#cheating!au

The road had stopped being interesting three hours ago. Asphalt, trees, billboards promising homemade peach ice cream—they all blurred together into a gray-green pulse. The rental SUV hummed low, steady as a sedative, and every few minutes Elijah’s hand twitched toward the radio, then thought better of it. Simone was staring out the passenger window, elbow propped against the door, jaw working as if she were chewing on words she couldn’t swallow.

Humidity pressed against the glass, soft and sticky. The Carolina air had that faint metallic taste that came after rain—old dust lifted, then settled again. The inside of the car smelled faintly of coffee, take-out fries, and the lemon hand sanitizer Simone kept in the console.

They hadn’t spoken since the gas station somewhere outside Savannah. Back then it had started small, the way it always did—something about timing, or who should’ve called ahead for closing documents. Her tone had been clipped. His had been defensive. By the time the cashier handed over bottled waters and a pack of gum, they were both pretending silence was maturity.

Now the silence sat between them like a third passenger.

“You’re gripping the wheel too tight,” Simone said at last, not looking at him. Her voice was careful, soft in a way that was less peace offering than warning.

Elijah exhaled through his nose. “Maybe the wheel likes it that way.”

“Funny.” She adjusted in her seat. The seatbelt whispered across her blouse. “You know your sarcasm isn’t a personality, right?”

He almost smiled. Almost. “Depends who you ask.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

She turned then, slow, as if forced. “That thing where you dodge. You know exactly what.”

The engine hummed. The windshield wipers flicked once, catching the remnants of a drizzle that had ended twenty miles back. “We’re ten minutes out,” he said.

“Good,” she murmured, facing forward again. “Can’t wait to see what all this money bought us.”

There was a weight on that last word—us—as if she didn’t quite believe it anymore. Elijah caught it, let it sting, then said nothing. Outside, the trees began to thin, giving way to subdivisions that looked newly minted, lawns shaved too neat, houses with identical bones but different shades of beige. The navigation voice told them to turn right, then left, then announced they had arrived.

The house waited at the end of a quiet cul-de-sac, modern angles against the wet sky. White siding, wide windows, a porch that looked designed for magazine spreads. The kind of place people used to mean they’d made it.

Elijah pulled into the driveway and cut the engine. The silence that followed was deep enough to echo.

“Well,” Simone said after a long beat. “Here it is.”

“Here it is.” He tried to make it sound lighter, but it fell flat.

She unbuckled, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her skirt. The move was graceful, practiced—the way she always gathered herself before stepping into a room that might judge her. When she opened the door, the air hit her skin thick and green, full of the sweet-damp smell of magnolia. Elijah followed, stretching, watching her pace toward the front steps.

For a moment, neither moved to unlock the door. They just stood there, listening: cicadas in the trees, the faint hush of someone’s sprinkler down the block, the creak of the wooden porch under shifting weight.

“You’ve got the key, right?” she asked finally.

He patted his jeans pocket, produced the small silver key, and turned it in the lock. The click sounded louder than it should have.

The door opened into brightness.

The house was too quiet.

Not peaceful. Not still. Just… too quiet. Like something had been left behind in their old life, something vital, and now this new place—big and echoing and bright—was trying to swallow them whole.

Elijah stepped inside first, the door clicking shut behind him like a period at the end of an argument.

Simone’s heels tapped softly over the threshold as she followed, purse clutched in one hand, the tension in her shoulders refusing to ease even after hours on the road. She didn’t speak. Not a word since that last spat. Just marched past him, eyes scanning the open space like she was already seeing flaws.

The marble countertops gleamed. The floors stretched for what felt like miles. Skylights let in enough late light to turn the edges of everything gold. From the outside, it was the kind of dream people pinned to vision boards.

Inside, it was already cracking.

Elijah rolled his neck once and looked around. “Guess we’re home.”

Simone hummed—noncommittal—and walked deeper into the house, trailing her fingers along the banister as she disappeared up the stairs.

He stayed behind, letting the silence press against his back. Maybe they shouldn’t have bought this place. Maybe the realtor’s talk of “new beginnings” had sounded truer than it was. Space, light, clean slates—that was the pitch. But empty space could turn cavernous fast.

He wandered through the living room, each step echoing softly. The furniture hadn’t arrived yet; everything smelled of paint and faint sawdust. Through the tall windows he could see the sky fading into the kind of bruised lavender that came after storms.

Upstairs, Simone’s footsteps moved from room to room. Closet doors opened, closed. Then nothing.

He found her ten minutes later standing in the main bedroom. She was by the window, arms crossed, watching the tree line beyond the backyard. Her reflection ghosted in the glass.

“It’s bigger than I thought,” she said.

“That’s what you wanted.”

“I wanted it to feel alive.” She turned, meeting his eyes. “This feels like a showroom.”

He shrugged. “Give it time. We just got here.”

She studied him, her expression unreadable. Then she smiled, small and quick, the kind that vanished before you could trust it. “I’ll start unpacking the kitchen.”

He nodded, though she’d already left the room.

By the time the sun slipped away completely, cardboard boxes were scattered like islands across the downstairs floor. Simone had changed into soft clothes, hair tied back, and she moved with the silent precision of someone avoiding a fight. Elijah ordered take-out—Carolina barbecue, too much for two people—and set the containers on the counter. They ate standing up, the way they used to when things were good.

Simone picked at her plate. “Did you call your mom?”

“Not yet.”

“She’ll want to know we made it.”

“I said I’ll call.”

Her fork clicked against the edge of the dish. “Right.”

The silence after was brittle.

Later, when dishes were rinsed and the empty containers stacked, Simone wandered toward the staircase. “I’m going to shower,” she said.

He only nodded.

Upstairs, water began to run. The house filled with the sound—steady, distant, like rainfall somewhere you couldn’t reach. Elijah walked through the half-lit rooms, touching surfaces absentmindedly: the smooth grain of the banister, the cold marble of the countertop, the faint warmth where sunlight had lingered on the glass. Everything was perfect, and nothing felt right.

Outside, a dog barked twice, then stopped.

He turned off the last light downstairs, and for a moment stood in the dark, listening to the air conditioner hum. There was a hollow echo to it, as if the walls were breathing slower than they should.

When he finally went upstairs, Simone was already in bed, facing the far wall. The scent of her shampoo hung faintly in the air, coconut and clean linen. He changed quietly, slipped under the covers without touching her.

The ceiling fan turned, blades slicing shadows across the room. The new mattress was too firm; the sheets too crisp. Every small sound—her steady breathing, the creak of cooling wood—felt amplified.

He stared at the dark ceiling until the shapes blurred, the quiet folding in on itself. Somewhere in the house a floorboard gave a single, soft groan, as if settling—or listening.

Sleep didn’t come easily.

Morning came gray and slow. The light that slipped between the blinds was thin as ash, laying pale bars across the bed. Simone was already up. Elijah could tell by the faint scrape of the drawer, the scent of her lotion hanging in the air — vanilla and something sharper beneath it. He lay still, eyes open, listening as she moved around the room. The shower ran, then cut off. A blow-dryer whined for a few minutes before the sound died, leaving the kind of silence that hummed faintly against the walls.

When she finally left for the kitchen, he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face. The air-conditioning murmured through the vents. His phone blinked with notifications: messages from Elias, a few from clients, a text from his aunt that simply read Proud of you, Eli. Don’t disappear now.

He replied with a thumbs-up he didn’t feel and stood. The mirror caught him half-dressed — dark skin still damp from sleep, lines of muscle tracing his shoulders and chest. He studied his reflection for a beat too long, not out of vanity but because he didn’t quite recognize the man looking back.

Downstairs, Simone was making coffee. The new machine whirred, metal and steam. She wore one of his shirts — black, oversized, sleeves rolled. It hung loose on her, softening her edges.

“Elijah,” she said without turning.

He poured water from the tap, drank slow. “Hm?”

“The boxes in the office still need unpacking.”

“I’ll get to it.”

“You said that yesterday.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “You counting already?”

“Just noticing.”

The exchange was mild, but something underneath it felt tired. She slid a mug toward him without meeting his eyes. “We need help with the house,” she said. “It’s too much for two people who work twelve-hour days.”

He took the mug. The coffee was bitter; she’d forgotten the sugar again. “What kind of help?”

“A maid. Live-in.”

The word hung there — an unfamiliar shape in their new, pristine kitchen.

He set the mug down. “You tryna turn this into a soap opera?”

Simone’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “You’re funny when you think you’re in control.”

“I’m always in control.” His tone wasn’t sharp, just even — a reminder of fact.

She met his eyes for the first time that morning, and something passed between them, old and electric. Then she sighed, shoulders loosening. “I already called the agency.”

He didn’t argue. He watched her walk away, the hem of the shirt brushing the backs of her thighs, and listened to the soft rhythm of her footsteps up the stairs.

The next two days blurred into unpacking, calls, the sound of cardboard tearing. Elijah spent hours setting up his office — arranging files, building the illusion of purpose. When he wasn’t working, he walked the house. There was a strange intimacy to learning its sounds: the whisper of air through the vents, the groan of the floor near the hallway mirror, the faint tick of the thermostat cycling on.

By Wednesday, the space felt half-alive. Simone had filled the pantry, labeled jars, hung art that matched the color of the sky outside. Still, the silence between them didn’t change. It only grew more defined, like a wall taking shape.

That afternoon the doorbell rang.

Elijah was in the study. He heard Simone’s heels first, then her voice — polite, practiced — greeting someone at the door.

When he stepped into the hall, he saw her: a woman standing on the porch with a duffel slung over one shoulder, skin the color of wet earth, hair wrapped in a rust-colored scarf. Her smile was small but confident.

“Kiana?” Simone asked.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Elijah stayed back, leaning against the archway. The air felt different, faintly charged.

Simone stepped aside. “Come in.”

Kiana entered, setting her bag by the door. Her eyes moved once around the space, not hurried — assessing. The light caught the curve of her cheekbone, the gloss on her lips. She wore simple clothes: white blouse, loose trousers, no jewelry except a thin gold chain that disappeared beneath the fabric.

