By day seven, I stopped pretending I wasn't unraveling.
Victor had rejected me six times already.
Six calculated attempts. Six humiliating retreats.
Kitchen at midnight — my fingers grazing his wrist as he poured coffee, breath warm against his collar.
Gym at dawn — my body bending, stretching, arching, daring him to look too long.
His office — robe slipping, legs crossing slowly, my pulse loud in my ears.
Dinner for two under low lights — Elena upstairs, oblivious.
A photo at midnight.
A towel dropped in the hallway.
Each time, he looked at me like a man starving at a banquet he wasn't allowed to touch.
And each time, he chose restraint.
But restraint has cracks.
This morning, I dressed in red.
Not soft red. Not romantic red.
The kind that demands.
He was adjusting his tie in the foyer when I stepped into his space.
"Let me," I said quietly.
He didn't move away.
That was mistake number one.
My fingers slid up his chest, smoothing the fabric, deliberately slow. I could feel his heartbeat under my palm. Too fast. Not calm. Not indifferent.
I leaned in, lips brushing his ear.
"I need you," I whispered. "You remember the party, don't you?"
His hands locked around my waist.
Hard.
A breath. A shift. His body pressing into mine.
For one split second, he wasn't the controlled, responsible husband.
He was the man who had pinned me against cold tile and lost himself inside me.
His grip tightened.
Then—
He pushed me away.
"We can't," he said, voice rough.
Not I don't want to.
We can't.
And that was worse.
He walked off like I hadn't just felt the truth in his hands.
I stood there shaking, humiliated and furious.
If he wanted me — and he did — then why was I the only one bleeding for it?
My phone buzzed while I was pacing my room.
Unknown number.
I almost ignored it.
I should have.
"Hello?"
"Hi, Alysa. Robert. From the party."
My stomach tightened.
I remembered his hands on my waist during that dance. The way Victor had watched us. The way tension had snapped in the air like a live wire.
"Yes?" I said carefully.
A pause.
"I saw you and Victor fucking in the restroom that night."
Everything inside me dropped.
The air thinned. My pulse roared in my ears.
"You're mistaken."
"No," he said mildly. "I'm not."
Silence.
"I think we should talk. Coffee. Today."
My brain scrambled for exits. Deny. Hang up. Threaten.
Then he added softly:
"Unless you'd rather I discuss it with your sister."
Ice slid down my spine.
"What time?" I asked.
The café was quiet. Intimate. Too intimate.
Robert was already seated when I arrived, two coffees waiting like this was a date instead of a trap.
He looked relaxed.
That scared me more than anger would have.
I sat across from him. "What do you want?"
He studied me openly. Not shy. Not apologetic.
"Victor's distracted lately," he said. "Missing details. Short temper. That's not like him."
My nails dug into my palm under the table.
"You're imagining things."
He smiled faintly. "I don't imagine. I observe."
Then he leaned forward.
"And I observe that you're playing a dangerous game in a house that isn't yours."
My chest tightened.
"Are you blackmailing me?"
"Not yet."
The way he said it — calm, almost amused — made my stomach twist.
He reached into his jacket pocket slowly.
My heart pounded.
He placed his phone on the table between us.
Tapped the screen.
And turned it toward me.
The photo was grainy.
But unmistakable.
Victor's mouth on my neck. My back against tile. His hand buried in my hair.
Proof.
My blood ran cold.
"You filmed us?" My voice barely came out.
"I didn't plan to," he said lightly. "But when you see something that interesting… you don't look away."
I felt exposed. Violated. Furious.
"What do you want?" I asked again.
He didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he studied me.
Like he was calculating.
Then—
"I don't want money."
My stomach dropped.
"Then what?"
His eyes darkened.
"You're obsessed with Victor," he said quietly. "That much is obvious."
Heat flared in my cheeks. "That's none of your business."
"It becomes my business when it affects the company."
I swallowed.
"What are you proposing?"
He leaned back.
"Simple. You stop chasing him."
My heart skipped.
"And?"
"And you start seeing me instead."
The words hit like a slap.
"That's insane."
"Is it?" He tilted his head. "You like power. You like attention. You like making men lose control. Victor is resisting you. I won't."
Disgust crawled up my spine.
"You think I'd sleep with you to protect him?"
He smiled slowly.
"No."
He leaned forward again, voice dropping.
"I think you'll do it to make him jealous."
My pulse stuttered.
Because he wasn't entirely wrong.
He tapped the phone screen again.
"If you refuse… this gets sent to Elena."
My lungs burned.
"You wouldn't."
"Try me."
Silence stretched.
The café felt smaller. Airless.
Trapped between Victor's restraint and Robert's ambition.
Between desire and destruction.
Robert picked up his coffee calmly.
"I'll give you twenty-four hours," he said.
"To decide whether you want to ruin your sister's marriage… or ruin yourself."
He stood.
Left the phone on the table.
The screen still glowing.
The photo still there.
Proof.
Leverage.
Power.
My hands trembled as I stared at it.
And for the first time since the party, I realized something worse than being rejected.
Victor wasn't the only one watching me.
I wasn't the hunter anymore.
I was the prey.