fight for it, and I bet that was because my mom was making the rounds, enlisting people on his board to her cause.

Two more days and Sloane managed to get the green light from the banks. A lending order was signed, and we drafted an agreement that’ll allow me to finish my prototype and launch it into the market.

And that’s happening pretty soon.

Four.

Four knocks at my door, and I knew it was my mom.

Most people only knock three times, but my mom always had this quirky habit of knocking at the door four times. Just like that: knock, knock, pause, knock, knock.

It was a Sunday afternoon and the three of us were lying in bed, sweat glistening on our bodies. We were breathing hard, still exhausted from the sex marathon we’ve just finished, when I heard those knocks.

I sat up on the bed fast, looking alarmed, and Sloane and Drake exchanged a knowing glance. We all got out of bed together, threw some clothes on, and marched straight to the door, both men flanking me as I reached for the handle. The door swung open and there she was. The Queen of Ice herself, my mother.

“I see you’ve been busy, Natalie,” my mom said, looking from Sloane to Drake, her eyes roaming over their shirtless bodies.

“You’re not welcome here anymore,” I told her, hell bent on severing all my ties to her.

“I figured you’d say that. The three of you … you fucked me over,” she whispered then, and my eyes widened with shock. I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mom curse. Sure, she might be the devil incarnate, but she always kept her composure. It’s a matter of appearances. “I’m here to give you one last chance,” she continued, the creases around her eyes becoming more pronounced. There was an expression of pure hatred on her face, and my heart broke a little; my mother could be someone really special, but she decided to be this vain and hurtful creature.

“Fuck off, Linda,” Drake simply said, and slammed the door shut, leaving her outside in the hallway.

“Fuck her,” Sloane agreed, and that was it. I waited a few seconds for her to knock on my door again, but that never came.

Her reaction came the following day.

Three hundred.

That’s how many words it took to sling a handful of dirt at me, Sloane, and Drake. It barely qualified as an article, but it got the centerfold pages in one of the biggest New York tabloids. From there, the story spread like wildfire.

The depraved lives of the New York elite, one of these ‘articles’ read, describing the three of us as sex fiends with absolutely no morals whatsoever. In the same breath, though, that article managed to praise my mom. She was the sole island of decency in a scandalous family.

That was her play. Since we didn’t want to play ball, she’d distance herself from us as much as possible, and that after stepping on our throats, of course.

Only a few hours have passed since the news broke, and the mess keeps on getting bigger and bigger. I’m sitting on my couch, laptop propped up on my knees, and I’m devouring everything I see around us. And there’s a lot.

Online articles are popping out left and right, and some of them are so ridiculous they’re almost funny. One of them, for instance, theorizes that the three of us are involved in some kind of sexual cult. Hello? Of course we’re involved in a cult; it’s called the cult of pleasure, and I figure a lot of these so-called journalists would benefit from enrolling in a cult like ours. Maybe I’ll jot down a few names and send them a package full of my toys. Jesus, some people really need to get off.

“Hey, stop reading that bullshit,” Drake tells me, coming around the couch and lowering the lid of my laptop. “It’s not going to stop anytime soon. Everyone’s in a frenzy over this. You gotta let it go for now.”

“Fuck this shit,” Sloane says from the other end of the couch, throwing his tablet on top of the coffee table. “There’s no letting it go. We need to fight back. If she wants war, let’s give it to her.”

Drake looks from me to Sloane, and he sighs heavily. I know that he wanted to avoid a confrontation, but there’s no way around it now. If we let my mom walk away from this, she’s going to drag us, and our companies, through the mud until all that’s left is a bunch of ruins.

“You’re right…” Drake finally admits, looking out the window at the New York skyline. The sun is setting now, and its orange glow makes Drake’s face look even more rugged and determined. “We have to fight back.”

“We’ll go to war,” I say, standing by Drake and Sloane’s side, “and we’ll win.”