Simone gestured toward the kitchen. “Let’s sit down.”

Kiana followed, her steps quiet on the hardwood. Simone poured water, passed a glass across the island. Elijah stayed where he was, arms crossed, the faintest trace of curiosity behind his stillness.

“So,” Simone began, “you’ve done live-in work before?”

“Yes,” Kiana said. Her voice was warm, low, steady. “Three years with a family in Atlanta. I left when they moved overseas.”

“What sort of duties did you handle?”

“Cleaning, laundry, errands. Sometimes meal prep if needed.”

Elijah’s gaze stayed on her hands — neat, steady hands that never fidgeted.

Simone nodded. “You’d have the guest suite on the first floor. We both work from home, so you’ll see us often. My husband—” she paused, flicked her eyes toward Elijah “—runs his own business.”

Kiana turned slightly, finally meeting his look. There was no flirt in it, no challenge, just a quiet recognition that felt heavier than words.

“I don’t get in people’s way,” she said.

Something unspoken moved between them. Then she turned back to Simone. “When would you like me to start?”

Simone smiled, polite again. “Tomorrow, if you’re free.”

“I can start tonight,” Kiana replied.

Elijah didn’t speak, but Simone heard the faint exhale behind her. “Fine,” she said. “Tonight then.”

They went over the details — hours, pay, days off — all of it precise, businesslike. But the air in the kitchen had shifted. Even the light through the skylight seemed thicker, golden dust motes turning slowly in the space between words.

When the conversation ended, Kiana lifted her bag again. “May I see the room?”

Simone led her down the hallway toward the guest suite. Elijah stayed a moment longer in the kitchen, listening to their voices fade. Then he poured himself another glass of water he didn’t drink.

Later, after dinner, Kiana unpacked quietly while Simone organized her calendar on the couch. Elijah sat opposite, laptop open, though his eyes weren’t on the screen. He could hear the faint sounds of movement from down the hall — drawers opening, a closet door shutting. The house, once hollow, now felt like it had begun to breathe.

That night, Simone went to bed early. Elijah stayed downstairs, working by the light of the lamp. The rain started sometime after midnight, soft and uneven against the windows. From where he sat, he could see the glow under the guest-room door, a small warm square of light in the dark hallway.

He stared at it longer than he meant to, until the rain grew steadier and the light finally went out.

The house learned their rhythms before they did.

By the second week Kiana’s routine had settled into the walls: the soft pad of her feet before sunrise, the hum of the vacuum late morning, the faint clink of dishes drying in neat rows. Elijah started measuring his days by those sounds. From his office he could hear her move through the downstairs rooms, humming under her breath, a tune without words.

At first he told himself it was background noise. But the silence that followed whenever she left a room always felt heavier.

Sometimes she brought him coffee when Simone was out running errands. She’d set it beside him without a word, her reflection blurring faintly in the dark glass of his computer screen.

“Thanks,” he’d say.

“You take it black?”

“Always.”

Her mouth would twitch, just enough to count as a smile. “Figures.”

The exchange never went further, but it stayed with him longer than it should.

He noticed other things too—the way she worked with the windows open to let in air, the faint smell of lemon oil trailing after her, the quiet authority in her posture. She was never rushed, never careless. When Simone asked for something to be done, Kiana simply nodded, then did it better than expected.

Elijah admired competence; he’d built his life around it. Watching her, he felt something like recognition.

Once, passing in the hallway, they nearly collided. The moment stretched—the smell of her soap, the faint static heat between their arms—and then it passed, polite, nothing said. Later that night he caught himself remembering it anyway.

A month slipped by like that: work, chores, restrained conversation.

Simone’s schedule grew busier. She traveled more. Kiana stayed steady, folding into the house’s rhythm until it was hard to imagine the rooms without her presence. Elijah told himself that was a good thing—the place finally felt lived in. But sometimes, sitting alone in his office, he’d catch a movement in the reflection of the glass door and look up expecting her to be there.

The teasing began small.

One afternoon she found him fixing a loose hinge on a cabinet. “Didn’t peg you for the handy type,” she said, leaning against the counter.

He didn’t look up. “You’d be surprised what I can do when I need to.”

Her tone was mild, but the pause that followed wasn’t. “Guess I’ll keep that in mind.”

He met her eyes then, just briefly. The corner of her mouth lifted, then she went back to her work.

Another time he caught her on the porch during a thunderstorm, watching the rain flood the driveway. He opened the door, leaning against the frame. “You planning to stand out there all day?”

“Just listening,” she said. “City rain doesn’t sound like this.”

“What’s it sound like?”

“Angrier.”

He stepped outside, the air thick and metallic. “Maybe it’s not the rain.”

She glanced over, smile soft, half amused. “You think I’m angry?”

“I think you’ve got opinions you don’t share.”

That earned a quiet laugh. “Maybe.”

The rain kept falling. Neither moved. Eventually she went inside first.

Small moments stacked like that—simple, harmless, but each one leaving a mark.

Sometimes he’d catch her reflection in the microwave door or the hallway mirror, and his pulse would pick up before he reminded himself it meant nothing. Sometimes she’d find him staring out a window long after Simone had gone to bed, and she’d ask if he was all right. He’d say yes, and she’d nod, but her gaze would linger just long enough to suggest she didn’t believe him.

Weeks turned into a rhythm of near misses: reaching for the same drawer, stepping into the same doorway. Their exchanges stayed careful, lightly teasing, but the air between them carried a charge they both pretended not to feel.

Once, she left a folded towel on the counter while he stood drying a glass. Their hands brushed—barely—and both froze. She didn’t look up. Neither did he. But the moment hung there, a taut line neither cut.

After that, every room felt smaller.

Elijah stopped sleeping.

Not fully. Not deeply.

He’d wake in the middle of the night—hard, aching, guilt sitting like stone on his chest. He’d dreamt of her again. The softness of her thighs wrapped around his hips. Her mouth dragging curses from his lips. Her name buried in the pillow.

And when he rolled over, Simone would still be asleep. Always turned away. Always silent.

By day, Kiana would pass him in the hall and smile.

Like she knew.

Like she’d had her own dream, too.

The air grew heavier.

Hotter.

By the time Simone packed her bags for the Charleston trip, the house had gone quiet again—different quiet this time, a quiet that waited.

Elijah stood on the porch while she loaded the last suitcase. Kiana helped, silent and efficient. The morning light made everything look sharper than it should.

When Simone’s car disappeared down the drive, the sound of the engine faded into the trees. Elijah turned back toward the house. The air inside was still and bright, dust motes turning lazily through the beams of sunlight.

Kiana stood in the hallway, back against the wall, still as if she’d been caught doing something she hadn’t done. Their eyes met, steady, unreadable.

The house had never felt bigger.

Or more dangerous.

And Elijah didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He just watched her.

Until she smiled, slow and wicked, and turned toward the kitchen.

Barefoot.

No words.

Not yet.

But the clock had started.

The dam was cracking.

And they both knew exactly how long they had until it broke.

The air in the house had changed.

Not all at once. Not in any way that you could measure with a thermostat or a window cracked too wide. But Kiana could feel it. In the quiet hum of the AC. In the way the floor creaked when she passed his office. In how long it took Elijah to look away now.

And in the way she stopped trying to avoid it.

The new curtains in the dining room were the color of dusk—soft and gold, like the kind of summer light that made everything feel warmer than it should be. She stood on a small stepstool, one arm raised, fixing the hem just right. Her sundress slid up the back of her thighs as she reached. She felt the air kiss bare skin. She didn’t pull it down.

She heard his footsteps before she saw him.

Slow. Measured. Barefoot against the hardwood.

Elijah passed behind her without saying a word, but she felt the pause. The breath. The moment he stopped. Just behind her. Long enough to see the dip of her spine, the line of her thighs. And then the faintest sound—his hand dragging across the top of the entryway wall, like he needed something to do with his fingers before they reached for her.

“Curtains look good,” he murmured.

She smiled without turning. “Thank you.”

They didn’t speak again for hours.

That was how it started.

⸻

Little things.

Like how she left the windows open when she mopped the floor, knowing the breeze would cling her shirt to her back. Like how he started coming home early from site visits, knowing she’d be scrubbing something in the kitchen with her headphones in, her hips swaying just enough to make him linger in the doorway too long.

Simone didn’t notice.

Not because she was careless. But because she was tired. Busy. Distracted. She’d taken another weekend catering gig in Savannah, and Elijah saw her suitcase in the foyer before she even mentioned it.

“I’ll only be gone one night,” she said, folding a dress into the bag. “You’ll survive.”

He kissed her temple and said, “Of course.”

But when the door shut behind her, the silence didn’t feel peaceful. It felt… anticipatory.

⸻

Kiana was in the hallway upstairs, sorting linens into the cedar chest. She wore one of her usual soft tees, fitted around the waist, and loose linen shorts. Barefoot again. She didn’t hear him coming.

But she felt him.

“Elijah—” she turned, startled, hand still gripping a folded towel.

He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, still in the black button-up and slacks he wore for his client meeting. But his sleeves were rolled to the elbows now. Two buttons undone.

His eyes didn’t move. Not from her face. Not yet.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he said.

“You didn’t.”

They stared at each other too long.

The towel slipped from her hands.

He picked it up for her. Their fingers brushed.

Heat. A flare. A warning.

And then nothing. No words. Just the electric pause of a man trying not to say what if.

⸻

Later that night, she passed the study on her way to the laundry room.

His door was cracked open. Light spilled out into the hallway. Jazz played low from a speaker, bass-heavy and slow, the kind of song that lived in your spine for hours.

She didn’t mean to stop.

But he was inside—lounged back on the couch with a sketch pad in his lap, pencil gliding over paper. His hair was damp from a shower. Shirtless now. His sweatpants were low, sitting just above the curve of his hips.

Kiana swallowed. Her gaze dropped. Flickered back up.

He didn’t look away.

Her fingers tightened around the hamper.

