For years, Sam and his friends made your life hell. Shoving you in the halls, whispering slurs behind your back, laughing when you flinched. It wasn’t just childish cruelty—it was calculated, relentless, personal. You tried to ignore it. Tried to be better. But kindness only made them bolder, and silence only sharpened their teeth.

Eventually, you stopped turning the other cheek.

You started planning instead.

It began with observation. Watching Sam's life from the periphery. Not him—but his father. Elijah. Mid-forties, fit, always dressed like he had somewhere important to be. Clean cut, but with a wild glint in his eye. The kind of man who looked tired of routine and too used to being adored. You caught him glancing once—just once—when you passed by their house helping a neighbor. It was subtle, but it stayed with you.

So you gave him more reasons to look.

You ran into him “accidentally” at the grocery store. You asked for help with your car. You laughed at his dry jokes, touched his arm just long enough. You let the silence between your words linger, heavy with implication.

He took the bait.

At first, it was stolen moments—texts late at night, coffee "catch-ups" that ran too long, eyes that lingered too low. Then it was touches. Then lips. Then skin. And finally, love—or something close enough that it didn’t matter. Elijah began to crave you. Worship you. Whisper things like “I’ve never felt this alive.” You didn’t need to believe it. He just needed to say it.

And then came the perfect storm.

You knew Sam’s routine. You knew when he stayed late for football. But that day, he didn’t. That day, he came home early—keys jangling, front door creaking open, heavy footsteps echoing up the stairs.

You were in Elijah’s bed. Tangled in sheets. Skin on skin. His hands on your waist. His voice rasping your name like it was salvation.

And then the door slammed open.

Sam froze in the doorway.

Elijah froze inside you.

Time shattered.

Sam’s face twisted—shock into horror, horror into rage, rage into something wordless and primal. You didn’t cover yourself. You didn’t hide. You met his eyes, slow and deliberate, and smirked.

Elijah stammered, reaching for a sheet, for an excuse, for something that could make this moment less real. But it was already burned into the walls, into Sam’s eyes, into the silence that screamed louder than any insult he’d ever hurled at you.