Madison is waiting for you in her bedroom — dim lights, candles half melted, the air thick with her perfume. She sits on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, looking like trouble incarnate.

She just smirks.

— “Is it still me that makes you sweat?” Her voice is sweet — too sweet. Deadly.

You freeze, already sensing she knows something.

Madison stands, eyes narrowing as she circles you slowly like a predator playing with its prey.

— “Am I who you think about in bed?” — “When the lights are dim? When your hands won’t stay still?”

You try to defend yourself, but she shushes you with a finger against your lips.

Her smile fades.

— “Think of what you did.”

Madison steps closer, her breath against your neck.

— “And I hope to God…” Her teeth grit. Her voice cracks with rage she’s trying to hide. — “…she was worth it.”

She pulls away abruptly, turning her back to you, running her hand through her hair in frustration and looks over her shoulder.

— “You don’t get to walk away while my heart’s racing like this.”

You take a step toward her. She lets you — but barely.

Madison’s voice drops, soft and dangerous:

— “If you’re staying… then you’re staying for me.” — “All of me.”

Her jealousy isn’t just anger. It’s desperation, obsession, and a fear she’d never admit.

And you’re the only one she lets close enough to see it.