Chapter 17: Purdey the OnlyFans Model

It had been three months since Purdey was made Partner at Atelier Axis along with Gin, however something was still missing—a void her prestigious architectural career couldn’t fill. By day, she drafted innovative building designs and attended executive meetings; by night, she found herself craving a different kind of creative outlet. After weeks of consideration, she embarked on her social media journey with Olivia’s help. Her daughter guided her through creating an Instagram account that began with artistic silhouette shots. As her confidence grew, Purdey evolved to angles that obscured her face behind her phone or through careful composition. Eventually, she opted for a crimson leather eye mask that covered everything above her mouth—a distinctive accessory that soon became her trademark. The duality provided a thrill her corporate achievements couldn’t match.

The gym pulsed with early morning energy—weights clanking against metal racks, bass-heavy music thumping through industrial overhead speakers, the occasional grunt of exertion echoing across polished concrete floors. Fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over rows of equipment where early risers pursued their physical transformations. Purdey adjusted her red leather mask, making sure it covered everything above her mouth while leaving her defined jaw free. The account, “Sturdey,” had gained surprising traction with her artistic yet suggestive content—sports crop tops, those scrunch short gym tights that accentuated her curves, and occasionally more revealing bikini and G-string shots that never crossed into vulgarity. Her followers appreciated her form demonstrations and workout routines without ever knowing they were watching one of the city’s rising architectural talents. Small gifts and modest sponsorship offers had started trickling in, nothing that could replace her career, but validation nonetheless. When her follower count plateaued, she reached out to Zach for help navigating the next level of social media presence. As she positioned her phone on the tripod, Purdey reflected on the contrast between her personas—at work and school functions, she dressed conservatively, ensuring nobody would connect her with her online presence. With her eldest daughter entering high school next year, she was increasingly mindful of potential gossip among the mothers. At Atelier Axis she designed spaces that would stand for decades, yet here she built something entirely different: a carefully curated online identity that felt, in some ways, more authentic than the one she presented in boardrooms and at school gates.

“Perfect angle,” Zach said, positioning his phone to capture her form on the bench press. “Remember, we’re going for that strain through the fabric today.”

Purdey nodded, settling onto the bench. At twenty-three, Zach had the confident ease of someone who understood social media like a second language. His muscular frame moved with practiced efficiency as he circled her, finding the optimal camera position. His eyes lingered on her longer than necessary, something Purdey had noticed from their first meeting but dismissed as professional assessment.

“How many followers now?” she asked, gripping the barbell.

“Twenty thousand on Instagram. Not bad for three months.” He tapped his screen. “But it’s plateaued. Real life changing sponsorships won’t really kick in until we hit six figures.”

Purdey began her reps, focusing on form while Zach filmed. The tight yoga pants stretched across her hips with each movement, the soft fabric making a gentle swishing sound as she moved. She’d grown accustomed to his clinical gaze—part trainer, part director—and the subtle scent of his woodsy cologne that now felt as familiar as her own perfume. Sometimes his camera dipped lower than needed, capturing angles she questioned but never challenged. Their twice-weekly sessions had evolved from awkward first meetings to a comfortable routine where boundaries blurred but never quite disappeared.

She pushed against the weight, muscles tightening as she completed each rep. Sweat beaded along her collarbone, trickling down between her breasts, leaving cool trails on her flushed skin. The strain showed in her shoulders, the defined lines of her biceps flexing with each controlled movement. Zach moved in closer, capturing the tension in her abs as they contracted, the way her sports bra clung to her damp skin. His breathing changed subtly when he approached—something she’d noticed but pretended not to.

“Hold it at the top,” Zach instructed, camera angling down to catch the sheen of perspiration on her stomach, his voice carrying that slight huskiness it got whenever they were alone. “Amazing definition. Now lower slowly ... perfect.” His fingers occasionally brushed against her arm when adjusting her position, lingering a half-second longer than necessary, the contact sending a warmth through her that had nothing to do with exercise.

