After finding out my boyfriend had cheated on me, I drowned my sorrows at a bar.  

When I woke up, I found myself lying in the arms of his best friend Andrew Wallace.  

Face to face, my pale leg was draped over his waist.  

“Andrew? What… why am I here?” Panicked, I blurted out, “Oh, no. We didn’t… we didn’t do anything last night, did we?”  

Andrew let out a sharp laugh, grabbing my chin firmly. “That’s a question I should be asking you. Do you remember what you did to me, Bennett?”  

***

The previous day had been meant to be a romantic surprise for my boyfriend, Jasper Douglas. I’d booked a last-minute flight to visit him while I was home for a family gathering. My bag even had his favorite strawberry-flavored treat tucked inside—something I knew he’d be craving after a week apart.  

But when I opened the door, the sight that greeted me shattered everything. Jasper was wrapped around another woman, locked in a passionate kiss on the couch.  

Caught red-handed, Jasper tried to squirm his way out of it. “I was drunk,” he mumbled, claiming he mistook his secretary—who had supposedly brought him home—for me.  

His voice carried a childlike pout.  

“You’ve been gone for seven days, Charlotte and I was suffocating here alone. You’ve got to take responsibility for that.”  

And just like that, he reached for me, trying to take my clothes off. 

I shoved his hands away, exasperated. “I’m tired, Jasper. You…do whatever you want.”

That night, I hit the bar and drank until the world went dark. When I woke up, Andrew was staring down at me with a mixture of annoyance and amusement.  

“Andrew,” I stammered, my voice shaky, “why am I here? We didn’t… we didn’t do anything last night, did we?”  

He smirked, tilting my chin higher. “That’s a question I should be asking you.”

“Do you remember what you did to me, Bennett?” he asked, his voice thick with a grunt.

I rubbed my throbbing head, desperate to piece together the fragments of last night. But it was blank. I failed to remember a thing. 

“You’ve got some nerve,” Andrew said, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Going out alone at night to drink like that. If I hadn’t bumped into you, those guys would have probably dragged you off somewhere,” Andrew said with a smirk, shaking his head.

The words hit me like a bucket of cold water and a chill ran down my spine.

“This is what you did,” Andrew leaned back, pulling off his robe in one swift motion. 

“You kicked and bit me like I’m some sort of chew-toy. What else did you think you were doing?” Andrew continued, untying his robe with a frown, revealing more than I was prepared for. His bare chest, arms and neck were dotted with dark purple marks. My bite marks.  

I stared in utter horror as the realization sank in. Oh, God. I must have been so drunk I mistook him for that cheating bastard, Jasper. 

With nothing more to say Andrew headed to the kitchen to make some soup. Meanwhile, I sat there, stewing in shame and anger.  

When the soup was ready, I couldn’t bring myself to take a single sip. Instead, I stirred the spoon aimlessly, my frustration boiling over until tears started streaming down my face.  

Andrew shook his head. “You look ridiculous and a little pathetic, to be honest,” he said, trying to mock me.

He wasn’t wrong. I was pathetic, ridiculous.

I’d been with Jasper since I was 19, dedicating eight years of my life to him. The first fall latte, the first winter ravioli—I was always the one lovingly handing them to him.

After college, Jasper insisted I stay home instead of working. “I’ll take care of you,” he’d said, wanting me to be the perfect homemaker.

While my classmates climbed the career ladder, transforming into accomplished professionals, I became nothing more than a glorified housekeeper. I cooked, cleaned and even taught myself Thai massage to ease Jasper’s neck pain.

His friends teased me, saying I was spoiling him rotten. “You’re turning him into a man-child,” they laughed. But I didn’t care. I loved him too much to see the red flags.

And now? Seven days away from home and he couldn’t even keep his hands to himself.

Andrew handed me a tissue, breaking my spiral of thoughts. “You almost had them in the entire bowl. Or is that what you preferred—tears-flavored soup?”

He pushed the bowl closer. “Eat up. I’ll have Jasper come pick you up when you’re done.”

I slammed the spoon down and stood abruptly. “Stay out of my business, Wallace! Who asked for your help anyway?”

Grabbing my bag, I stormed out of his apartment, leaving the untouched soup behind.

That evening, I curled up alone in the dimly lit room of a shabby inn, the bitterness welling up as I replayed everything in my head. This wasn’t the first time Jasper had crossed the line.  

There was the time I found a long strand of hair—a woman’s hair—clinging to the front of his sweater. Then another when a smudge of lipstick stained his tie, faint but unmistakable.  

Each time, Jasper had some smooth, almost plausible explanation to wiggle out of it.  

