JIDE
Five Years Ago…
It had been years since I last saw her—until a few months ago, when we crossed paths again at a classmate's wedding.
She looked radiant, just like I remembered. That day, she wore a short silk green dress that hugged her figure and stopped at her upper thighs. She was captivating—glowing, confident, unforgettable.
I couldn't look away. I was completely drawn to her.
She matched the dress with black strappy heels and a sleek black purse. Effortlessly stylish, as always.
She'd always had a thing for red hair. It wasn't natural, but the wigs she wore came in every shade of red you could imagine. I used to wonder if red was her favorite color.
At the wedding, she wore a red, shoulder-length braided bob. She never liked long hair—said it was too much of a hassle.
Her makeup was bold—just like her. Dark, smoky eyes and her signature black lipstick. That was her look. Fierce and unapologetic.
Her brown skin glowed with a rich, even tone. I admired it. I admired her. She always had a way of standing out—effortlessly dazzling in every way.
She had the look of an angel—innocent eyes, breathtaking lips, a stunning face. Her body moved with the kind of grace that could make any man lose his mind. And her smile? Sweet enough to make you forget your own name.
But beneath all that beauty… she was trouble.
Not just a rebel—she was a heartbreaker. A true playgirl. Wild and unpredictable. Sometimes, she felt more dangerous than the devil himself.
Her parents are good people. Kind, warm, respected. They come from money, just like mine. A proper family, with a name people admire. But her? You'd never guess she came from that kind of home.
She wore her beauty like a mask, covering up the chaos underneath. Proof that appearances can lie. You really can't judge a book by its cover.
She was rude, careless with her words, and spoiled to the core. Honestly, I sometimes wondered why anyone even tried to get close to her.
And yet—I did.
Yes… I fell for her.
Hard.
Have you ever heard of love at first sight? That ridiculous thing they write songs and poems about?
Well, it happened to me. And it hit like a punch to the chest.
I fell in love with her the moment she walked into my life.
Even knowing who she was… even seeing her for what she really is… I still loved her. I still chose her—above every other girl who could have made sense.
Even if she never saw my worth.
I never planned to fall for anyone—especially not her. Of all people, she was the last person I ever expected to catch feelings for.
Want to know why?
Back in college, we lived under the same roof. Same dorm, same hostel, same room.
Yeah, we were actually roommates.
I was the quiet type—bookish, introverted, barely noticed. She was the complete opposite. Loud, bold, untamed. We were like oil and water, two different worlds that weren't meant to mix.
She couldn't stand me from the start, though she wore a polite smile when it mattered.
Like those nights when she needed something.
Whenever she felt that urge, she'd come to me. She'd pull me into her bed like it meant nothing—but it meant everything to me.
I had kissed girls before her, but I'd never gone that far. She was my first. And in those moments, in that closeness, I thought maybe she cared. Maybe she saw something in me that others didn't.
She made me believe it was love—or at least something close.
And that's what made me fall.
I don't know what kind of power she had over me. Maybe it was charm, maybe it was manipulation—or maybe I just wanted to believe in something that was never really there.
It wasn't long before I found out the truth.
She wasn't just reckless. She was addicted—to the attention, to the rush. There were others. Many others. I wasn't special. I was just another name on her long, hidden list.
And the worst part? I didn't see it. Not at first.
We weren't just roommates anymore. We acted like something more. We were tangled up in something that felt like love on my end—but to her, it was just a game. A habit.
And I was just another player in it.
During that time, what we had stopped feeling casual. It was no longer just two roommates sharing space—it felt like something deeper. We were more than just housemates sneaking around. We became something else entirely—like lovers, though without the title.
We were together often. Again and again. And every time felt new, like a reset button had been pressed on my emotions. The more it happened, the deeper I fell.
She responded to me in ways that made me feel needed. Wanted. Appreciated. I learned quickly—faster than I ever expected.
What began with uncertainty soon turned into confidence. I'd never been that close to anyone before, and I found myself becoming someone different. Someone better—or so I thought.
Before long, I didn't even notice other girls. She was the only one I saw. The only one I wanted.
And each time we were together, my feelings multiplied. It wasn't just desire anymore. I was in love with her—completely. I started believing she felt it too. In the way she'd call my name, in the way she'd cling to me afterward. It felt real.
But that love started turning into something else. I became protective. Possessive, even. I didn't like seeing her around other guys. I'd get jealous. Quietly, but deeply. I told myself it was because I cared—and I did.
We were coursemates, studying the same program. So I tried to look out for her whenever I could. Tried to be the one she could lean on. But she didn't seem to want it. She kept her guard up, like she was afraid of letting anyone in too far.
It felt like someone had hurt her before. Like some heartbreak from the past made her shut the door on love. Commitment wasn't her thing—and maybe never was.
