Chapter 2: The Game Begins
The night was thick with Johannesburg heat, the kind that settled on your skin and refused to let go. Troy leaned against the cold metal railing outside the club, a cigarette burning between his fingers—unlit, purely aesthetic. He didn't smoke. He never had.
But tonight wasn't about habits. It was about image. Control. Manipulation.
His phone buzzed.
Serra: Outside. Red enough for you?
He glanced up and smiled.
There she was.
Wrapped in a blood-red satin dress that clung to her like a whispered promise. The slit ran dangerously high, exposing one long, toned leg that seemed to glow under the streetlight. Her curls were pinned up loosely, and her makeup was just enough to scream dangerous without trying too hard.
"Red suits you," he said, pocketing his phone as she approached.
"So does revenge," she replied with a wink.
That caught him off guard.
"Excuse me?"
Serra leaned in, her lips close to his ear. "I know what this is, Troy. I know you're not over her. You want her to feel it. To watch."
His eyes narrowed. "Are you complaining?"
She smirked, brushing his shirt collar down with a finger. "Not at all. I'm just saying—I want to make sure you understand I'm not a pawn. I'm a queen. And queens play to win."
Troy studied her for a moment. She wasn't wrong. Serra was always sharp, always reading between the lines. That was part of what made her dangerous. And desirable.
"Then let's make her watch us burn," he said.
Inside the club, the music was a pulse. Bodies swayed under neon light, bass rattled the walls, and smoke curled through laser beams in the air. But none of it mattered. Not to him.
All Troy could see was Serra on the dance floor, moving like sin itself. She had no shame, and even less restraint. Her hands slid across her own hips, her eyes on him the whole time. Challenging him.
He didn't hesitate.
He joined her.
Their bodies collided like they had been rehearsed. Her hands locked behind his neck, and his slid around her waist. The space between them disappeared in seconds, sweat and heat mixing between their skin. They didn't talk. Didn't need to.
Every sway of her hips was a question: Are you still hers?
And every press of his hand down her back was the answer: Not anymore.
Serra tilted her head back, lips parted. Troy brushed his mouth against her jaw, slow, deliberate. Not kissing—just letting her feel the threat of it.
She shivered.
A camera flashed from someone's phone nearby. Perfect. He didn't need Sabrina to hear about this. He needed her to see it.
Later, back at his apartment, the air was thick with the ghost of basslines and perfume. Serra stood at the door, her heel pressed against the edge, waiting.
"You sure you want this?" Troy asked.
She raised an eyebrow. "You're cute when you pretend to care."
He stepped aside. "Then come in. Let's see if we can ruin each other."
It wasn't about love. Or even lust. It was war, painted in red lipstick and tangled sheets. She was fire and he was gasoline—and that night, they didn't burn quietly.
After, Serra lay on her back, fingers tracing lazy circles on his chest.
"So, what now?" she asked.
Troy stared at the ceiling. "Now… we go deeper."
Serra's eyes glinted in the dark. "Meaning?"
"I want her to break," he said. "I want her to question every choice. Every person. Starting with you."
A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "Well, you got the first part handled. She already blocked me."
He turned his head. "Really?"
Serra nodded, smug. "I posted a photo of us. Nothing obvious. Just enough skin, just enough suggestion."
"And she saw it?"
"She unfollowed me two hours later."
Troy smiled, satisfaction tightening in his chest. "Good."
"But I hope you're ready," Serra added. "This kind of thing doesn't end clean. Girls like her? They don't lose quietly."
The next day, whispers followed Troy down the university corridors like shadows. Students stared, gossiped. Some girls looked at him with new curiosity. He wasn't just the loyal boyfriend anymore. He was unclaimed. Wild. Dangerous.
He liked it.
He liked it more when Sabrina cornered him after class.
She looked wrecked. Not physically—but emotionally. Her eyes were tired, her mascara slightly smudged like she had either cried or not slept.
"You're sleeping with Serra," she said without a hello.
Troy crossed his arms. "Nice to see you too."
She stepped closer. "This is about Lennox, isn't it?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Who?"
"Don't act like you didn't find out."
Troy smiled, slow and sharp. "Let's say I did. What then?"
"I told you it meant nothing"
"And I believed you," he cut in, tone flat. "Until your best friend confirmed otherwise. Right before she kissed me."
Sabrina's lips trembled. "You're disgusting."
"No," he said, stepping closer. "I'm honest. You, on the other hand…"
She slapped him.
Hard.
For a second, silence swallowed the hallway.
Then Troy leaned in, whispering near her ear, "That's the second time your hands have touched someone who wasn't yours."
She stepped back, shaking. "I hate you."
He shrugged. "Good. That'll make watching me fall into someone else's arms easier."
Over the next week, the game escalated.
Troy didn't chase Serra—he let her come to him. And she did, again and again, until his room became her second skin. The moments they shared weren't always soft. Sometimes they fought. Sometimes they bit. But in the quiet moments after, when they lay in the glow of his phone screen, watching the online chaos their pictures caused—that's when the fire burned hottest.
And Sabrina?
She spiraled.
Tasha—her younger sister—started texting Troy late at night. Harmless at first. Then flirtatious. Then suggestive.
Serra noticed.
"You going to play her too?" she asked, reading the messages over his shoulder.
"Should I?"
Serra smiled darkly. "If you're going to break her, do it completely."
Troy's eyes flickered. "You think I've gone too far?"
Serra turned his face toward hers. "No. I think you've only just begun."
One night, Troy got a message from an unknown number.
Sharice: So… I hear you've been busy. Care to explain what's going on with my niece before I ask you in person?
He stared at the screen.
The aunt.
Another piece. Another pawn.
He replied:
Tough to explain over text. Maybe over wine?
Back at her place that weekend, Serra asked him if he ever missed who he used to be.
"The version of you that believed in love," she clarified.
Troy paused. "I buried that guy. Right after Sabrina's last lie."
Serra leaned into him. "I liked him. But I like this version more."
"Why?"
"Because now you understand. Love is a weapon. Use it or be used."
Troy kissed her then, rough and unapologetic.
He had started this to destroy Sabrina.
But now, something darker stirred in him. Something addictive.
The control. The chaos. The power of being desired, feared, and untouchable.
This wasn't just revenge anymore.
This was evolution.