Yet somehow, I was always left feeling like the unreasonable, jealous girlfriend.  

But this time? This time, I wasn’t going to let him off so easily.  

Frustrated, I turned to the internet and posted a plea for advice:  [My boyfriend loves me, but he seems to enjoy flirting with other women. How do I fix this for good?] 

The responses poured in quickly.  

Suggestions ranged from sincere advice to outrageous schemes, but one reply stood out from the rest.  

A user named ‘Sweet Orange’ suggested:  

Sweet Orange: [Play him at his own game. Flirt with his best friend. Do it right in front of him—let him choke on his own jealousy.]

Fight fire with fire? Now that was an idea I could get behind.  

Jasper had plenty of friends, but none closer than Andrew Wallace.  He was loyal to a fault and Jasper trusted him implicitly. Andrew would be the perfect target.  

The next day, I knocked on Andrew’s door.

When he answered, I flashed a grateful smile. “Hi Andrew. I haven’t had the chance to thank you for helping me last night. If you hadn’t found me, I don’t know what would’ve happened to me. So, thank you.”

“And I’ve got something for you,” I added. 

From my bag, I pulled out a Rolex Submariner—a sleek, limited-edition watch worth five figures—and handed it to him.

Andrew’s eyes widened in shock. “Charlotte, this... this is too much. You sure about this?”

The watch had originally been meant for Jasper—a surprise gift he’d even picked out himself. But before I had the chance to give it to him, he’d gone and messed everything up.

Well, his loss.

I couldn’t help but smirk at Andrew’s stunned expression.

“Friendship is priceless, Andrew. I’d be really happy if you accepted it.” 

I grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl on the counter, peeling it slowly as I glanced around.  

The apartment was modest, to say the least. A small sofa sat beside a single bed, which was tucked against a wall. Next to it stood a simple clothing rack, overloaded with neatly pressed shirts. Unlike Jasper, Andrew had always been frugal. Growing up in a rural town, he’d learned to stretch every penny. Even now, with a decent salary, he lived like a man who knew the value of money.  

This apartment—a government-subsidized rental—was one Jasper and I had helped him find years ago.  

The space wasn’t glamorous, but it was functional: a combined living room, kitchen and bedroom.  

“Wow, where’d you get these? These oranges are sour,” I scrunched my nose and popped a piece into Andrew’s mouth while teasing. My fingertips brushed lightly against his lips, making him flinch almost imperceptibly.  

“By the way, tomorrow’s your birthday, right?” I said casually, watching his reaction. “Should I bother showing up?”  

“Of course, you should! Do you even need to ask?” Andrew replied, his tone suddenly serious.  

“You’re my best friend, Charlotte. Of course, you had to come. I expect you to be there. No, I insist.”

Money really could work wonders. One Rolex and the man was ready to bare his soul. I leaned back against the counter, tossing the orange peel into the trash.  

“But, I don’t want to see Jasper,” I said, trying to sound indifferent.

“Are you planning to avoid him forever?” Andrew’s fingers fiddled with the watch as he avoided my gaze. But something in his tone suggested he wasn’t happy. “Don't kid yourself, Charlotte. You can’t never forget him.”

His bluntness stung, but I chose to stay silent, rolling the orange in my hand like a stress ball.  

The next day, when I thought that most of the people at the party had arrived, I called Andrew. 

“Hey, can you come pick me up?”  

The celebration was at a seafood restaurant Andrew had picked—a small, unassuming place with affordable prices and generous portions.  

Ten minutes later, his beat-up sedan pulled up outside the inn I was staying.  

Sliding into the passenger seat, I caught Andrew’s eyes darting toward me, then quickly away. His gaze lingered for a fraction too long on the neckline of my burgundy lace dress.  

“It’s snowing outside. Aren’t you cold dressed like that?” he muttered, his tone half-reproachful.  

I’d chosen my outfit with care: the dress hugged my figure perfectly and the faux fur jacket added just the right touch of elegance. Paired with high-heeled boots, the look was bold, eye-catching and undeniably out of place in the middle of a snowstorm.  

But that was the point.  

I sighed dramatically, glancing at him with a wistful smile. “You know, Jasper used to control everything about me. He’d dictate what I could and couldn’t wear. But now?” I paused, giving a light shrug. “I guess, I’m free to do whatever I want. No one can hold me back anymore.”

But inwardly, I chuckled to myself. “If I don’t dress like this way, how am I supposed to bait you and make him jealous?”

Andrew didn’t say much, but I caught the way his eyes softened. He reached over to turn up the car’s heater, filling the space with comforting warmth.