But I didn't care.
I was willing to wait. Willing to help her heal. Willing to give her everything she didn't ask for but maybe needed.
I was ready to love her fully.
I didn't care about where we came from, what made us different—our background, our dialects, our family expectations. None of that mattered to me.
All I wanted was her.
She made me feel alive. She changed me—from a quiet, nerdy guy no one noticed to someone who finally knew what it meant to feel.
I loved her—so much it scared me. So much that jealousy sometimes got the better of me.
But it was real. Every bit of it.
You'd be pissed too, right? If someone messed with what's yours—without your permission?
That's exactly how I felt every time I saw her kissing someone else. Or worse, making out with them like I was invisible.
So when I saw her again at the wedding two months ago, it felt like time stopped. Like she stepped right out of a dream—like some kind of miracle.
I wasn't expecting her there. But somehow, it felt like fate had brought her back—for me.
She joined the crowd, mingling only with her usual circle—people who matched her status and style. She laughed, sipped wine, and played the part perfectly.
And me? I just stood there, watching. My eyes never left her.
The last time we spoke was at our college graduation. She tore me apart with her words that day.
She told me I was nothing more than a sex toy to her—a gigolo she used whenever she needed to recharge. Nothing real. Nothing meaningful.
That was supposed to be the best day of my life. I had a ring in my pocket, ready to get down on one knee and ask her to be mine.
But she ruined it.
From that moment, I made a promise to myself: I'd see her again, and this time, I'd have my comeback.
Maybe I still had feelings for her, but those feelings had turned into something else—something closer to revenge.
Because I refuse to forget that she used me for four years—just to satisfy herself.
That revenge started at that wedding.
She caught the bouquet. I caught the garter.
When I slipped that garter up her thigh, I saw the surprise—and maybe a little shame—in her eyes. She hadn't expected to see me after all these years.
It felt like I'd turned the tables, like I'd made her run.
But I wasn't done.
I wasn't going to miss my chance to talk to her again. To see if there was still something left between us—or at least to satisfy the urge that still burned inside me.
So, I went after her.
She was searching for the quickest place to hide in the bathroom foyer when I caught her. I teased her a little, and before I knew it, we were tangled up—quick, urgent, like no time had passed between us.
She begged for more, and I didn't hold back. I gave it to her rough—hard and fierce.
Afterwards, I slipped away without asking for her number.
I remember the silence that followed—how quiet she became right after. There was a flicker of shame in her eyes, like a kid caught red-handed. We'd just reconnected after all those years, and in that moment, it felt like everything was both new and painfully familiar.
I didn't say a word. I left, letting her decide if she wanted to chase me.
But she didn't.
That silence gnawed at me. I grew restless, impatient.
I even tried pulling strings—my dad, her father's best friend, hoping that connection would work in my favor. But it didn't. Maybe if I'd acted faster, it would have.
I was running out of patience, edging closer to breaking point every day.
Then one of my investigators gave me detailed updates on her movements.
I tracked her down to her father's hotel in Japan. I knew she'd had a tough day and was looking for some company—a gigolo to keep her company in bed.
So I paid the man she'd hired and took his place.
Disguised as the gigolo from her dating app, I stepped into her world.
And I'll admit—last night was one of the sweetest nights I've ever had with her. This time, she was all mine. No strings, no fees.
I gave it to her hot—intense and consuming.
I made her cry. I made her whimper. I made her lose herself beneath me.
I made her do things she never imagined she would.
********
Sharon
Ouch.
My head was pounding—heavy, dull, like someone had stuffed my skull with bricks. My neck felt like it could snap under the weight.
Yeah, I definitely overdid it last night.
Too many glasses of wine… and very intense sex.
Not that I'm complaining. I won't lie—the sex was amazing. Easily the best I've had in months.
Besides, my doctor always says good sex is great for the immune system. So technically, I was just doing myself a favor.
Still groggy, I rolled over, one arm lazily sweeping across the sheets as I searched for my phone. I suddenly remembered—I have an early flight to Wrocław today. Damn.
My fingers brushed something solid. Something warm. Something that definitely felt like—
Muscle.
Wait... what?
That wasn't a pillow. It was a chest. A man's chest.
My gigolos never stay the night. Ever. That's part of the deal—no morning-after awkwardness. So why was this one still here?
Half-asleep, I mumbled and gave him a soft nudge. "Hey... time's up. You need to go. It's morning."
I expected him to stir, maybe grunt an apology and leave quietly.
But instead, he slid his arm around me, pulling me close like we were lovers waking up from a dream.
That snapped me fully awake.
I shoved his arm off and bolted upright. "What the hell?"
I tapped his shoulder sharply. "I said leave! Are you deaf?"
He finally stirred, pushing himself up in bed. The covers fell to his waist, revealing a body I couldn't ignore—even if I wanted to.