Neither of them spoke.

Her breath trembled at the edges. His pencil stilled.

Then she moved again. Kept walking. Slowly. Silently. Like her body didn’t trust itself to stay.

Elijah leaned back and exhaled like a man being unraveled one thread at a time.

⸻

In the kitchen the next morning, he poured coffee before she could ask. Set the mug in front of her. Not a word. But when her fingers curled around the cup, his brushed the side of her hand.

Neither moved away.

“Sugar?” he asked.

Her smile curved slow. “Already sweet enough.”

And Elijah—God help him—bit down a groan that didn’t reach his lips.

The house was quiet. Simone wasn’t due back until nightfall.

But they didn’t touch.

Not really.

Not yet.

The levies would break soon enough.

But for now, the tension had teeth. And it was licking up both their spines like sin.

The rain started around midnight.

Not a thunderstorm—just that slow, steady kind that blurred the windows and made everything feel softer, heavier. Kiana didn’t sleep. Neither did Elijah.

Simone’s absence hung like an echo through the house. Her suitcase was still in the foyer. Her apron still draped over the kitchen stool. But her presence had faded. And in its place, the silence buzzed like a lit fuse.

Kiana wiped down the marble counters for the third time. Nothing to clean. No dirt left. But her hands were restless.

She could feel it under her skin—like something caged and pacing.

Elijah hadn’t left his study since dinner.

She thought about the way he looked earlier—rolled sleeves, hands flexing against his thigh, the way his gaze locked on her lips every time she spoke. He hadn’t touched her. But every look felt like one.

She pressed her palms to the cool counter.

Then, barefoot, quiet, she padded down the hallway.

His study door was cracked—just enough to tempt trouble.

He didn’t hear her approach. Or maybe he did, and just didn’t move.

Elijah was sunk deep into the couch, back loose, one hand draped heavy on his thigh. The other still held his phone, its screen dimmed to black, thumb hovering like he’d forgotten what he meant to do with it. The faint hum of the ceiling fan and the slow drag of his breathing were the only sounds in the room.

Then came her.

Kiana stood framed in the doorway, still as a thought he’d tried to bury. She didn’t knock. The light from the hallway slid over her—bare shoulders, sleep-tousled hair, that soft tank clinging like a secret. No bra. No shame. Those cotton shorts barely holding her thighs. The kind of small rebellion that made a man forget where he put his good sense.

He turned his head slowly.

“Kiana.”

Her name came out low, rough. A warning that already sounded like surrender.

She stepped inside and shut the door, quiet as a sin. The click of the latch was louder than it should’ve been.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said, barely above a whisper. “About you.”

His phone slipped from his fingers and hit the cushion beside him. He didn’t even look at it.

She moved closer, each step unhurried, like she wanted him to feel it. The air between them changed—thicker, heavier, hot with something neither of them had said out loud yet.

When she reached him, she stopped right between his knees. Her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt, eyes fixed on his like a dare.

“You’ve been dreaming about me,” she murmured. “Haven’t you?”

His jaw ticked. He didn’t blink.

“I hear you,” she continued, softer now. “Late at night. Tossing. Groaning.”

The words brushed against his restraint, testing its edges.

She lifted her shirt just enough for the light to catch the curve of her skin.

Elijah’s hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist before the fabric could rise higher. His grip was firm, but not cruel. The kind that said he was fighting with himself—and losing.

“You sure?” His voice was darker now. Heavy enough to sink her if she wasn’t careful.

Her breath stuttered. “Twenty-four hours.”

The corner of his mouth twitched, but it wasn’t amusement—it was hunger, controlled just enough to look like patience.

His thumb stroked her wrist once, then dropped away.

“Come here,” he growled.

And this time, she did.

The couch groaned as he pulled her into his lap. No hesitation this time. No pause. Just skin against skin. Her lips parted on a gasp when she felt how hard he already was.

“You gonna ride me right here?” he asked, voice low. Dangerous.

“Not yet,” she breathed, grinding against him. “I want you to feel what I’ve been thinking about first.”

She kissed his neck. Sucked on the curve of his jaw. He groaned deep, hands gripping her ass, pulling her tighter against the bulge in his pants.

The first clothes came off slow. Buttons undone. Tank top peeled. Lips never parted long. His hand slid between her thighs and found her soaked.

“Damn, baby,” he whispered. “That for me?”

She nodded, face flushed. “Been for you.”

He carried her upstairs like a man possessed.

The bedroom felt like another life. A place where time folded in on itself and rules didn’t apply. No wife. No vows. No clock ticking in judgment—just breath and skin and the sound of something they shouldn’t be doing, echoing soft against the walls.

Elijah laid her down like he was setting a secret to rest. Her back sank into the sheets, hair fanning wild around her, the dim light painting gold across her collarbones. He kissed his way down her stomach, each touch deliberate, a slow unmaking.

When he reached her thighs, he paused. Just long enough for her to realize she was trembling. His lips brushed the inside of her knee, then the other, then higher—his breath hot against the places that made her nervous to be seen.

He glanced up once, catching her eyes. There was nothing uncertain about his gaze. Just a man who’d decided that restraint was a lie he didn’t believe in anymore.

Elijah eats Kiana out with slow, maddening control. His hands grip her thighs, keeping them spread while his tongue works in slow circles. He edges her once—twice—pulling away just before she tips over.

She cried out, arching, begging.

“Elijah—please—”

He slid two fingers in. Pressed his palm to her mound and watched her tremble.

“Shhh,” he said, kissing her again. “You’ve waited this long. You can wait a little more.”

He pulled his sweats down. His dick sprang free—thick, glistening at the tip from his own want.

Kiana’s eyes widened.

“Let me feel you,” she begged.

“Roll over.”

She did. Slowly. Shaking.

Elijah slides in from behind, inch by inch, keeping her chest pressed firmly against the mattress and her ass lifted high in the air. The penetration is agonizingly slow, stretching her tight walls around his throbbing length until she moans deeply into the pillow, her voice muffled by the fabric. He holds still inside her, savoring the intense heat and pressure as her body clenches around him, letting the tension build to a fever pitch. His hands grip her hips, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he begins to move, setting a rhythm that promises to push them both to the edge of ecstasy.

“I dreamed of this,” he whispered. “You bent like this. Begging.”

“Fuck—Elijah—”

He started to move.

Rhythmic. Deep. Unhurried.

Her moans turned to sobs. Her fists clenched the sheets.

“You gon’ come for me?” he murmured, leaning down. “Make a mess on this dick?”

“Yes—please—”

“Then take it.”

Kiana's body convulses as she squirts with her first orgasm, her muscles clenching tightly around Elijah's dick, drawing him deeper. The sensation is intense, her inner walls pulsing with each wave of pleasure that ripples through her. Elijah, undeterred, continues his relentless pace, his grip on her hair tightening as he pulls her head back, exposing her neck to his hungry mouth. He groans against her skin, the vibration sending shivers down her spine, as he fucks her through her orgasm, each thrust deliberate and unyielding.

They switch positions, and now Kiana is on top, her body glistening with sweat as she rides him with wild abandon. Her head is thrown back, exposing her throat, as she grinds against him, her hips moving in a sensual rhythm that sends waves of pleasure through both of them. The sight of her, lost in the moment, her breasts heaving with each breath, is intoxicating. Elijah's hands grip her hips firmly, as if he could keep her there forever, riding out the storm of their desire.

Elijah's mouth finds her stomach, his lips trailing kisses upward, tasting the salt of her skin. He moves higher, capturing one of her nipples in his mouth, his tongue circling the sensitive peak, drawing a moan from deep within her. She arches her back, pressing herself against him, craving more. His hands roam her body, exploring every curve, every inch of her skin, as if committing her to memory.

Kiana leans forward, her hands braced against his chest, her hair falling around them like a curtain. Elijah's mouth captures hers in a fierce, hungry kiss, their tongues tangling, tasting, exploring. They fall into each other again and again, their bodies moving in sync, chasing the pleasure that builds with each thrust, each touch, each kiss. The room fills with the sounds of their passion, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison, as they lose themselves in each other.

The final time, they barely make it to the floor, their bodies still trembling with desire. Elijah lifts her effortlessly, her back pressed against the cool wall, his hands gripping her thighs as he spreads her wide. With one long, brutal stroke, he thrusts into her, the force of it making her cry out, her voice echoing off the walls. The sensation is overwhelming, his length filling her completely, stretching her to the limit.

Elijah captures her cry with his mouth, his lips crushing hers in a fierce, hungry kiss. His tongue invades her mouth, mimicking the movement of his hips as he begins to move, each thrust deliberate and unyielding. "Gonna fill you up," he whispers against her lips, his voice ragged with desire. "So deep you feel it for days."

Kiana nods, her eyes glazed with lust, her body aching for more. "Give it to me," she breathes, her voice barely a whisper. "Give me everything."

And he does. With everything he has left, Elijah moves against her, his body slamming into hers, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the room. He holds her up effortlessly, his strength on full display as he drives into her, chasing his own release. Kiana wraps her arms around his neck, her nails digging into his skin, holding on for dear life as he pushes her to the edge of ecstasy. Their bodies move in sync, their breaths mingling, their hearts pounding in unison, as they fall over the edge together.

The rain had stopped.

Early light seeped through the curtains, soft and gray, casting blurred shadows across the bed. The air was thick with warmth, the kind that clung to skin and held the scent of sex and sweat like incense in an old cathedral.

Elijah stirred first.

His hand was splayed across Kiana’s lower back, fingers curled possessively against her waist like his body hadn’t figured out they were supposed to be done. Her leg was still draped over his. The sheets were twisted at their feet. His chest rose slow beneath her cheek.

Kiana didn’t move.

She was wide awake. Had been for a while.

Staring at the soft outline of the ceiling fan above, heart still fluttering in the aftermath of a night she couldn’t take back.

His fingers twitched.

And then—

“You sleep?” he murmured, voice rough, cracked from too many groans and not enough water.

She didn’t answer right away.

