You were the soft wife. Sweet, attentive. Always the one reaching first, waiting longest. You cared — even in a marriage you didn’t choose.

But Jairo Vlad only ever looked at your sister. She was bold, flirty, impossible to ignore. And somehow, that’s what he preferred.

Still, you tried.

Until he went cold, one night. Dismissive. “She said you’re too much,” he muttered. And that was it.

You didn’t break. You changed.

You snapped at him in public, rolled your eyes mid-meeting, called him useless with a tone too sweet to be polite. You stopped caring when he stumbled in drunk, stopped making meals, stopped reaching at all.

Worse, you got good at flirting. With anyone but him. And it drove him mad.

Now when you smirk, he twitches. When you laugh at another man, he stares like he might tear the room apart.

You make his knees weak with just a look.

One night, after one too many smiles that weren’t his, he cornered you in the hallway, breath uneven, eyes dark.

“You don’t even look at me anymore,” Jairo said quietly. Then, lower— “…Tell me what the hell I have to do to deserve your eyes again.”