The moment the video landed on her phone, Liana froze.
It started with a still—Kian, lips tangled with Sasha's , bodies pressed together like they belonged. Her husband. The man she had built her world with. The man she thought she had mastered the art of hiding from.
A rush of cold rage surged through her. Not heartbreak. Not shock. Just... rage.
She didn't flinch when the hooded man beside her shifted closer on the couch. His presence was no longer unfamiliar. His scent,cologne mixed with smoke,wrapped around her like a secret she had already embraced.
"I told you," he said, his voice low and smooth. "He's slipping. All we have to do now… is tighten the noose."
She closed the video and placed the phone face down on the table. Her fingers trembled, but not from pain. From calculation.
It hadn't always been this way. There was a time when she used to wait for Kian's attention. When she thought dressing prettier, being gentler, quieter, more patient,would bring him back to her. But he had stopped seeing her long before he touched Sasha.
The first time she met the man in the hood, she had been crying in her car, just outside a late-night cafe. Her tears blurred the road. Her soul blurred with it. He had tapped gently on her window.
"You okay?" he asked, brows furrowed
She had lied and nodded.
He handed her a napkin. "Your eyes say otherwise."
She didn't ask his name then. But she remembered the gentleness in his voice. It was addictive.
Their paths crossed again, and again,then deliberately. She wasn't sure if he had followed her or if fate had decided she needed a distraction. But soon, the distraction became routine. And routine turned into desire.
The first time she let him touch her, she cried after. Not because it hurt. But because it didn't. Because it felt like reclaiming power.
Now, months in, the guilt had rotted into something colder,indifference. And this man beside her,this hooded stranger with secrets of his own,was no longer just her escape. He was her partner.
They had already spoken of what might happen if Kian ever strayed. What they could do with it.
Now it was real.
She lifted her glass of wine, took a slow sip, and turned toward the man. "It's time."
He raised a brow. "For the plan?"
She nodded. "We'll twist this around. He won't leave her. But he won't leave me either."
"You think he'll go for an open relationship?" His smirk was sly, like he already knew the answer.
Liana let out a hollow laugh. "Men always do when they think it's their idea."
She leaned back against the couch, letting her mind drift into strategy. Kian was proud. Possessive. Deeply flawed. But he also feared losing face. If she played it just right—if she showed the right amount of hurt, and then offered understanding… she could bend him.
Make him stay. But on her terms.
She'd pretend to forgive him. Then gently introduce the concept of freedom. Emotional flexibility. She'd make it seem like she was trying to save their marriage. But what she'd really be doing… was freeing herself entirely while keeping his resources close.
The hooded man stood, stretching. "You sure you're ready for this?"
She met his gaze, sharp and unwavering. "He gave me what I needed. A reason."
He stepped behind her, rested his hands on her shoulders. "And what do you need now?"
"Control," she said simply.
He grinned, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, "Then we'll take it."
Meanwhile, back in time ,the flashback:
It was at a charity gala. One of those glitzy events where Kian was glued to conversations that made her invisible. Liana had slipped outside for air, her dress clinging too tightly to her irritation.
That's when he appeared again,hooded, leaning casually against a column.
"Escaping too?" he asked, not even needing to introduce himself.
She smiled faintly. "It's exhausting pretending to be the perfect wife."
He nodded. "It's even worse pretending to be satisfied."
They stood in silence.
Then he asked her the question that changed everything.
"What would you do if no one was watching?"
She didn't answer then. But that night, when Kian got home late, reeking of scotch and indifference, she found herself dialing a number she never saved under a name she didn't recognize.
One touch. One night. Then two. Then secrecy became solace.
She justified it for weeks,Kian wasn't the man she married. She was lonely. Desperate. Unseen. But the truth was simpler.
She wanted more.
Now she had it.
But the price was shifting,and she planned to be the one holding the scales.
She stood, walking slowly to the window, watching the city blink like it held answers in its lights. Somewhere out there, Kian was probably tangled in Sasha's sheets, thinking he was being clever.
She allowed herself a moment of pain. Then she buried it.
Love was no longer the goal. Survival was.
And now that she had the video, the leverage, and a man who didn't ask for explanations,she was ready to act.
Kian wouldn't see it coming.
But he would feel it.
She sends Kian a text.
"We need to talk. Just you and me. Tonight."
The message was sent.
She didn't wait for a reply.
Her lips curled into a smile.
Let the game begin...