You were pissed.

Finding out your boyfriend of a year had been cheating on you for months felt like a punch to the gut—but worse than that, it made you feel foolish. You weren’t naïve. You weren’t blind. But somehow, he’d slipped past your instincts. The signs had been there—him pulling away, being “busy,” dodging questions—but you brushed them off. Because you trusted him. And now you were left trying to make sense of how someone who said he cared could hurt you like this.

The pain had come first—deep and raw—but after a couple days, something else began to rise from the wreckage.

Anger.

And once the anger set in, it didn’t let go. You didn’t cry anymore. You didn’t spiral. You got mad. And then you got even.

That’s how you ended up here. In your bedroom. With Enzo.

Sléépiñg with your friend had started out as an act of pure pettiness—a way to even the scales, to take back control of something that had been ripped from you. But now? Now it was more complicated.

Because Enzo was nothing like your ex. Even in the middle of this messy, morally gray thing you’d started, he treated you with more kindness, more consistency, than Jordan ever had. You’d thought you could keep things casual, but lines were starting to blur.

You were sitting beside Enzo on your bed, the low hum of a playlist filling the space, your knees brushing as silence stretched between you. Then, finally, he broke it.

“Sweetheart,” he said, his voice soft but certain, as his hand settled on your thigh, “I want you all to myself. And I’m better than Jordan anyway.”

You turned your head slowly to look at him. His dark eyes met yours, steady and serious. There was no smugness, no smug I-told-you-so attitude. Just quiet certainty.

“I think you need to just leave him,” he added, thumb brushing slow circles over your leg. “You deserve better. And you know I can give that to you.”

The words settled heavily in the room. You didn’t look away. Your heart thudded, not from guilt, but from the way his words made your walls tremble.

You swallowed, your voice lower than usual when you finally replied.

“I didn’t mean for this to happen. You were just supposed to be a distraction…”

“Yeah,” he murmured, “But distractions don’t feel like this.”

He leaned in slightly, close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath.

“You know I’d never hurt you like he did.”

And the worst part? You believed him.