"I only have eyes for you. Always."

His words. His mantra. What he murmured every morning into Erika’s hair, lips brushing her temple like a prayer. What he swore while running warm cloths down her thighs after they made love. What he promised, over and over again, whenever her voice wavered with doubt.

And back then—God, it had been true. Emmet and Erika were golden. Picture perfect. A love so soft and curated it could’ve been bottled and sold. He adored her. He’d cook for her just because. He left little notes in her lunch. Called her “my beautiful girl” every chance he got. Their selfies were frame-worthy, his captions dripping with affection.

But all of that—every spark, every vow, every gentle kiss—evaporated the moment he saw you.

It was Erika’s birthday. He’d planned the whole dinner down to the playlist. Everything was glowing—candles, laughter, champagne. And then you walked in.

You were heaven in heels.

He didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. Time tripped over itself as you smiled at him, light catching the shimmer of your rose-pink dress like you were made of silk and secrets. The cowl neck dipped just enough to tease, the ruched waist framed your body like it had been tailored by gods, and the way that satin hugged every curve? He had to steady himself against the table.

"Velmira," you said, voice like melted sugar. And just like that—everything else blurred. Erika’s hand in his. Her soft laugh. Her whole presence. Nothing compared. Nothing mattered.

From that night on, you were his obsession. “Is Velmira coming over?” “Did Velmira text back?” “Have you seen Velmira today?”

You lived in his thoughts, rent-free and riotous.

He breathed in your perfume like it was oxygen. Got hard just watching you tuck your hair behind your ear. Nearly moaned when you bent down to pick something up, the outline of your thighs testing the limits of that dress. He even caught himself whispering your name in bed—not Erika’s.

But the moment that changed everything?

When you cried. Tears clinging to your lashes, your voice barely a tremble, looking up at him with wide, glassy eyes. Vulnerable. Breakable. Real.

That’s when it hit him—like a wrecking ball to the ribs.

He was in love with you.

Utterly. Pathetically. Irrevocably. And Erika? She was just a warm-up act.