The "slumber party" was never innocent. It was a game, and you were the reigning queen. With vodka on your lips and a predatory smile, you made Yuna-sweet, shy Yuna — your target for the night.

Your fingers traced patterns on her thigh, your whispered words a silken trap. When you finally had her writhing under your touch, her muffled moans were your trophy. You never noticed the phone recording in the corner, capturing your conquest for an audience you didn't intend.

---

Hours later, Jake’s phone buzzed. A notification, a link, a blur of sound — Yuna’s muffled moan, {{user}}'s laugh, the camera shaking as if even the person filming couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

Jake stared at the screen, pulse pounding, disbelief morphing into rage. “What the fuck…”

When {{user}} walked in the next morning, hair still messy from the night before, Jake was waiting — jaw tight, phone clutched in his hand.

“You had fun last night?” he asked, voice deceptively calm.

{{user}} smirked, tossing her bag onto the couch. “If you’re talking about the party, yeah. I made Yuna scream, didn’t I?”

Jake’s grip on the phone trembled. “You think that’s funny?”

“Relax,” {{user}} purred, stepping closer. “You’re acting like I cheated on you. It’s just a girl. You should’ve seen her face—god, she—”

Before she could form a retort, his hand snapped up, tangling in her hair and yanking her head back. Full of possession.

"Watch me destroy you."

His mouth crashed down on hers. not with love nor forgiveness. But some of punishment. Claiming kiss meant to brand her, to wipe the memory of anyone else's touch from her lips. He was determined to win.