“Not really.”

Silence settled between them again.

But it wasn’t cold.

Just heavy.

Elijah exhaled slow. Then slid his hand up her back. His touch was still gentle, reverent. As if last night had shifted something in him. Softened the edges. Or maybe made them sharper.

“I should feel worse than I do,” he said quietly.

Kiana’s throat bobbed. “Me too.”

She sat up slowly, knees drawing toward her chest. His shirt had ridden up her waist, revealing the small constellation of bruises blooming on her hips—deep, wine-dark, shaped like his hands. He stared at them. Reached out to trace one with the pad of his thumb.

“Sorry.”

Her lips twitched. “Don’t be.”

A small silence passed.

Her body ached—in the best ways. Between her thighs. Across her hips where his grip had left echoes. Down her spine where the heat of his hands still lingered.

She didn’t reach for her clothes.

Instead, she rose slowly, Elijah’s shirt slipping low down her thighs, and padded barefoot across the room. She moved toward the window—the one that overlooked the back lawn, all that land stretching quiet and endless into the misty morning.

She opened it just enough for the breeze to slip through.

It kissed her legs. Her collarbone. Played with the ends of her hair. She stood there, arms crossed lightly under her chest, not hiding, but not exposing herself either. The light kissed her skin golden. Her body looked like something carved.

Elijah sat up behind her.

Watched.

Then moved.

He came up behind her, slow and quiet, bare feet soundless on the floor. His hands found her hips from behind, fitting into the grooves they knew too well. He leaned in, pressing his chest to her back, his lips grazing her shoulder.

“You tryna make me sin all over again,” he murmured, voice hoarse.

Kiana smiled, soft and sharp all at once. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He kissed her neck. Slow. Reverent. One hand slid around her waist, fingers splaying over her stomach like he could still feel her trembling from the night before. The other traced the curve of her thigh, then settled low, just above where the hem of the shirt brushed.

She leaned back into him, gaze still on the yard, on the gray sky and the green dripping trees. “You think she’ll know?”

The question hit like a stone across a still lake.

Elijah didn’t answer right away.

He just held her tighter.

“No,” he said finally. “Not unless you look at me like that again.”

She turned her head slightly, just enough for their eyes to meet in the glass.

“And what if I do?”

His breath hitched.

And then he grinned, slow and dangerous.

“Then I’ma have to fuck you real quiet.”

Elijah’s hand lingered at Kiana’s hip a beat too long.

Then the sound of a car door in the distance — or maybe just a ghost of guilt — made them both snap back into motion.

Kiana slipped out of his grasp like smoke. She moved toward the edge of the bed, reaching for the folded linen shorts she’d worn the day before. Elijah pulled on sweats and a clean tee, jaw tight, still trying to come down from the weight of everything that had just passed between them.

Neither of them spoke.

But everything had been said.

By the way his hands had held her.

By the way her breath had trembled against his ear.

By the way their bodies had burned for more than just the heat.

Elijah disappeared into the bathroom for a few minutes. When he returned, Kiana was already in the kitchen, barefoot again, hair pulled into a low puff. She moved through the space like she belonged there — and maybe she did, now. She was slicing fruit, careful and quiet, like she hadn’t been dripping all over his lap just thirty minutes earlier.

The house smelled like coffee.

Pancakes were already stacked on a plate, warm and soft and golden. She was humming under her breath — something old and sweet — when Elijah stepped behind her and opened the fridge for juice. Close, too close, his presence brushing hers again.

Her voice faltered.

The hum stilled.

She didn’t look at him, but her fingers tightened around the knife.

“You should sit,” she said quietly.

He did.

Not because he was told.

But because he didn’t trust himself to stand that close to her again.

Kiana placed a plate in front of him with careful fingers, then set her own across the table. Her eyes flicked to the clock. Ten-fifteen. Simone said she’d be back before eleven.

And right on cue—

The front door creaked open.

Keys clinked into the bowl by the entryway. High heels tapped against the tile.

“Baby?” Simone’s voice called. “I’m back early — that storm moved the whole event up.”

Kiana froze for a split second — a flicker of hesitation, then resumed wiping the edge of the counter like nothing had shifted.

Elijah stood.

Moved to greet his wife.

She rounded the corner, heels in one hand, her hair slightly frizzed from the rain and travel. Her smile was warm but tired — and when she leaned in to kiss Elijah’s cheek, her eyes cut sideways to Kiana, who had turned to the sink.

“You cooked?” Simone asked, surprised.

“No,” Elijah said, voice even. “Kiana did.”

Simone raised an eyebrow.

“I figured you’d be wiped,” Kiana said smoothly, turning back with a dish towel in hand and an unreadable look. “Just thought it’d be nice to have something hot waiting.”

Simone nodded slowly.

“Sweet of you,” she murmured, then slid into the chair across from Elijah. “Though I do remember saying you don’t have to do all this, Ki. You’re not here to play house.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Kiana said, smile pleasant but razor-thin.

The tension settled over the table like fog.

Simone reached for a fork. Elijah said nothing. Kiana moved back toward the sink — and in the glass reflection, caught Elijah’s gaze again.

The same look.

The same hunger.

And Simone? She was too focused on her food to notice the way her husband’s hand clenched under the table. Or the way Kiana’s breath hitched when she bent to load the dishwasher and felt his stare brand the curve of her thighs.

Breakfast was served.

But something else had already been fed.

And it was still starving.

Her grip tightened, causing her knuckles to turn white on the countertop, trying to hold onto it, thinking it would save her from the sorrow she had to keep to herself for days, yet she was barely keeping her grounded.

“Babe, where are you?” The husky voice of a man called out again, laced with concern and worry, the voice coming closer to the kitchen.

She smiled bitterly to herself.

It was fake, all of it. The smiles, laughs, and memories that they shared, the tears he shed when he confided in her, the happy memories they created together for the past two years of their lives, the love he had told her numerous times during sex, the love he held in his eyes every time she stared into them. He had faked everything.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” she could hear him not far away from her. He neared her, setting his jacket, phone, and keys down on the table that they’d always eat dinner at, food that she cooked because she wanted him to stay healthy and not eat junk food that would harm his body.

He wrapped his arms around her softly, sliding his hands over her hips, latching himself to her. He rested his head on his shoulder, having to bend down slightly because of the height difference.

“What happened?” he calmly whispered into her ear, wondering why she had been sobbing in the kitchen when she’d usually call or message him.

She stayed silent, sobs still making her body shake with sadness that had enveloped her whole body. Her legs felt weak, her knees wanting to give out, her arms not able to keep her stable against the counter as she held onto it.  

He wiped her tears from her soft, small face, where tears had already dried. He could tell she had been crying for longer than he concluded: the thought alone made him frown.  Why had she not called him, or even texted him, to tell him why she was sobbing uncontrollably?

“Let go of me, Min Yoongi,” She whispered, having enough strength left to move his arms from around her body.

He stared at her with wide eyes and a shocked expression crossed his face. She never called him by his whole name, knowing he only liked when she called him ‘babe’ or ‘baby’ or sometimes even his stage name, Suga, because he loved how it rolled over her tongue.

He watched as she trudged her way to their shared bedroom. She closed the door behind her softly, wanting to be alone, to get rid of the tears her tear duct had harbored. She didn’t want to see the man who she had loved and trusted. She didn’t want to feel his presence because that would’ve made her feel more depressed, how he acted like he cared about her and loved her.

Yoongi followed her to the room, lightly opening the door to see her drag out a suitcase and stuff some of her clothes, electronics, and other necessities into it. He continued to look at her wide-eyed, not uttering a single word as he stared at her with the same shocked expression he had held in the kitchen.

“What are you doing, babe?” He was so confused that she would just start packing out of nowhere, hurt because she wouldn’t talk to him and that she refused his touch, and sad that she wanted to leave him without saying a word of what happened.

“Leaving,” she blatantly stated, trying her best to keep a level voice but to no avail, it didn’t work. Wiping her cheeks free of the newly fallen tears, yet it helped nothing as new ones started to blur her vision.

“L-Leaving? Why?” He stuttered. He could feel his heart separate into two pieces, not being able to move as you packed away the last few small items you would need before you could get the remainder of your things.

Yes, maybe Yoongi hadn’t been one to say ’I love you’, or been the type of the person that was always up to do something with her, since he would be composing songs, spending the time with his friends from his group, a dance practices, so he’d be tired a lot, but she said it was okay, that she knew how hard he worked and that she’d always support him.

She swiftly turned around, facing him with a look of pain, anger, and betrayal apparent in her eyes. Her face was covered in dried tear stains and new ones slipped off her cheeks, her face so pale it looked like she had just seen a ghost, wet tear spots scattered on the shirt she was wearing, his shirt that she’d always love wearing.

“Why? Why don’t you go ask that woman you went to for sex?” she lifted an eyebrow at him, her words laced with anger and hatred.

His face visibly paled, his mind was blank when he wanted to beg for her forgiveness, yet nothing came out. He had nothing to say because there was nothing to say.

He had never thought she would find out his darkest secret.

It had been a reoccurring thing that happened. He would tell her that he’d be going to spend time with his band members or to dance practices, but he was going over to another woman’s house. Never the same one, unless she had been to the clubs and bars they went to more than once.

He thought she’d never notice, from how well he hid it. He had no idea how she found out.

His face and silence had told her she had been right, that what she witnessed wasn’t her mind making up random noises. She had always had a small doubt in her mind that he’d always slept with someone else when he was out drinking, but she never thought it’d be true.

Four days ago, she had been staying the night with Taehyung and Jungkook. As they weren’t of age yet to go to a club, she stayed with them in the guys’ dorm to play games with them. She thought if Yoongi did get drunk, he’d trust the guys to bring him to either their apartment or the dorm. It would’ve been true, but every time they went out, he told her he’d spent the night at the dorm.

At 2 A.M., she and the two boys heard the sound of loud laughter come through the front door of the dorm.

She smiled at the guys and turned back to playing a game with Jungkook, but he seemed to pause the game when no one said anything.

