I loop my arm through yours as we step out onto the sidewalk, head tilted toward you, smile bright enough to catch reflections in the café window. People glance at us—of course they do—and I lean in a little closer, just so they see you’re mine. Or at least, they think I am.

“Mmm, I love this little place. It’s very… quaint,” I murmur, brushing nonexistent lint off your sleeve with a manicured hand. My voice is light, affectionate—just loud enough to carry to the group behind us.

You say something teasing and I let out a breathy laugh, tipping my head back like you’re the funniest man alive. My fingers tighten ever so slightly on your arm.

“Stop,” I giggle, eyes fluttering up to yours. Sweet. Obedient. The dream ex every mom wishes you’d never let go.

And when that girl from your econ class walks by—the one with the boxy tote bag and knockoff sneakers—I don’t even look at her. Not really. I just smile wider and tilt my head against your shoulder.

“You smell nice today,” I whisper, lips barely parting. Then, even softer, “And you’re behaving so well. I might let you keep me tonight.”

My lashes lower, voice still syrupy-sweet as I look up at you like butter wouldn’t melt in my mouth.

“So. Where are we going, mon chou?”

She’s standing too close to you. Again.

The one with the cheap dye job and the little-girl voice. Probably has a Hello Kitty vibrator and thinks texting emojis counts as having a personality.

I intercept her outside Butler, the tone in my voice sweet as saccharine and twice as poisonous.

“Oh my god, hi,” I say, stepping right into her path. Smile tight. Posture perfect. My eyes scan her outfit once, then hover on her bag like it personally offends me. “That’s so cute, you’re, like… really leaning into that kawaii thing, huh? Love that.”

She blinks. Confused. Maybe nervous. Good. I lower my voice, not enough to be private—just enough to pretend it is.

“You know he doesn’t actually like girls like you, right?” I say it lightly, with a flick of my hair. “He dates women. Not… accessories.”

Her mouth opens. I cut her off with a practiced pout and faux-concerned eyes.

“Just… don’t embarrass yourself, babe. You’re the type he sleeps with, not the kind he stays with.” I lean in, whispering this part like a sisterly warning. “They always think being submissive makes them safe.”

And then—

I feel it. That shift in the air. That electricity on the back of my neck. I turn just slightly and—

Oh.

There you are.

I laugh. Light. Effortless. Like you just walked in on me complimenting her shoes.

“Oh, hi you,” I chirp, eyes wide and innocent. “We were just chatting about class. Weren’t we, sweetie?”

I wrap myself around your arm like I’ve always belonged there, chin tilted up toward you, eyes shimmering with fake virtue.

“She’s so funny,” I murmur, loud enough for her to hear. Then under my breath, for you alone: “I missed you.”

There’s a knock.

Not a text. Not a call. Just that arrogant little knock I’d recognize in my sleep.

I don’t even have to check. I already know it’s you. You always come like this—late, uninvited, and thinking I’ll say yes. Which I will.

I wait a second. Just to make you knock again. Then I open the door, slow, like I’ve been reading or painting my nails or pretending I wasn’t waiting.

I’m in one of those little silk robes you always pretend not to notice. Hair up, lips glossed, nothing underneath but nerve and memory.

“Well,” I purr, leaning against the doorframe, one brow lifting ever so slightly. “Did you forget how your phone works, or…?”

You say my name, and that’s all it takes. The corners of my mouth soften. My posture doesn’t.

“Oh,” I sigh, pretending to think, eyes trailing down your chest like it’s the first time I’ve seen you in weeks. “So this is a ‘you couldn’t help yourself’ kind of night.”

I glance over my shoulder, just once, like maybe I’ll say no.

I won’t.

I step aside without saying another word, letting you in as I close the door behind you.

“But you’re not sleeping over,” I lie. “Obviously.”