When we arrived at the restaurant, he stepped out first, taking off his long coat and draping it over my shoulders. The winter chill was biting and the snow crunched beneath our feet. Without thinking, I looped my arm through his, leaning into his warmth as we made our way inside.

The moment we walked through the door, I spotted Jasper. He froze, his dark eyes widening in surprise. Clearly, he hadn’t expected to see me here.

This wasn’t the first time I’d stormed out of the house. Over the years, Jasper had grown accustomed to my antics. Whenever I got jealous, I’d confront him, expecting hugs, sweet words and apologies. When none of that worked, he’d just freeze me out, ignoring me until I ran out of steam. Then, with just a crook of his finger, I’d come crawling back.

Not tonight.

His dark eyes locked on Andrew’s coat still resting on my shoulders. The tension in his jaw was unmistakable. I averted my gaze, shrugging off the coat and casually handing it back to Andrew.

Sliding into a seat beside Andrew, I slipped off my fur wrap, revealing just enough skin to turn heads. The curve of my neckline and the shimmering fabric of my dress were impossible to ignore. Every set of eyes at the table turned my way.

Jasper’s face darkened. He coughed awkwardly and excused himself to the restroom.

When he returned, the sight waiting for him only made things worse. Andrew was delicately placing peeled shrimp into my bowl. It was all too easy. While Jasper was away, I played my part perfectly. With a playful tone, I told Andrew I wanted to eat shrimp but couldn’t peel them myself because I was allergic to the shells. And just like that Andrew, ever the considerate one, peeled half a plate of shrimp and placed them neatly onto my plate.

Jasper’s expression was thunderous as he sat back down, his gaze burning into mine. Beneath his cool exterior, I could see the flickers of anger he was trying to contain.

The meal dragged on and by the end, I slid my half-full glass of red wine toward Andrew.

As the evening waned, I slid my half-full glass of red wine toward Andrew.

“I can’t finish this. Can you help me out?” I asked sweetly.

Andrew hesitated, his discomfort evident. “I drove here, Charlotte. I probably shouldn’t. Maybe Jasper can—”

Before he could finish, I cut him off with a playful, mischievous smile. “Come on, Andrew. Don’t be such a coward. Just a sip. I’ll call a driver for you later.”

The way I said it was deliberate, my tone daring, provocative. Everyone at the table caught the underlying challenge and the atmosphere grew noticeably tense.

One of Jasper’s friends let out a nervous laugh, trying to ease the mood. “What’s going on here? Did you two have a fight or something?” Another chimed in, nudging Jasper with a grin. “Better step up, man. You don’t want your girl running off with someone else, do you?”

Jasper leaned back in his chair, his smirk icy and calculated. “Let her try,” he said, his tone dripping with mockery. “We’ll see if she has the charm to actually pull it off.”

The confidence in his tone was infuriating but not surprising. Jasper had every reason to think he was untouchable. He’d taken over his father’s company right out of college and was already a rising star in the business world. Meanwhile, I knew the whispers that followed me: that without him, I’d struggle to even scrape by.

One of his friends leaned in and whispered, “Charlotte, maybe you should go talk to him. He’s clearly upset.”

To everyone else, it was clear that I couldn’t live without Jasper. Even everything I did that night seemed like a desperate ploy to win him back in their eyes. But this time, I wasn’t playing by their rules. I picked up my wine glass, held it up to Andrew’s lips and tilted it until he reluctantly took a sip.

***

Later that night, back in the hotel, I opened the chat app and added a contact named ‘Sweet Orange.’ It didn’t take long for my friend request to go through.

Me: [Hey, your advice worked like a charm. That jerk’s face was priceless—he was fuming! Thanks.]

Sweet Orange: [Haha! I glad to hear it. What did you do? Tell me everything.]

I typed a whole paragraph about the situation at the restaurant. I got a reply less than a minute later.

Sweet Orange: [Not bad, but I don’t think it’s not enough. He probably thinks you’re just trying to provoke him. If you really want to make an impact, you’ll have to hit harder.]

Me: [So, what should I do?]

Sweet Orange: [Go to his friend’s place. Spend the night there and take a picture. Leave evidence. Trust me, it’ll drive him crazy.]

Sweet Orange added another message, a note of caution:

[But honestly, I think you should really think this through if you’re considering getting back with him. He doesn’t sound like a great boyfriend. Are you sure he’s worth all this effort?]

I sent her a thumbs-up emoji in response, already feeling a twisted kind of satisfaction. The next evening, I found myself standing in front of Andrew’s door, hand raised, ready to knock.