“Are you guys alright?” she asked, her eyes dragging over the group of guys when she noticed one person missing. Her boyfriend, Yoongi.

They visibly paled, seeing the woman, her face dropped, not seeing Yoongi. They knew where he was, yet none of them said anything. She was like their younger sister, they didn’t want to see her hurt. They had begged Yoongi to go back to the dorm with them, but he snapped and said he was going to get laid tonight, forgetting that he had a girlfriend who’d always wait for him to return home.

“Where’s Yoongi…?”, she asked, looking at Namjoon, whose mouth open and closed like a fish who was struggling to breathe without water. Her eyes skimmed over to Seok-Jin, whose face dropped when he looked back at her, frowning down at her.

“Guys, where’s Yoongi?” She asked again, more firm and demanding this time.

“Oh, Yoongi-hyung?” Jimin giggled, who was heavily drunk, his vision blurry and not able to recognize her figure or voice, “He said he’s getting laid tonight. I feel so bad for you. You are so sweet and caring, practically an angel. I don’t see why he’d get another girl when he has you.”

A loud smack was heard and Jimin groaned and pouted, looking up at Namjoon who’d just smacked the back of his head, not realizing what he had confessed.

The woman’s face paled, tears threatening to spill in the next few seconds. She scrambled, moving away from the game station and finding her phone. She looked at Yoongi’s contact and called it without hesitation.

“What the fuck do you want, dude?”, he grunted, clearly not seeing who had called. She could hear moans and whimpers in the background. She immediately hung-up, launching her phone on the couch in absolute disgust.

Tears flooded her face. The unbelievable had been proven true, her boyfriend had been cheating on her behind her back, probably for months now, even when he told her how many times he loved her, how they cuddled after sex, and after she’d shared her emotions and feelings with him, even when she had her own issues. All of the intimate moments they shared were now useless, wasted on drunken hookups.

“I’ll be coming back later to get the rest of my things.” she moved past him, making him stumble when she shoved past.

Slamming the door behind her, she left him alone in the quiet apartment that always had been so loving, warm and inviting. The apartment he had called home for the past two years felt so barren of happiness and the love he was used to. The only thing he could register himself feeling was disgust and self-hatred.

How had he fucked up one of the most important things of his life so easily?

"Yeah, I understand," Byeol replied and looked at her friend, cracking up a smile. "And you shouldn't worry that much about Sehun. Apparently, he spent the weekend with Baekhyun, you know... that annoying fucker who almost ruined your wedding."

"Baekhyun was there?" Irene asked in surprise, her eyebrows cocked upwards. "I'm sorry, I wouldn't ask you of that if I knew he would be there. How did you survive his presence? I have never met two people who hated each other with so much passion," she continued, genuinely interested in the rest of the story. After the ruckus at their wedding, Baekhyun and Byeol had become sworn enemies. The animosity was so strong that no one would agree to spend an hour with them in one room, even when paid a million dollars in cash.

"It wasn't that bad, actually," Byeol started, and Irene couldn't wait to hear the rest. "I mean, of course, I wanted to scratch his eyes off every time he opened his mouth, but we both acted like civilized people. But back to Sehun, if you really think he cheats on you, he must be really good at it. When he eventually showed up, he didn't even glance at other women. If it wasn't for the evidence that you found in your house, I'd think he's crazy in love with you."

"Was it silly of me to ever suspect him?" Irene inquired, the disappointment in her behavior evident in her tone. Everyone has doubts, Irene should have one in particular given that her marriage wasn't a choice of love. At their wedding, at least in Byeol's eyes, it was obvious that Sehun wasn't crazy about her, although he should be, we're talking about Irene and she's fucking gorgeous and unbelievingly kind. One could even mistake her for an angel incarnation. "Maybe he has finally fallen in love with me," Irene added dreamily, and Byeol kindly smiled, not wanting to burst her bubble.

"Maybe," Byeol whispered on an exhaust, staring at the hopeful expression Irene sported.

Perhaps, Sehun could fool Irene, but it would take much more to convince Byeol in his innocent act. Sehun couldn't be the salt of the earth, he was friends with Baekhyun, and that ultimately made him a bad person. Sehun wasn't like Irene's impression of him, she was whipped and her opinion was biased. Byeol, on the other hand, could smell that something was fishy. The evidence didn't lie, and if Sehun's was guiltless, he wouldn't return home reeking of another woman.

"Irene, listen," Byeol cleared her throat, making sure her friend was listening, "it was just one event, we can't draw a conclusion based solely on that. I don't try to turn him against you or anything, but if you really want to be sure that he's not fucking other chicks, I suggest we keep watching him," she stated, and Irene blushed at the crude word.

"Yeah, you're right," Irene admitted, and smiled at Byeol, although she was still bitter about the whole mystification. Spying on Sehun didn't sit right with her, yet right now, it was the only action she could take. She couldn't just ask him if he was seeing anyone, even if he did, he must've been really stupid to concede.

"Of course, I'm right," Byeol spoke with a cheerful smile, "and don't worry, everything will be fine."

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Baekhyun asked, as Sehun barged into his office, ignoring the secretary repetitive protests, and plopped down onto the sofa, across from Baekhyun's desk. "I believe you're not appointed," he added, as he finally looked up at his friend.

"I'm your friend, I have a VIP pass here," Sehun snickered, as he sat more comfortably, one leg over another, his arms lying on the backrest.

"If you came here to me for a friendly advice, I'll gladly give you one, but if you just want me to cover your cheating ass, you better get in a line," Baekhyun deadpanned with an artificial smile upon his face. Even before he took Sehun's case, he didn't have any time to rest. Daily, Baekhyun ran from one client to another, yet Sehun didn't understand that. Whatever Sehun wanted, he got it, and right now, when Baekhyun wasn't easily complying with his wishes, he was growing more and more irritated.

"Come on, Baek, I'm paying you triple," Sehun reminded, and Baekhyun rolled his eyes. Yes, the pay was quite handsome, yet Baekhyun regretted his decision. The meeting with Hanbyeol cost him a lot of effort which was so ridiculously high one just couldn't measure it with money. "You can do me a little favor."

Baekhyun wanted to say no. Helping strangers get away with cheating was one thing, but helping Sehun to cheat on Irene was just wrong. They had invited him to their wedding for fuck's sake! Sehun didn't love her, but Baekhyun couldn't say the same about Irene; he had seen the way she looked at him during the ceremony, she wasn't indifferent about him. Normally, he didn't get to know the person his clients cheated on. He knew Irene, and actively helping Sehun to hurt her, didn't sit right with him. Irene didn't deserve such a treatment.

"Okay, what is it?" Baekhyun asked, as he rubbed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to focus on whatever Sehun was going to announce.

"I told Irene I meet with potential investors on the weekend; a brunch, a round of golf, a small trip to a winery, you know... the usual." Sehun started, and Baekhyun nodded his head, collecting the information in his head. "Anyway, I think I'll have signed all the contracts by Friday, and the rest of the weekend, I'll stay in a fancy hotel with my lady."

"Ugh, fine." Baekhyun agreed unwillingly, swallowing hard. "When you'll finalise the contracts, we'll switch places, and then, I'll be pretending to be you, and you won't have to worry about your time alone with whoever you're fucking."

"Sounds splendid," Sehun remarked, smirking at his friend, "why haven't I asked for your assistance sooner? My life would be way easier."

"Don't push it," Baekhyun warned, but Sehun ignored him, shrugging. It was no big deal; his marriage with Irene lacked love and Sehun intended on keeping it that way; she might be gorgeous but he didn't feel the tiniest bit attracted to her. If anything, he saw her as a sister, or maybe even a sister's friend. "And don't forget that I'm still waiting for that remittance. You may barge in here reminding me that you're paying the triple, but I didn't see a single penny yet."

"Geez, I'll text my secretary to transfer it to you." Sehun replied with a roll of his eyes, "they will be on your account first thing in the morning."

"They better be," Baekhyun added, yet Sehun couldn't hear him, as he already closed the doors behind him. His lady was waiting for him in his expensive car, and he would not spend another minute on bickering with Baekhyun when he could have her blowing him.

It was a tough week for Byeol. Normally, she was busy, working her ass off from the moment she got up until when she eventually fell asleep in front of her computer. Not only a lot of clients requested for her assistance, but also she had to take care of the formalities for the accountant. The worst part so far, though had to be a phone call from her brother who she didn't have a particular good contact with.

Irene just couldn't have a better timing—giving Byeol an invitation to an exquisite hotel for the weekend. Sehun was about to go there with his investors, and it was the only logical option that Byeol had to tag along as well.

The resort was breathtakingly beautiful, and she was going to appreciate the luxury probably the most among the other visitors when all the cost was covered by Irene. Byeol would never be able to pay for it with her money, or at least not until her business becomes more profitable. Hopefully, it'd happen soon, she was sick and tired of money problems, and exhausted from all the effort she was putting every day.

Heaving a sigh, Byeol entered the hotel, her small purple suitcase rolling behind her. Today, she had a rough schedule, but hopefully, she would get some rest in the evening. With her accumulated stress, she'd kill for a glass of Mojito and a Thai massage.

"I hope you have a pleasant stay," the receptionist spoke with a trained smile, as he gave her the keys.

"Thank you."

According to Irene, Sehun was going to meet with the investors for the wine tasting in the winery nearby. Unfortunately, when Byeol got there, Sehun was nowhere to be found. His friend was there, though. The one and only Byeol hated with pure passion.

Baekhyun.

"What a small world!" He spoke with a mischievous smirk upon his face as he approached her. "What are you doing here, Park?"

"I was meaning to ask you the same question, Byun." She replied, and Baekhyun raised his eyebrow.

"Sehun invited me, actually." He started, observing her features, trying to detect the slightest change in her expression. Slowly, Baekhyun was becoming suspicious toward Byeol. He hadn't seen her since the wedding, but once he began working for Sehun, he bumped into her twice in a span of a week. It was far too coincidental for his liking, she was definitely up to something. "He has a meeting with investors and he was hoping for my support; both, mental and intellectual."

