I paced back and forth in my living room, my mind racing with emotions I couldn’t control. I had left the party without a word but knew Vincent had noticed. He always did. I had overheard his conversation with his friend, words that shattered everything I believed for the past two years. To him, I was just another woman to satisfy his desires.

My hands clenched into fists. How could I have been so blind? How could I have mistaken passion for love? I had imagined confronting him, letting my anger out, and making him regret ever seeing me as just a body.

Then came the knock.

I froze, my heart pounding. I knew it was him. Of course, it was him. Taking a deep breath, I straightened my dress, set my face into a blank expression, and opened the door.

Vincent stood there, his tall frame blocking the light from the hallway. His dark eyes searched mine, his face full of concern. “Why did you leave like that?” His deep voice sent a shiver down my spine.

I avoided his gaze, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wanted to be angry. I wanted to push him away. But when he stepped closer and lifted my chin, making me look at him, I felt my resolve slipping.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now.

I wanted to scream at him, to tell him I knew everything. But instead, I stared into his eyes, and all my planned words disappeared. I had been ready for a fight, but standing this close to him, I realised just how much I still wanted him.

Then, he kissed me.

It started softly, uncertain, but quickly grew desperate. A fire spread through me, burning away the pain, the anger, the betrayal. I hated how easily I gave in and how my body reacted to him despite everything. But I didn’t stop him. I kissed him back, needing him in a way I couldn’t explain.

Vincent groaned, pulling me closer. His hands moved over my back, pressing me against him as our kiss deepened. I felt his touch through my dress, sending waves of heat through my body. His fingers trailed down my spine, making me shiver.

Before I knew it, we were moving. He guided me to the couch, his hands slipping beneath my dress, exploring, claiming. My body arched under his touch, my hands gripping his hair, pulling him in. His lips moved down my neck, leaving a trail of warmth.

“Dora,” he murmured against my skin. “Tell me you want this.”

I should have said no. I should have stopped him. But instead, I tilted my head, letting him have me.

And then we were in the bedroom.

The world outside disappeared as he undressed me slowly as if memorising every inch of my skin. I shivered under his gaze, my breath shaky. His fingers traced my body, his lips following, sending pleasure through me that made me forget everything else.

Our bodies moved together, familiar yet thrilling. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word sent me deeper into him. He made me feel like I was the only woman in his world—at least for now.

And that was the problem.

Because once the pleasure faded, once reality set in, I knew the truth would still be there.

Lying in his arms afterwards, my head resting on his chest, I felt the weight of it all. I knew I should ask him, demand the truth, and make him admit what I had heard. But I stayed quiet, listening to his heartbeat.

I wasn’t ready to face the truth. Not yet.

For now, I would live in this moment, in the illusion of something real. Because if I admitted the truth, if I walked away, I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

Dorcas Akintoye
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Dorcas Akintoye is a versatile writer with a passion for beauty, fashion, relationships, and culinary delight. With a keen eye for detail and a passion for storytelling, she adds a touch of elegance to every topic she explores. She is a writer at THEWILL DOWNTOWN.