After finishing her set, she sat up, wiping sweat from her neck, the salty taste on her lips. “Twenty thousand sounds impressive to me.”

“It’s nothing.” Zach lowered his phone, his eyes following the movement of her hand. “My cousin has over a million. Makes six figures monthly.” He settled beside her on the bench, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, his knee nearly touching hers.

“Doing what?” The gym’s ambient sounds—clanking weights, distant music—seemed to fade when they spoke this closely.

His eyes met hers, evaluating, pupils dilating slightly. “OnlyFans. Started with fitness content, expanded from there.” His fingers fidgeted with his phone case, betraying the casualness of his tone.

“Porn, you mean.” Purdey reached for her water bottle, the cool condensation a stark contrast to the warmth of the room.

“Content creation,” Zach corrected, scrolling through the footage, glancing up to catch her expression. “These look good, but Instagram won’t monetize them properly.” His gaze lingered on her face before dropping lower, a pattern she’d grown familiar with over the months.

Purdey studied him from across the small table at Mr. Martin’s Café, the afternoon light streaming through the windows casting a golden glow on their corner spot. When they’d first met in this very café, Zach had mistaken her for someone his age, asking about her non-existent Instagram. Now he was her unofficial social media manager, turning her midlife fitness journey into digital content. Their relationship had evolved into something neither professional nor personal—existing in an undefined space filled with unspoken tension that seemed to thicken the air between them.

She noticed how his gaze traced the contours of her body, lingering on the curves of her hips, the swell of her chest. His interest wasn’t solely professional—it never had been. The way he leaned toward her when she spoke, how his hand always found reasons to adjust her form during workout sessions, the private texts that came at odd hours asking about her day—all signs of something deeper than business. He’d offered his Instagram expertise with transparent eagerness, his attempts to get closer to her as obvious as they were endearing.

Purdey wasn’t immune to his attention, either. Sometimes she found herself admiring his youth, his vitality, the smooth lines of his body that moved with easy grace. Her own body betrayed her at times, not just reminding her of the years between them as she pushed through each training session, but responding to him in ways that left her flustered. When he wore only his form-fitting SKINS during workouts, her gaze would involuntarily drift to the impressive outline visible beneath the tight fabric, forcing her to quickly avert her eyes. She still trained monthly with Uzer, who had opened her eyes to a world of experiences she kept carefully hidden away. Her private life, particularly that locked cabinet in her bedroom with its collection of implements and accessories, remained her closely guarded secret. If Zach ever discovered that side of her—the thought alone made her flush with mortification.

“What are you suggesting?” Purdey asked, the smell of the gym—rubber mats, metal, and mingled sweat—seemed to intensify the intimacy of their conversation.

OnlyFans account. Link it to your Instagram. Put it into your link tree so it’s discreet from normal followers. You know, bury it between your workout videos and nutrition tips so your regular audience doesn’t immediately notice, but curious followers can still find it.” Zach’s voice remained casual, as if discussing lunch options, but his eyes never left hers, searching for a reaction. “Your abs alone, in glistening sun with some oil running over the top would bring lots of subscribers. The defined muscle tone, those curves—they’re marketable, trust me.” His finger tapped nervously against his phone, betraying the importance of her answer.

“I’m forty-three with two kids.” She felt the cool air from the gym’s ventilation against her damp skin, raising goosebumps.

“You’re built better than most twenty-year-olds I know. Seriously.” His eyes moved over her body without embarrassment, a mixture of admiration and desire evident in his expression. “I train University athletes who would kill for your definition. That girl who won the campus fitness competition last month? You outclass her easily. The CrossFit instructor at my other gym? Doesn’t compare.” His voice dropped lower, more intimate. “And mystery sells. The mask, the anonymous account—it works. People pay premium for what feels exclusive, forbidden.” He shifted closer, the scent of his aftershave mingling with the smell of their shared exertion, creating something uniquely theirs.