By year four of our marriage, Scott had picked up a college girl—Gigi.

Bright, beautiful, full of life. She had him, a billionaire, eating street food and chasing after her favorite esports player.

Scott called. "Not coming home. Watching Joel Arnoult's match."

Beside him, Gigi scoffed. "That boring old woman—does she even know who Joel Arnoult is?"

They had no clue.

The second the call ended, Joel had me pinned in the back of a dimly lit car. His teeth grazed my neck—sharp, teasing, a little painful.

"Leila, if I win, how are you gonna reward me?"

I met Gigi Digg for the first time on my twenty-sixth birthday.

I was all smiles, chatting with guests, keeping up appearances.

"Scott's running late—work emergency. But he already sent his gift ahead—"

Didn't even get to finish.

Scott Fletcher strolled in right then, and he wasn't alone.

Gigi Digg, in a red dress, was clinging to his arm like she belonged there. She looked around, eyes wide with excitement, voice chirpy. "So this is the fun place you were talking about?"

Her gaze landed on me for two whole seconds before flitting away.

"Ooh, that cake looks amazing! I want some!"

Scott watched her, amused, while she turned my birthday into her playground.

The whispers started.

"She's bold, huh? Flaunting herself right in front of Leila Lloyd."

"Not surprising. Scott spoils her. And yeah, he's married to Leila—but Leila practically threw herself at him."

"God, how humiliating. Getting disrespected on her own birthday and just taking it? If that were me, I'd rather die."

Draped in my designer gown, I ignored their sneers.

I found Scott and kept my voice low. "We agreed—you wouldn't shove your mistress in my face. Basic decency—"

He cut me off.

A few drinks with Gigi had left his gaze a little glazed, but the contempt in his eyes? Crystal clear.

He chuckled. "Leila, I must've spoiled you too much before." His smile sharpened. "You really think you get to lecture me on decency?"

I went still.

The chandelier's glow poured down on me, too bright, too harsh.

Under his mocking stare, the armor I'd spent years building cracked, melting like snow in the sun.

Marrying Scott, a Fletcher, when I was just a Lloyd by name? Everyone thought I'd hit the jackpot. Truth was, I never belonged to the Lloyd family at all.

"How pathetic. But then again, a woman from that kind of background was never—"

Someone's voice behind me carried a little too far.

Scott heard it too.

He didn't react, just handed me a check. "That project you wanted? Fund it yourself. And Leila, don't act like I've treated you that badly."

He raised an eyebrow. "Learn to please me better, and maybe you'll be worth a little more."

***

The train wreck of a party finally ended.

Scott left, Gigi draped over him, wasted.

They didn't even wait till they were out of sight—just started making out under the garden lights.

I stood by the rain-speckled glass and watched.

I tucked the check away and grabbed my phone, opening the pinned chat.

Before the party, I'd sent a simple text: [Kind of miss you.]

Six replies.

Five hours ago: [Miss you too.]

Four hours ago: [Heading to practice.]

Three hours ago: [Actually, I don't mind being interrupted during practice.]

Two hours ago: [They told me it's your birthday.]

One hour ago: [Happy birthday.]

Just now: [I'm coming to see you.]

I smiled.

I typed back: [No need. I'll see you next week at your match.]

After a long time, two messages arrived.

[Okay.]

[Don't play me.]

***

Over the next month, Scott paraded Gigi around in public, openly flaunting their affair.

Like two teenagers drunk on love.

The almighty Scott Fletcher let her drag him to street food stalls, snap silly photo booth pics, and kiss under the Bali sunset. Even followed her to an esports match—one featuring Joel Arnoult.

Nineteen. A phenomenon. Last year, he led his team to a world championship. Right now, he was the biggest name in esports.

Outside the stadium, Gigi sported a headband with his name, clutching Scott's arm as she posed for photos. Scott, clearly irritated, yanked her closer. "What's so great about some kid?"

Gigi giggled, kissing his cheek. "I just like watching him play. But, of course, I love you the most!"

From my car, I watched it all.

Nausea crept up my throat, but before I could look away—my phone rang.