"He's here, too? Wow, I seem to run across him a lot lately. If I didn't know him, I'd think he's stalking me." Byeol jested, and Baekhyun flashed her a smile out of courtesy. "But where is he exactly? The last time I didn't get to say hello. Actually, I really want to scold him right now. Why would he take you with him when he has Irene? She'd love to spend some time with him."

"Yeah, I don't doubt that." Baekhyun spoke dismissively, hoping that Byeol wouldn't mention Irene again. He already felt like a scumbag doing this to her, he didn't have to be reminded of it every step of the way. "Also, I don't think you'll see Sehun anytime soon. Yesterday, we had sushi and the poor guy is suffering from a food poisoning. He should've listened to me, I told him that uramaki looked strange to me."

"Seriously, that sucks, but I guess he deserves it for ditching Irene at home." Byeol answered, and Baekhyun nodded his head in agreement. The story was a complete bullshit, but Byeol was right, Sehun deserved it and many more. Not only he left her behind, but also he was fucking another woman.

"Yeah, definitely," Baekhyun added matter-of-factly, surprising Byeol. Wasn't Baekhyun Sehun's best friend? Shouldn't he stick up for him in every case? "And what exactly are you doing here?"

"I'm taking a weekend off. I seriously don't remember when was the last time I had a chance to rest." Byeol replied, not really lying. Her response was vague yet indeed genuine. "My parents gave me the voucher for my birthday last year, and it's due this weekend, and I just couldn't let it waste. Seeing how fancy that resort is, it must be ridiculously expensive."

For the rest of the wine tasting, Byeol and Baekhyun didn't talk to each other. Despite the small talk about Sehun and Irene's relationship, they didn't have a reason to maintain the conversation. In normal circumstances, they wouldn't even bother to glance at each other.

In silence, they listened to the sommelier's instructions and facts about different types of wine. Byeol, who didn't particularly fancy white wine, followed the guidance, whereas Baekhyun, on the other hand, didn't give a fuck about it, as just drank the alcohol as he pleased.

Irene would be proud of them, it has been like thirty minutes since Byeol spotted Baekhyun, and not even once, they yelled at each other. However, they didn't tolerate each other's presence yet, they simply learned to ignore the existence of the other party, pretending they didn't stand close to one another.

"That was fun," Baekhyun spoke casually when the sommelier finished the presentation of the very last wine of the evening. "I may end up buying one, which one did you like the best?" He inquired, a whole more chatty than before, probably because of all the alcohol he had drunk. Admittedly, Baekhyun wasn't wasted, not even tipsy; he was just friendlier and nicer. However, Byeol was not; she hated him as passionately as an hour ago.

"I actually prefer red wine," she answered with a nonchalant shrug, hoping that Baekhyun would walk away and leave her alone. "And you're not supposed to drink it, you know. You just taste it on your tongue and spit."

"Oh, I know that." Baekhyun admitted quickly, flashing her one of his mischievous smirks. "However, I looked up how expensive these wines actually are, the last one we tasted costs like my monthly salary per bottle. How crazy is that?"

"But it was the worst one! The second the smell of the herbs hit my nose, I thought I was going to throw up."

"It wasn't that bad, back in college, I drank worse." Baekhyun confessed, and Byeol laughed, wondering what kind of poison he must've drunk as an adolescent that it was actually worse than the wine which taste still lingered in her mouth. "And a question a bit off the topic, do you think you can give me a ride back to the resort? From my thorough observation, I can say that I've been ditched. I came here with Sehun's investors, and I believe they left me behind."

"Sorry, Baekhyun, it's nothing personal, but I don't give free rides to my enemies," Byeol answered wittily and spun on her heels, wanting to retreat to her vehicle. She barely managed through the wine tasting, she wouldn't survive the long ass ride to the resort with him.

"How is that not personal?" Baekhyun asked, as he grabbed her by the wrist, so she wouldn't walk away from him. "I admit, I made out with that girl at the wedding just right after we hit it off, but if it's the only thing you hate me for, get fucking over it. Don't blow the whole thing out of proportion, we weren't in a relationship or anything for fuck's sake."

Abruptly yanking her hand out of his grasp, she looked him into his eyes, "don't flatter yourself, Baekhyun. I am a reasonable woman, I got over it as soon as I walked away from you, but it doesn't automatically think I like you, okay? You may be attractive in my eyes, but I know what kind of an asshole you are. And sorry for not wanting to be associated with you in any form, so if you excuse me, I'd like to return to the resort."

"You can't leave me here!"

"Oh really? Watch me."

Heaving a sign, Baekhyun bit his lip, trying to come up a way to convince her.

"Come on, let's just bury the hatchet! You'll give me a ride, and I'll treat you to a round of drinks," Baekhyun yelled, but Byeol didn't even turn her head, not even the slightest tempted by his proposition.

A woman completely ignoring him like that? It's a first. Normally, he was the one who pushed women away, and right now, when roles were reversed, he hated the feeling.

"Come on, don't be like this, it's just a ride." Baekhyun continued, yet Byeol just got into her car, not sparing him a single glance.

Her key was in the ignition, her seat belt fastened. If Baekhyun thought that she was just teasing him, pushing his limits to see how far he was going to try, it no longer was the case. He had to do something before she actually leaves him behind.

Maybe it was pathetic for him to stand in front of the car, refusing to move aside, yet he couldn't come up with anything smarter. With his hands pressed against the car's hood, he smiled at her, wishing for her mercy.

"Move!" Byeol shouted, waving her hands from side to side, whereas Baekhyun smiled at her like a fool. Having rolled down the window, Byeol yelled, "move aside or I'll run you over." Baekhyun, however, didn't move an inch, his smile only growing wider. "I'm serious."

"Byeol, think it through, you can't leave me here." Baekhyun replied, but Byeol only pressed her lips in a thin line, sighing.

Baekhyun was wrong; she could leave him there in a heartbeat. If that was what Byeol wanted, she could be a bitch, and frankly, Baekhyun had never given her a reason not to. She didn't owe him anything, and her abandoning him would be fully justified. However, on the other hand, she'd lower herself to his level, and she didn't want to be like him, to be like the person she despised so passionately.

"Ugh, fine," she stated, and Baekhyun clapped his hands in victory; no one, even the she-devil herself, couldn't resist his charm. Perhaps, his technique was a bit rusty, but it worked, so he didn't have to worry about that. Not that he cared, but he still could have any girl he wished.

Not even ten minutes into the ride, he couldn't stand the silence. Naturally, Baekhyun was pretty chatty, and even if it was Byeol sitting beside him, he felt an urge to maintain a conversation.

"Do you think we should swap numbers? Lately, we bump into each other quite often, don't we?"

"I don't think it's necessary, Byun." Byeol quickly said, her gaze focused on the road. "We do happen to bump into each other, but I think we've already used the lifespan limit of it."

"We surely have if you keep driving like that." Baekhyun snickered, and Byeol tried her best to remain her composed expression. She had got her driving license not even a month ago, and she hated being criticized. Everyone had been inexperienced at some point, and Byeol genuinely doubted that Baekhyun had been on a professional driver level since the very beginning. "You'll get the both of us killed."

"Well... excuse you," she roared, her hands clutching the steering wheel, as she tried to tame her anger. "If you're really going to complain about my driving, you can remove your ass out of my car. I won't mind, I promise."

"As a matter of fact, I'm quite comfy here," Baekhyun replied, lying back in the seat. Sighing, he looked through the window, as he wondered how long he had to spend with her. "Thank you so much for your concern."

"No problem, Baekhyun." Byeol said in a kind, artificial tone, "but if you happen to change your mind, don't hesitate to tell me."

"I actually doubt it, but okay, I will," Baekhyun stated, even though when he knew he wasn't going to use it; it was obvious that Byeol was an inexperienced driver, but he didn't think she could drive worse than she already had.

"Really, Baekhyun, I'll gladly pull over if you want," Byeol added with a smirk upon her face, a part of her still hoped that he'll comply with her proposition.

"There's no need, really," Baekhyun assured her, grinning at her, his smile looking so artificial that it might as well be pinned to his mouth. However, it was quite short-lived, his smile bit by bit fading away, as the vehicle began slowing down until it completely stopped.

"No, not again," Byeol whined, and clenched her fists, hitting the steering wheel in irritation.

"What's going on?" Baekhyun asked in worry, although he was more concerned about himself than he was about her. Who knew how long they could manage without biting each other's heads off? Byeol's forehead was pressed against the steering wheel, as she almost cried in annoyance.

Stupid!

How could she forget about it!

Again!

"We won't drive anywhere further." Byeol announced in a quiet voice, already psyching up for the long delay with Baekhyun. Hopefully, if they ignored each other, they would manage to wait for the road assistance.

"Do you know how to fix it?"

"Of course," Byeol answered with a wide smile, "you need to put more gas in it," she finished, and Baekhyun almost facepalmed himself at her stupidity.

"You got to be kidding me," he yelled, shaking his head in disbelief, how could she forget to refuel her car? How was it even possible? "Fuck," he groaned, as he undid his seat belt and got out of the car, as sitting beside her became too suffocating to handle.

"Don't overreact, it could be worse," Byeol replied, as she exited the vehicle and leaned against the car's hood next to Baekhyun. "It could be raining, or we could have no service, or have our phones dead. Look at the bright side, the road service is gonna get us in no time."

"Yeah, right," having crossed his arms over his chest, Baekhyun heaved a sigh, as he looked at Byeol. "I'm so lucky," Baekhyun gritted through clenched teeth.

"Just help me a little, let's not make it longer than necessary, okay?"

Baekhyun had to agree with her, he was losing his patience with her, and he'd be so much grateful if he could get rid of her. Quickly, Baekhyun tracked their location on his phone, and Byeol called for a tow truck. Hopefully, the rescue would come soon.

