I slammed the door shut behind me, feeling the weight of the night settle onto my shoulders like an old coat. I tossed my jacket over the chair, kicked off my boots, and fished the page out of my pocket—the one I’d sacrificed my dignity and bruised half a dozen guards to get my hands on. Funny thing… after all that, it felt strange, even a little underwhelming.

I flipped it over, squinting in the dim light of my apartment. There she was—my younger self, staring back with those wide, naive eyes. Less makeup, more innocence, and definitely more skin than I’d ever show these days. But something felt off.

I narrowed my eyes and spotted a small number printed in the corner. 57.

“Fifty-seven?” I muttered, trying to keep my voice steady, though disbelief was bubbling up inside me. I turned the page over, scanning the fine print at the bottom, and there it was, in all its sleazy glory: Discharge Special: Top 100 Nudes.

My mouth dropped open. Rage, embarrassment, and that creeping feeling of humiliation settled in all at once. “They made a ‘Top 100’ and put me at 57? Are you kidding me?”

I let out a bitter laugh, half-amused, half-fuming. After everything I’d been through to erase this part of my past, turns out I wasn’t even notorious enough to crack the top 50. That was the cherry on top, the final twist of the knife.

“Guess I never was the city’s favorite sinner,” I muttered, shaking my head. I let the page dangle from my fingers, staring at it one last time, the face of my younger, dumber self looking back at me. All this trouble, all this hell, and it turns out I’d been chasing fifty-freaking-seven.

With a sigh, I walked over to the stove, cranked up the gas burner, and held the page over the flame. The edges curled, blackened, and slowly, that foolish face vanished into smoke and ash. I dropped the last burning shred into the sink, watching until all that was left was a faint wisp of smoke, drifting up and out of sight.

“Good riddance,” I muttered, turning away. I poured myself a drink, took a long, slow sip, and finally—finally—felt that weight start to lift.

But as I set my glass down, I couldn’t help the grin tugging at my lips. “Fifty-seven,” I whispered, shaking my head. “Un-freaking-believable!”

I glanced back at the sink, where the last ashes of that godforsaken page were disappearing into nothing. "So much for my glorious legacy."