Gabriella
Morning came too fast, like it always did now. Sunlight sliced through the half-open curtains and landed on the nightstand where his phone still sat. Charging. Mocking.
Aiden was in the shower. Water drumming steady against tile. Steam already creeping under the bathroom door.
I didn't think. Just moved.
Picked up the phone. Thumbprint unlock—mine worked because he'd added it that first week like it was a gift. "For emergencies," he'd said. We both knew what he really meant: so he could track me easier.
I opened messages. Scrolled past the boring ones. Found it near the top.
"Santos Project" Group of five. Aiden at the top. Then Jax, Kade, Marcus, and someone called "Rico" I didn't know.
Last message sent at 2:17 a.m.
Jax: She held it together tonight. Almost too good. You slipping, boss?
Kade: Nah. She's just learning the script. Give it time. Bet's still live.
Marcus: Saw the way she looked at you during the toast. Eyes like knives. That's not submission. That's plotting.
Jax: Plotting gets her fucked harder. Win-win.
Aiden (sent at 2:19 a.m.): She called her mother. On my phone. While I slept.
Three dots appeared. Then disappeared. Then a flood.
Jax: Holy shit. Ballsy.
Kade: And you let her?
Aiden: Let her finish the call. She told mommy she was "fine." Cried after. Clung to me like I was her savior.
Marcus: Fuck. That's progress. Tears are good. Tears mean she's cracking.
Jax: Pics or it didn't happen.
Aiden: No pics. But she earned a reward. Came so hard she forgot her own name for a minute.
Kade: End of month still on track?
Aiden: Ahead of schedule. She's starting to crave it. Hates herself for it. That's the sweet spot.
Jax: Ten grand says she tries to run by Halloween.
Kade: I'll take that. She won't run. She'll beg first.
Marcus: Side bet. First time she says "I love you" unprompted—double or nothing.
Aiden: Deal. But when it happens, it won't be unprompted. It'll be because I carved it into her until she believes it.
My hands were shaking so bad the screen blurred.
I scrolled up. Months of messages. Photos of me—candid ones taken before the wedding. One from the registry office, me crying in the corner while Rhoda signed papers. Another from the first night here, me asleep on the bed, sheet barely covering me. Timestamped 4:42 a.m. Caption from Aiden: Night one. Still fighting. Cute.
More. Screenshots of my old socials. Comments they'd left under fake accounts. "She's prettier in person." "Bet she screams nice." Laughing emojis. Wolf emojis. Money transfers. $2k here. $5k there. "Side pot for when she breaks."
The shower shut off.
I dropped the phone like it burned. It clattered back onto the nightstand. Face down.
I scrambled under the covers. Curled into a ball. Pretended to sleep.
Aiden came out. Towel around his hips. Water still dripping from his hair. He glanced at the phone. Then at me.
"You're awake."
I didn't answer.
He walked over. Pulled the sheet down just enough to see my face.
"Bad dream?"
I met his eyes. Forced my voice steady.
"Just tired."
He studied me. Long. Searching.
Then he smiled. Small. Knowing.
"Get up. We have breakfast with the council in an hour. Wear the red one. The short one."
He turned away. Dropped the towel. Started dressing like nothing was wrong.
I lay there. Staring at the ceiling.
The messages burned behind my eyes.
They weren't just playing a game.
They were documenting it. Betting on my destruction like it was fantasy football.
And the worst part?
The part that made bile rise in my throat?
A tiny, sick voice in my head whispered:
He's winning.
Because even now—reading that, knowing that—I still felt the pull. The ache between my legs from last night. The way my body had arched for him. The way I'd clung.
I hated him.
I hated them.
But most of all, I hated the girl who was starting to wonder if surviving him meant becoming what he wanted.
I got out of bed.
Walked to the closet.
Pulled out the red dress.
Short. Tight. Slit up the thigh.
I put it on.
Zipped it myself.
Looked in the mirror.
The girl staring back had dark circles. Swollen lips from biting them to keep quiet. Eyes that looked older than twenty-one.
But they weren't broken yet.
Not completely.
I smoothed the fabric over my hips.
Took a breath.
Then I walked out to face him.
Because if this was a game, I was done being the only one who didn't know the rules.
Time to start learning how to cheat.