She always told herself she would never be "that" woman. You know, the one who waits in the shadows, who waits for scraps of affection, who waits for love that doesn’t belong to her. But she didn’t wait. She hunted. She lived for the thrill, for the chase, for the temporary high that came from seducing someone who thought they were untouchable.

But this… this was different. He was different.

There was something about him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that lingered in the space between them whenever they were together. A magnetic pull that wasn't just physical. It was deeper, chemical. She wasn’t the kind to fall in love, not with him, not with anyone.

And yet, here she was, lying beside him in the dark, naked under the sheets, the smell of aftermath lingering in the luxurious air of the hotel room. The silence between them felt heavy tonight, suffocating. His body was warm next to hers, but he was distant, emotionally tethered to someone else. Someone who didn’t deserve him. Someone who broke him over and over again but still, somehow, had his heart.

Her heart twisted painfully at the thought.

He had told her it was only physical. They had both agreed to that. She had been the one to suggest it, in fact. "Just a fling," she had said with a seductive smirk. "No strings attached." But those damn strings… they had wrapped themselves around her, slowly tightening until she could barely breathe.

She shifted in the sheets, turning her face towards him. In the dim light, she could see his profile—his strong jaw, his closed eyes. He looked peaceful, unaware of the storm raging inside her. She wanted to reach out, to touch him, to pull him closer, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. Come dawn, he would be gone, back to the woman who held his heart in a cruel, unforgiving grip.

"Tell me, can the 'other woman,' like me, find love?"