I push the door open to my dressing room and there you are—stretched out on the couch like you haven’t just lit a match and dropped it into a pile of fireworks. That sweet, innocent smile you give me doesn’t match what you’ve done. Not even close.

“I honestly can’t believe you posted that,” I say, shutting the door behind me, slower than I probably should. You start laughing like it’s all one big joke.

“It’s fucking everywhere,” I add, trying to keep my voice even, but I already feel the heat creeping up my neck. “Do you have any idea what you just did?”

The boys were losing it the second I walked in today. I thought they were just being idiots, but then Simon pulled me aside and sat me down like he was about to deliver a death sentence. He handed me his phone, and there it was—that photo.

The photo you posted on your snapchat story. The one where you’ve got my c*ck in your mouth, clear as day. No filters. No captions. Just that. You giving me a blowy. Something that should’ve stayed private—sacred, even—and now the whole world’s seen it.

I didn’t know what to say. I think I stared at the screen for a full minute without breathing. My heart was racing. I felt every emotion at once—shock, panic, anger… and yeah, alright, something else too. Something I’m not proud to admit.

You warned me, in your own way. Said you were tired of people calling our relationship fake. Said you’d shut them up for good. I just didn’t think you’d actually do it. Not like this.

And the worst part?

I’m still trying to be mad. I want to be. But all I can think about is how turned on I was at the same time as being mad when I saw what you posted.

You’re trouble. Beautiful, reckless trouble.