The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long, honey-colored shadows through the windows of Monalisa's home as Sam and Cherry retreated upstairs. The day had been a grueling marathon of work, leaving them both drained. After the steam of hot showers had washed away the grime of the office, and a quick, silent meal had settled in their stomachs, they collapsed into their respective beds. Within minutes, the rhythmic sound of Sam's snoring filled the room, a stark contrast to the quiet tension that usually followed them.
A soft, persistent knock punctured the silence, dragging Cherry from the heavy depths of sleep. She groaned softly, her limbs feeling like lead, but the curiosity of a guest at this hour pulled her upright. She reached for her matching silk maxi robe, the fabric cool and fluid against her skin, and knotted the belt tight around her waist. Sliding her feet into her black, fluffy fur slippers, she padded toward the door, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
When she swung the door open, the air seemed to vanish from the hallway.
Standing there was a figure that looked less like a houseguest and more like a high-fashion editorial come to life. He was tall, his fair skin luminous even in the dim hallway light, and his hair was meticulously plaited back in straight, sharp lines. Cherry froze, her hand still hovering over the doorframe as she took him in. He had the kind of bone structure that commanded attention—a jawline so sharp it looked sculpted, and eyes framed by brows that had clearly been groomed to perfection.
He wore a shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing a chest that was chiseled and bronzed. Cherry's gaze involuntarily drifted downward, noting the way his tight jeans hugged his frame, ending at a pair of black Balenciaga slides. Even his toes were neatly manicured.
"If you keep looking at me like that, I might lose it," he said, his voice a low, melodic rumble. A playful giggle escaped him, a sign that he was well aware of the effect he was having.
Cherry's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Ahem..." she cleared her throat, trying to swallow the sudden dryness. "I'm sorry."
She tried to look away, but inside the room, Sam had stirred. Sam sat up, propped on her elbows, watching with an amused, knowing smirk as Cherry struggled to regain her composure.
"No, no, it's okay," he reassured her, his smile widening. "I heard y'all come in. Plus, my aunt has told me a lot about you, so I was dying to get to know you."
The pieces clicked into place. This was Kael, Monalisa's nephew.
"Oh! Yeah, we were just... working," Cherry stammered, extending her hand for a formal handshake. He took it, but his grip was lingering, hesitant.
"You don't like handshakes?" Cherry asked, slowly withdrawing her hand when the silence stretched too long.
"When it comes to ladies, I'm more of a hugging type... if you don't mind," he countered, his eyes locking onto hers.
"I actually mind," Cherry retorted, though the blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. "And well, I didn't get your name."
"Kael," he replied, his voice dropping an octave. He tilted his head slightly, and for a moment, the space between them felt electric. Cherry felt herself leaning in, drawn by the gravity of his presence. Her heart raced—a frantic, high-performance engine echoing the speed of a Lamborghini. She could smell him now—a mix of expensive oud and fresh linen. His lips were a natural, soft pink against his spotless complexion. Just one more inch, and the world would have dissolved.
"Heyyy!! I'm right here!" Sam's voice cut through the fog like a siren.
They both jumped back. Cherry looked away, her face burning, while Kael merely chuckled, undeterred.
"I might see you around dinner then," he said, taking a step back but lingering in the doorway. He pulled out his phone and held it toward her. A slow smile tugged at Cherry's lips. The desperation she felt was alien to her—a sudden, fierce need to stay in his orbit. She took the phone, dialed her number, and felt her own device buzz on the bed behind her.
As Kael walked away, Sam exploded. "What the hell was that!"
Cherry shut the door, leaning her back against it. "What does it seem like?"
"You were acting like a child! Don't tell me he actually entices you?" Sam asked, watched Cherry begin to frantically rifle through her wardrobe, pulling out the Skims lounge pieces she'd snagged during Black Friday.
"He's cute, and I'm single," Cherry said, blowing a raspberry. "Good timing, so I'm going to mingle."
"Is this your way of venting? Trying to have sex with a stranger to forget Travis?"
Cherry stopped, a silver dress clutched in her hands. "I'm not trying to do anything, Sam. I'm going to live my life. It doesn't have to be official. It just has to be... fun."
"Travis has been blowing up your phone—"
Cherry raised a hand, her five fingers forming a firm 'stop' sign. "He was never into me, Samantha."
"You're so mad you're using my full name," Sam muttered.