"The first date didn't go as planned, I assume," the man who came to pick them up spoke, as he glanced at Baekhyun, and then at Byeol. Both of them had their arms crossed over their chests, their noses up, their backs turned backwards to each other. They really looked like a couple who refused to talk out their problem regardless of what was the root of it.

"No," Byeol and Baekhyun growled in unison, and the man, who didn't want to get between the two of them, just let out a sigh, shaking his head. It was none of his business what had happened to the pair, and frankly, he wasn't even curious. For his own peace of mind, he'd just shut up and never let another comment leave his mouth.

"Not even if he was the last man on this planet," Byeol commented, and Baekhyun turned his head to look at her. How dared she? True, he had flaws, but how, on Earth, could she say that? She was no better. Baekhyun had made out with another woman when he had tried to score Byeol, but she wasn't innocent, either. She had embarrassed him in front of the guests!

"Excuse you?" Baekhyun asked, trying not to sound offended. However, he was offended, and Byeol could see it without looking. His tone was drenched with irritation. "Trust me, this last man," he pointed his forefinger at himself, "would never choose you, either."

"Okay, we're ready to go," the man said with a sheepish smile, hoping he wouldn't have to listen to their quarrel any longer. He suspected he heard maybe a one fifth of their argument, and still, he had enough of it.

Wordlessly, Baekhyun and Byeol glanced at each other, as they got into the vehicle, praying that they would be towed back to the resort in a record time.

"You know, if you apologised to me and got over the fact I made out with that girl, we could be friends." Baekhyun started casually, as he stared through the window.

"What?" Byeol snapped, immediately turning her face to look at him. He couldn't be in his right mind to say that! If anything, it should be the other way around! She would never apologise to him, everything was his fault. If he hadn't behaved like a complete idiot, she wouldn't have poured her drink on his head. His asshole behavior had made her do it, and she didn't regret it. He deserved it.

"What what? I'm speaking the truth here," Baekhyun carried on with a nonchalant shrug.

"It's not gonna happen," Byeol stated stubbornly, as she looked away. His face was good-looking, but the more she stared at him, the more it annoyed her. "Not now, not ever. Besides, it should be you apologising."

"Me?"

"Yes, you. So go ahead and do it. Just like you said, we could be friends."

"I've never pegged you to be so funny." Baekhyun retorted, and Byeol fought the urge to punch him. Masterfully, he was getting under her skin, and she seriously was sick and tired of him. "You're full of surprises, Byeol."

"Wish I could the same about you, Baekhyun."

"Something tells me that I'll have multiple chances to prove you wrong."

"Hopefully not," Byeol replied bitterly, hating the prospect of seeing him again.

"Anyway, I'm definitely down for a round of drinks once we get back. Feel free to join me, I still owe you, don't I?" Baekhyun reminded, and Byeol wondered whether she should agree. She seriously needed alcohol in her system, yet it was beyond obvious that Baekhyun wasn't the best candidate to get drunk with.

"Hello to you too, Sehun," Baekhyun casually replied, heaving a deep sigh, knowing that Sehun would start his rant as soon as he made sure the other one was listening. "What's the matter?" Baekhyun encouraged, being generous enough to donate his friend a little bit of his time. Even if he managed to get another client, he'd not schedule the meeting earlier than tomorrow's morning.

"Baekhyun, you have to help me," Sehun started, and Baekhyun sat back in his chair, comfortably resting his back, throwing one leg over the other. "I told Irene I'm going on a business seminar, but the thing is, I am not alone," Sehun trailed off, hoping that Baekhyun would get the hint. Actually, he had to; infidelity was the source of his income, after all.

"Okay, it seems you have everything under control," Baekhyun commented, reaching for his coffee, taking a small sip of a hot beverage, the caffeine almost had no effect on him given how much he drinks it daily. "What's the real problem?"

"The problem is..." Sehun made a dramatic pause, almost as if he wasn't already terribly stressed, "Irene's friend's here. I saw her when I went for more ice. My marriage will be over if she sees me, Baekhyun. You have to come here, and help me out man, for the old times' sake!"

"I'm kind of busy at the moment," Baekhyun mentioned nonchalantly, enjoying the way Sehun's voice stuttered and wavered, and just reeked of desperation.

"Baekhyun, please, treat me like one of your clients," Sehun urged, balancing on the verge of begging. His marriage to Irene was too important, he just couldn't lose her for one of his meaningless mistresses. Although he didn't love Irene, his family business benefited from the merger tremendously.

"Okay, let's say that I agree, which Irene's friend? Was it Wendy? Jiwoo?" Baekhyun asked, as he pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to remember how they looked like. At the wedding, he had seen the bridesmaids, yet given the amount of alcohol he had had, the image was quite blurry.

"Neither, it's Hanbyeol." Sehun stated truthfully, and Baekhyun almost hung up. No matter how much he wanted to aid Sehun, he just wouldn't willingly go to another battle with the she-devil, the antichrist, the Satan in the flesh.

"No, you're on your own, Sehun." Baekhyun announced the second he heard her name. Sinister flashbacks projected into his mind, a shiver ran down his spine, his hands shaking. He had met Hanbyeol once, and it was enough for Baekhyun to run away from any girl who was named the same; regardless of how beautiful the women were, Baekhyun would still pale at the echo of her name.

"I'll pay double," Sehun offered, hoping that Baekhyun would reconsider his abrupt decision. He hated Hanbyeol, and she hated him, but Sehun's proposition was quite tempting—it was a shit ton of money! However, was it really worth it? He'd have to cover up for Sehun, and quite possibly come face to face with the only person he detests with every fiber of his body.

"Tempting, but no, sorry, I am busy, actually, I'm meeting my client right now," Baekhyun lied, his cheek stinging at the reminiscence of the slap he had received from Hanbyeol at the wedding. "I can send one of my employees over to handle the situation, I think Lay should be available tonight," he spoke like a mindless machine, wondering if Lay really had a clear schedule right now.

"I thought you knew me, Baekhyun. I always want what is best, and there's no better than you at this," Sehun started, buttering up Baekhyun, expecting his boastful words to convince the latter. "I'll pay triple, Baekhyun, just come here and help me, will you?"

Sehun had to be joking; the second Baekhyun heard the word 'triple' he clenched his fist and bit on it, a distinctive ka-ching! rang in his ears.

"Ugh, fine. Text me the address, and I'll be there asap." Baekhyun spoke quickly, and ended the call, not even waiting for Sehun's reply. Leaving his untouched cheesecake and a half full cup of coffee on the table, he wiped his mouth with a napkin, and quickly got into his car, the location already in his GPS.

***

"Hi, Irene, what's up?" Hanbyeol answered the call, wiping her hands in the napkin, pushing a plate with fries away from her.

"Have you seen him yet?" Irene asked, impatient to know the details of the mission. Sehun was her husband, and even if they didn't love each other yet, she hoped the feelings would stem anyway. It hadn't been even two months since the wedding, and he treated her with the same exact indifference. She could handle the snail-like pace, yet there was something she couldn't tolerate—infidelity. If she was able to stay faithful to him, he could, too.

"No, I have not," she quickly replied, before she took a huge gulp of lime coke, "that's really strange, though. I'm at that meeting with all these businessmen and Sehun is no where to be found," she started to explain, looking over her shoulder wondering if her friend's husband finally showed up. "At first, I thought he bailed because this place is incredibly boring, since everyone seems to have a stick up their ass, but then I asked the guy who distributes the name tags, and apparently Sehun never showed up."

"Oh," Irene murmured, sounding obviously disappointed.

"It doesn't mean he's cheating," Hanbyeol instantly added, defending the guy. It was strange for her to protect her target, but she really didn't want to upset Irene. There was no proof that he cheated on her, she didn't catch him red-handed, perhaps, Sehun had a valid explanation on why he hadn't showed up yet.

"It doesn't mean he's not," Irene spoke, her voice quiet and cold, disappointment lingering in her tone. She could sense that Sehun hadn't been telling her everything, her suspicion backed with many unanswered texts, ignored calls, and a sweet scent of perfume which definitely didn't belong to Irene. They didn't love each other, but they could, and Irene was willing to try.

"Don't worry, I'll stick around for the weekend, and if anything fishy happens, I'll report it straight back to you," she reassured her, and licked her lips, "according to his payment history, he's here. If there's a woman with him, I'll find her and skin her alive for you."

"Thanks, Byeol. I can always count on you," said Irene, her voice again cheerful. Sehun might be distant to her, but she and Irene, they're fucking tight, although she wasn't always faithful to the only rule their friendship venerated—chicks before dicks, obviously.

"Yeah, anyway, I'll mingle with the other entrepreneurs, and don't forget that we're having brunch on Monday with Jiwoo and Wendy." Hanbyeol reminded her before she hung up, and hid her phone in her purse.

God, she hated these parties. Snob businessmen were gathering, drinking expensive champagne, and discussing their corporations. Normally, she'd not attend, but for Irene's sake, she did, and if it wasn't for free alcohol and appetizers, she'd already go crazy.

"Where are you, Sehun?" Hanbyeol whispered to herself, as she looked around, no familiar face ever flashed before her eyes; only men in their late fifties.

This party sucks.

***

"I'm here, where the hell are you?" Baekhyun yelled into his phone, as he walked into the hotel, his steps leisure, his elbow high. "What room as you in?" He questioned further, as he passed the bellhop, examining the exquisite decor; the place just screamed splendor.

"Room 304," Sehun replied quickly, putting on a bathrobe with his free hand, "I'll meet you outside, I don't really want to trouble her," he added, as he tied the velvet strip around his waist, his phone tightly squeezed between his ear and his shoulder.

"See you in a minute," Baekhyun mechanically spoke, ending the call, his head high, the gaze fixated on the elevator in front of him. Casually, he pressed the button, and the doors immediately opened, his reflection looking back at him in the mirrors in golden frames. The ride was short, yet it was long enough for Baekhyun to fix his tie and comb his hair with his long, slender fingers.