Scott.

Cold. Impatient. "That project you mentioned? We'll talk another day. I'm busy tonight. Not coming home."

I let out a quiet laugh and deliberately asked, "Busy with what?"

"Watching Joel Arnoult's match—"

Before he could finish, Gigi's scoff cut in. "That boring old woman—does she even know who Joel Arnoult is?"

Through the car window, I saw her snatch the phone from Scott's hand.

"Leila Lloyd, don't ask things you shouldn't. I'm hanging up."

Arrogant. Spoiled. Willful.

But young. Beautiful. Blooming like a flower at its peak.

So Scott just pinched her cheek, amused, and led her into the VIP section.

Everyone preferred youth and beauty.

Myself included.

My phone lit up again—Joel.

"Are you here or not?" His voice was impatient. "Last time, you bailed on me. Don't tell me you're doing it again."

"I'm here." I knocked lightly against the car window. "But... you're too popular. I could only get a regular seat. I'll find you after the match."

Joel scoffed. "Tch. Do you really think you need to buy a ticket to see me play? I told the club to save you a suite. Just go straight there."

A pause. Then—

"Have you thought about it? Last time, you promised to make it up to me. If I win tonight, what's my reward?"

"What do you want?"

"Anything I say?"

His voice came low, husky. Even through the phone, I could picture the smirk, the sharp, striking eyes darkening when they landed on me.

I chuckled, indulgent. "Anything."

A beat of silence.

Then— "Leila, if I take the championship, you're mine tonight."

The match began.

Through the glass, I watched Joel slip on his headset, fingers flying across the keyboard. His expression? Sharp. Unshakable. Locked in.

Not once did he falter.

Until the final score blazed across the screen—3:0.

[Champions!!!]

Only then did he stand, bathed in the deafening cheers, the flashing lights.

And through the chaos, his eyes found mine.

I mouthed, "Congrats."

He grinned, mimicking me.

"Now, you're mine."

Tonight belonged to Joel.

***

By the time the post-match interviews wrapped, it was late.

Outside, a light drizzle misted the air.

I had just slipped into the dim back path toward the parking lot when a hand grabbed me—yanking me into a car.

"Trying to run again?"

The crisp scent of rain clung to the night, but his body burned hot.

A single word flickered through my mind—restless.

I tensed, but he only held me tighter.

Sighing, I gave in. "I wasn't running. You were still in the interview, so I went to take care of something. I didn't expect you to finish so quickly—"

"You always say things so nicely, but no one ever really knows what you're thinking."

His arms locked around me from behind. He was kissing my ear.

Warm breath. Slow exhales against my hair. A tingling sensation followed.

Each exhale brushed against my hair, leaving a tingling sensation in its wake.

"The interview wasn't over. I got bored. So I left. I wanted to see you."

A nineteen-year-old with boundless energy.

Under the dim car light, he kissed me inch by inch.

Then—his teeth grazed my neck, a sharp bite leaving a faint sting.

"Leila, you made a promise." His voice dripped with amusement. "I won. How are you going to reward me tonight?"

"I—" My vision blurred.

I blinked hard, pushing back the tears threatening to well up from the intensity of it all.

And just as my sight cleared—two painfully familiar figures appeared.

"I told you, Scott! This is Joel Arnoult's car!"

A second later, Gigi bent down, rapping on the window, voice bright and eager.

"Mr. Arnoult! I'm a huge fan! Can you sign something for me and my boyfriend?"

***

Gigi was so close—just inches away.

Logically, she couldn't see inside.

But under her expectant gaze, my whole body locked up.

Behind me, Joel chuckled, low and rough. "You're nervous?"

His teeth left my skin.

The sting couldn't register before warmth replaced it—wet, lingering.

His breath came quicker, fanning over the back of my neck.

"If you're so afraid of getting caught, why'd you come to me in the first place?"

His tone dipped—teasing, dangerous. "Or maybe... I should just roll down the window and tell them to get lost. What do you think?"

For the first time, I caught a glimpse of something beneath the usual playfulness—a quiet, untamed madness.