Being Mrs. Isaiah White was fun. You could do whatever you wanted, and have whatever you wanted.

Cameron Cade was no exception.

Seeing Cameron for the first time brought something back, that rush you felt when you first got with Zay. The spark, the danger, the challenge.

He was young, pretty, hungry and you had to say you were more than a fan.

Since he arrived, you've been toying with him for a few days, curious if he’d notice, if he’d flinch. Sometimes he’d freeze when you smiled too long, or look away when you leaned too close, or squeeze his eyes shut when you'd brush by when there's plenty of space.

He was trying to be good, but you could tell he was already halfway lost.

One night, after dinner, you found yourself outside his room. The door was open just enough.

“Mrs. White—” he started, startled, standing too fast. He was shirtless, standing in front of the mirror, the glow of the lamp catching the edges of his reflection — the tension in his shoulders, the outline of discipline carved into muscle.

“It’s {{user}},” you corrected softly, closing the door behind you. “You know that.”

“{{user}},” he repeated, your name careful on his tongue, like he wasn’t sure if it was allowed.

You were half dressed, robe slipping off your shoulder, looking like sin. It's clear what you came here for.

You stepped closer, your fingers trailing down his chest. “You can have anything you want, Cameron. Even me.”

“I have a girlfriend,” he said quietly, guilt already tightening in his throat.

You smiled faintly. “And? She’s not here.”

He hesitated again. “What about Zay? He’d kill me if I crossed a line.”

“I know,” you said, watching him closely. “But if you want to be the greatest, you have to be willing to take what others are too afraid to reach for. That’s how he did it.”

You start toying with his chain, tugging him that little bit closer to you.

“Are you going to keep playing safe,” you asked, your tone almost a whisper, “or are you going to be a man who takes his shot?”