Broad chest. Defined abs. Strong arms. That eight-pack...
Something about him pulled at my memory.
My eyes lingered a little too long before the realization hit me like cold water.
I knew this body.
And I definitely hadn't hired him.
I don't repeat partners. Ever.
So how is he here again?
My head was still reeling when the realization struck like a lightning bolt.
"Oh…" I gasped under my breath.
He was the last person I ever expected to see again—let alone wake up next to.
In my room?
How?
"Long time no see, baby girl," he said, his voice low and smug, lips curled into a devilish smirk.
Instinctively, I clutched the duvet to my chest, shielding myself from his eyes—those eyes that were already tracing every inch of me like they had a right to.
"How did you get into my room, Jide?" I snapped, trying to sound in control, but my voice betrayed me—too tight, too unsure.
Inside, panic simmered.
We were alone. Just the two of us.
And my mind spun to dark corners—What if he snaps? What if this turns violent? Would anyone even know?
I'm my father's only child. The thought of vanishing without a trace haunted me in that moment.
He took a slow step forward. I instinctively edged back. He stopped just short, but his gaze didn't.
I hated how familiar his eyes felt. How bold. How hungry.
"Don't act like I haven't seen you in your highest moments," he murmured, running a hand through his tousled hair.
I glanced down at my body beneath the covers, then back at him.
No. No way.
"You… you were the guy I slept with last night?"
A small part of me cringed, because—truth be told—I had enjoyed it. But that wasn't the point.
He nodded, cool as ever. "Of course I was. Why? Got a problem with that?"
"Are you kidding me?" My voice rose. "You broke into my room and slept with me without my consent, Jide. That's not just wrong—it's insane!"
I was fuming.
This was Jide.
My father's best friend's son. My college roommate. The quiet classmate I once pulled into my web—used him like a substitute gigolo because it was convenient.
And when I got bored? I tossed him aside like yesterday's news.
Don't blame me—I've never hidden who I am. I'm a playgirl. I don't do love. I just live.
But now? It feels like the game flipped.
And I'm the one being played.
"Hey, watch your words," he warned, his tone low and sharp.
God, that Igbo accent—I'd forgotten how much it annoyed me. The way he dragged his phrases, like 'Nna eh', made my skin crawl.
"I'm not going to stand here while you insult me," he added.
Who the hell let this man into my room?
"Benjamin! Benjamin!" I shouted, calling for the head of my security. He was supposed to be right outside. "Benja—"
"Can you stop yelling?" Jide snapped, rubbing his temple. "My ears are literally ringing."
"You bastard. How did you even get in here?" I spat.
He raised a brow, completely unbothered. "Oh, so now I'm a bastard, huh?" His voice dripped with sarcasm. "Funny. You didn't seem to mind when you were under me last night, moaning like your life depended on it. Guess that makes both of us bastards."
I clenched my jaw, fuming. "I didn't say anything sweet. Stop making things up."
"Sure," he muttered, then flopped back onto the bed like he had all the time in the world.
I'd had enough.
"Mary! Get in here! Right now, or you're fired!" I yelled toward the door.
Nothing.
No response. No footsteps. Not even a knock.
Where the hell were they? Was this room soundproof?
My eyes found the intercom—of course it was on his side.
I stormed out of bed, completely naked, not caring anymore. I just wanted him out.
But the second I reached for the intercom, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down—right on top of him.
"Ugh," I groaned, trying to avoid touching him. "Get off."
"Why are you acting like such a mouse?" he said with a smirk.
"What did you just say—?"
Before I could finish, he flipped us.
In one quick move, I was on my back, him hovering above me, his eyes locked on mine. My pulse quickened as I felt the weight of the moment settle in.
Everything was moving too fast.
Too familiar.
Too dangerous.
He pinned me to the bed, my body pressed firmly beneath his, fully exposed beneath his gaze. One hand held both of mine above my head, his grip strong, unyielding. His eyes locked onto mine, dark and consuming, like he could see straight through me.
Panic surged in my chest.
All I wanted in that moment was to break free. To run. To escape.
But I knew it was pointless.
Especially when I watched him reach into the drawer beside the bed… and pull out a fresh condom.
No. No, no, no.
"Jide, I'm on my period," I lied quickly, voice shaky.
He didn't even pause, just tore the packet open with his teeth. "That didn't stop you last night," he said flatly. "Try again."
Damn. He had a point.
Think, Sharon, think!
"I—I have a flight," I stammered. "To Wrocław. This morning."
That was true. And honestly, I was probably already late.
He glanced at me like I'd just told him it might rain. "My chopper's waiting on the rooftop. I'll fly you back to Poland myself."
I blinked.
What?
He can fly?
Since when does Jide have a damn helicopter?