"Thank God," said Sehun, relief written all over his face. "I owe you so much for this," he sighed, the stress slowly leaving his tensed figure, as he knew that Baekhyun wouldn't let him down. Baekhyun was a professional, and it was certain that Sehun's secret was safe; Baekhyun was his warranty that Hanbyeol wouldn't catch him with another woman.

"Of course, you owe me a shit load of money," Baekhyun stated, as he looked at his friend, his stance nonchalant yet authoritative. "I'll be expecting a transfer from you on Monday, better don't be late."

"Yeah, whatever," Sehun answered with a shrug, the triple amount of money that Baekhyun had demanded for his service meant very little to nothing to him, given how rich his family is, "better tell me what's your plan, Baek."

"Since it's an emergency, the procedure is quite different," Baekhyun started, taking a sigh, as he stood on his heels, his fingers entwined behind his back, "send your lady to the hotel spa, you have to go to that business party, so Hanbyeol..." Baekhyun cleared his throat, which was bone dry, as her name barely left his mouth without vomiting, "so Hanbyeol would see you. When you're sure she saw you, I'll approach her and keep her busy, and you're free for tonight," he explained slowly, making sure that Sehun understood every detail of their plan; they only had one chance, and even the tiniest mistake could mean 'divorce' which was definitely the last thing Sehun wanted.

"You're a genius, Baekhyun. Thank you!" Sehun said, knowing that his secret was in good hands—Baekhyun's hands. "I'll get dressed and see you downstairs in a bit?"

"Sure," replied Baekhyun with utter nonchalance before he sent him a lopsided smirk, and turned on his heel, waiting for the lift to take him downstairs. "Good luck, and let's hope she won't suspect anything."

***

Baekhyun was standing in front of the entrance; one pair of doors separating him from the one and only nemesis of his. Moreover, not only he was going to see her, but what was beyond his comprehension, he had to approach her and maintain a conversation with the spawn of the devil itself. Surprisingly how eventful his evening has become; he surely wasn't mentally prepared for this meeting. As a matter of fact, he wasn't certain he'd be ever ready to face her.

With a deep sigh and short pep talk, he pushed the doors opened, his eyes roaming around the crowd seeking her.

"Okay, it shouldn't be that bad," Baekhyun spoke to himself, as he strolled inside, wide forced smile decorating his visage, as he bowed to some random businessmen and adjusted his elegant tie.

Much to his dismay, he spotted her in an instant; she was wearing a navy dress which terribly matched his suit. If he had to be objective, he'd even dare to say that she looked hot, yet given their brief history, he had to refrain himself from turning around and leaving Sehun on his own. Regardless of how pretty she looked, Baekhyun's judgment was clouded by the lousy memory.

The moment the waiter approached Baekhyun, he gladly took a glass of champagne, and gulped it down in one go. He needed it, he just wouldn't approach her without any preparation. Perhaps, she'd be a little bit more bearable if he fueled himself with alcohol. Normally, he was confident and brave, yet right now, he had to drink some more to boost his courage.

"Fancy seeing you here," Baekhyun spoke as he approached her and obtained her attention. She recognized his voice immediately; her figure slowly spinning around, a dreadful expression written all over her face. If Baekhyun hated her with pure passion, the animosity she felt toward him was twice as strong.

"I wish I could say the same," she muttered, as she eyed him from head to toe, not caring if he could hear her.

"Ouch!" Baekhyun pressed his hand against his chest, faking the pain that she caused with her harsh words. "Actually, I can't say I expected a warmer reception," Baekhyun commented, looking away, almost as if one look into her eyes would turn him into stone. "So... what brings you here?"

"It's a CEO gathering, and I am a CEO." Hanbyeol answered vaguely, not sparing him a glance either; his presence was repellent enough to handle. "What about you?" She asked, although she couldn't care any less about his reason; she only wished he'd go away after the small talk.

"Pretty much the same," Baekhyun replied, snatching another glass of champagne. "It's a perfect place to hand out business cards, isn't it?"

"Yeah, I guess," she agreed with a nonchalant shrug, finishing her alcohol.

"Though, it'd be way more pleasurable if Sehun didn't force me to go to that boring seminar in the afternoon. I thought I was going to die out boredom. At least, they provide food and alcohol." Baekhyun spoke casually, as he stared at her profile, examining her reaction when he mentioned Sehun's name. Just as he expected—she turned her head, their eyes locking for a brief moment.

"Sehun's here? I had no idea," Hanbyeol effortlessly lied, trying her best to look surprised, yet calm, so Baekhyun wouldn't figure out that she knew. So Baekhyun wouldn't fathom the reason behind her presence. She was going to bust Sehun with another woman, not get caught spying on him. "Well, it's a small world, isn't it?" She added, looking at Baekhyun, checking him out, approving his clothes and styled hair.

No matter how much she despised him, she couldn't deny that he was quite handsome.

"Yeah, it is," Baekhyun agreed, as he readjusted his tie, and put his hands into the pockets of his expensive suit. "Anyway... would you like to have a drink? I could use some," Baekhyun proposed, as he noticed Sehun in the crowd. Unlike Baekhyun, Sehun wasn't accustomed to this kind of stress, and it could be pretty risky for them if Hanbyeol approached him and started talking. Right now, it was Baekhyun's duty to keep her away from Sehun.

"I don't think so," Hanbyeol casually rejected his offer and turned around to leave him alone, yet if only he didn't grab her shoulder, she would be out of his side. "I said that I didn't want to, Baekhyun." She spoke, abruptly yanking her arm out of his grip.

"Come on, it's one drink, I'm not asking you to have sex with me," Baekhyun explained, trying to signalize that he didn't have wrong intentions. If she really thought that he was flirting with her, she was terribly mistaken, probably as wrong as it was possible. "For the old times' sake?" He smiled at her, almost as if he tried to seduce her.

"For the old times' sake all you can get is a kick in the nuts," Hanbyeol retorted, smirking when she saw Baekhyun's pain expression, as he was perfectly aware that she was capable of fulfilling her threat.

"Pass," Baekhyun replied with a sheepish smile upon his face, and took a step back, his hands immediately hovering above his crotch.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," she spoke, and turned around to leave. Baekhyun couldn't let that happen, especially when she was about to head toward Sehun.

"Are you still dwelling on the past?" Baekhyun asked, following behind her. "Whatever happened, happened; let's just forget about it." He proposed, but Hanbyeol only scoffed, as she continued to walk away from him.

Baekhyun couldn't be serious. Why did he urge her so desperately to talk to him? She was perfectly aware how little she meant to him, if anything, Baekhyun was supposed to avoid her like the plague. It was the only logical development of their relationship; they ought to restrain their contact to the very minimum. The most adequate behavior should be leaving one room when the presence of the other party spotted, and what Baekhyun tried to propose was the exact opposite.

What was his hidden agenda?

"I already did," Hanbyeol stated casually, not even sparing him a glance, "though, I still don't want to hang out with you."

"It's just one drink, relax." Baekhyun carried on, as they approached the bar, and raised his hand to obtain the bartender's attention. "My treat."

"Drinks are free," Hanbyeol said matter-of-factly, as she sat down on the stool, and Baekhyun immediately occupied the seat beside her. "Okay, cut the chase. What do you want from me?" She asked, being fed up with Baekhyun's insistent attitude. She didn't want to be anywhere near around him, and he must've felt the same; why did he bother?

"I don't know anyone here—"

"You know Sehun," Hanbyeol interjected, trying to prove him that he had better options than pestering her.

"Yeah, but I spent the whole day with him, I want to throw up when his face flashes in front of my eyes. He's my friend, but there are limits." Baekhyun explained with a cheeky smile, hoping that she understood him. Sighing, Hanbyeol looked at him, as he ordered drinks for them. He was irritating, but she realised that he wasn't going anywhere; if she could get rid of him, he'd already be out of her sight.

"Okay, whatever," she spoke, as she sipped on her sweet drink, her eyes seeking Sehun in the crowd. In her opinion, he didn't act like a person in the affair; he was somewhat relaxed, making casual conversations with businessmen in their fifties, not even sparing a single glance at the beautiful women who accompanied them.

"Hi, there," said a man who just approached the bar, one hand laid on the counter, the one one gently pressed against the small of her back, "can I get you a drink?" He asked, giving Hanbyeol a wide smile.

"She already has one," Baekhyun interjected, immediately jumping off his stool, "and she's with me," he added, as she swiped the man's hand away. "You're welcome, I protected you. He won't bother you anymore."

"You're the one bothering me, Baekhyun." She retorted, shaking her head in disbelief, as she sighed and bit her straw. "Besides, he was kind of cute, if anything, you just cockblocked me."

"I'm trying here," Baekhyun defended himself, returning to his seat. "It'd be much easier if you told me why you hate me so much."

"You really don't know?" Hanbyeol asked, looking him in the eyes, trying to determine whether he was seriously this shameless or simply ignorant. "Okay, fine. Let me enlighten you," she started, and Baekhyun gingerly nodded his head, waiting for the explanation. As far as he remembered, it had to have something to do with Sehun's and Irene's wedding.

"Please, do. I really want to know."

"At the wedding, we flirted with each other and it was really nice," she started, and Baekhyun responded with a gentle bow, taking in the information, "but later, I saw you making out with someone, and I was seriously pissed when after the toast you came back to me as if you just didn't shove your tongue down other woman's throat. All the attraction disappeared like a snap of fingers."

"Really, that's it?" Baekhyun asked with his eyebrow raised upwards. "Aren't you a bit melodramatic? It's not like we were in a relationship."

"It doesn't matter, Baekhyun." Hanbyeol answered calmly, a polite smile upon her face. "Don't get me wrong, but I know a little something about players, and I can tell when I see one."

"Well... I know a little something about relationships," Baekhyun started, making Hanbyeol interested in whatever he had to say, "why even bother to be with someone when eventually it's going to fall apart?"

"Relationships don't fall apart without a reason; people just stop trying. It's not going to last if you don't care to maintain it," Hanbyeol fought back, even if she didn't want to discuss that matter with him.

"Yeah, I agree, and that's why I don't do relationships."