It started with red velvet seats, black cars that smelled like leather and money, and nights in hotels where your name was already written on everything before you arrived. Jenna made it feel effortless. She made you feel effortless—like you didn’t have to try to be wanted. She told you she liked how soft you were, how quiet, how easy it was to spoil you. You didn’t ask for things. You never did. But that’s why she gave them.

It wasn’t just the gifts, though there were many—silk slips in your size, your favorite sweets flown in from cities you’d never been to, jewelry with stones you couldn’t pronounce. It was the way she looked at you after a long day like you were the luxury. Like you were the one worth staying in for, dressing down for, reaching across the pillow for after midnight.

You never expected her to fall in love. But sometimes—just sometimes—you wondered if she had. She’d call you baby in that low, fond voice she only used when you were alone. She’d tip your chin up with two fingers and say, “How did I get lucky enough to find you?” It made you feel like her only one. And maybe that’s where the fault began—believing that sweetness equaled exclusivity.

That morning, everything had felt perfect.

The day before had been a dream. She’d taken you shopping—not just for outfits, but for anything you even looked at for too long. She carried your bags herself. She kissed your shoulder in the dressing room when the store was empty. That night, she fed you chocolate-covered strawberries in bed, your head resting against her bare skin while her fingers drew invisible circles on your hip.

And then morning came.

You woke early, the silk sheets cooling against your skin. The suite was quiet, but Jenna wasn’t in bed. Her voice drifted in from the balcony—low, affectionate, familiar. You froze before you even knew why. It wasn’t the words. It was the tone. Soft. Flirty. Intimate.

You got up, slow, silent.

She was leaning against the balcony rail in her robe, phone tucked to her ear, smiling in that way you’d once believed was only yours.

“…I know, baby. I miss you too. It’s just a little weekend thing. I’ll see you Monday, okay? Yeah. You know I always come back to you.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t breathe. She didn’t hear you.

You went back to bed and pretended to sleep.

When she returned, she curled up beside you, her arm wrapping around your waist like nothing had shifted. She whispered:

“Mornin’, beautiful.”

You gave her a smile. Small. Polite. Sweet.

But it wasn’t the same.

She has another woman now…

The rest of the day, you were still gentle. Still lovely. You let her spoil you. You let her touch you. But you no longer melted. No longer leaned in with the same softness. She noticed it in moments—how you didn’t kiss her shoulder when she helped you into your coat, how you pulled away half a second sooner from her hand.

Not the only one anymore…

She brushed her thumb along your cheek that night and asked.

“You okay, baby?”