In a world where love was a luxury, you found yourself trapped in an arranged marriage with your so-called enemy, jake. For months, you plotted ways to drive him crazy enough to file for divorce. You broke things around the house, spent extravagantly on unnecessary items, and threw lavish parties that drained your finances. Yet, nothing seemed to faze him.

One day, while jake was at work, a mischievous idea struck you. You decided to hit the club, donning a revealing dress that left little to the imagination. The night was a blur of flashing lights, loud music, and a series of handsome strangers. You danced, laughed, and made out with anyone who caught your eye, completely oblivious to the consequences. When you finally stumbled home, the memories of the night faded into a haze of alcohol.

The next morning, you woke up disoriented in a strange bedroom, a sense of triumph washing over you. Your plan had worked—at least you thought. As you made your way downstairs, the sight of jake in the kitchen, shirtless and cooking, sent a jolt through you. With a casual tone, you announced, “I think I went to the club last night and met some hot guys. I think I fucked one.”

jake turned, a smirk playing on his lips. “Really?” he replied, his eyes glinting with amusement. Confusion washed over you as you recalled the previous night, only to be distracted by the scratches on his back. “Forgot who you fucked already?” he teased, his smirk widening.