"Because you're trying to ruin this! I want what you have with Amole. No strings, just... heat."
Sam burst into laughter, a genuine, belly-aching sound. "What! Is it funny?" Cherry demanded.
"Actually, it is," Sam gasped for air. "You judge me constantly for my affairs, and now you want to join the club? C'mon, Cher, you aren't that girl."
"Oh, you've got me all wrong," Cherry said, her voice dropping to a serious, cold tone. "I am definitely that girl. Remember Green? The basketball star? That wasn't love, Sam. That was a fantasy I turned into reality. I'm done playing the wife role for guys who don't see me."
The room went quiet as the weight of Cherry's words settled. The transformation was happening in real-time. But before they could dig deeper, Cherry's phone chimed. It was a text from Cheryl, the intern she'd been wary of, inviting her for a night out.
Then, Sam's face went pale. She shoved her own phone toward Cherry. "Look."
Cherry's stomach dropped. There she was, trending at number two on the school's gossip blog. 'Travis and the Mystery Girl.' The video was grainy but unmistakable. Rage replaced her heartache. She dialed the number of the girl she knew was responsible.
The call connected. "How dare you do this! I asked you not to—"
"Hello! Good afternoon! How is your day? Fine, thank you," the voice on the other end interrupted with dripping irony.
"I specifically asked you not to post that," Cherry hissed.
"Please," the girl retorted, her voice hardening. "Don't talk to me in that tone. You aren't my boss. I'm not interested in Travis's playoffs anymore—my blog has more traffic than his games ever will. I have better things to do than listen to you rant."
Click.
The line went dead. Cherry stood in the middle of the room, shaking. "Girls nowadays have no loyalty," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, Cher," Sam tried to reach out, but Cherry was already moving. She grabbed the silver gown—the shortest, tightest thing she owned—and marched toward the bathroom.
"Is that the 'seduction' outfit?" Sam called out.
"It's the 'I don't care' outfit," Cherry replied through gritted teeth. She told Sam about Cheryl's invite to the bar.
"Why am I not invited?" Sam asked, her feelings clearly bruised.
Cherry paused at the bathroom door, looking at her best friend. She didn't want to lie anymore. "I don't know, Sam. Maybe because tonight, everyone is playing a game, and I'm the only one who didn't know the rules."The afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long, honey-colored shadows through the windows of Monalisa's home as Sam and Cherry retreated upstairs. The day had been a grueling marathon of work, leaving them both drained. After the steam of hot showers had washed away the grime of the office, and a quick, silent meal had settled in their stomachs, they collapsed into their respective beds. Within minutes, the rhythmic sound of Sam's snoring filled the room, a stark contrast to the quiet tension that usually followed them.
A soft, persistent knock punctured the silence, dragging Cherry from the heavy depths of sleep. She groaned softly, her limbs feeling like lead, but the curiosity of a guest at this hour pulled her upright. She reached for her matching silk maxi robe, the fabric cool and fluid against her skin, and knotted the belt tight around her waist. Sliding her feet into her black, fluffy fur slippers, she padded toward the door, blinking the sleep from her eyes.
When she swung the door open, the air seemed to vanish from the hallway.
Standing there was a figure that looked less like a houseguest and more like a high-fashion editorial come to life. He was tall, his fair skin luminous even in the dim hallway light, and his hair was meticulously plaited back in straight, sharp lines. Cherry froze, her hand still hovering over the doorframe as she took him in. He had the kind of bone structure that commanded attention—a jawline so sharp it looked sculpted, and eyes framed by brows that had clearly been groomed to perfection.
He wore a shirt with the top two buttons undone, revealing a chest that was chiseled and bronzed. Cherry's gaze involuntarily drifted downward, noting the way his tight jeans hugged his frame, ending at a pair of black Balenciaga slides. Even his toes were neatly manicured.
"If you keep looking at me like that, I might lose it," he said, his voice a low, melodic rumble. A playful giggle escaped him, a sign that he was well aware of the effect he was having.
Cherry's heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. "Ahem..." she cleared her throat, trying to swallow the sudden dryness. "I'm sorry."
She tried to look away, but inside the room, Sam had stirred. Sam sat up, propped on her elbows, watching with an amused, knowing smirk as Cherry struggled to regain her composure.
"No, no, it's okay," he reassured her, his smile widening. "I heard y'all come in. Plus, my aunt has told me a lot about you, so I was dying to get to know you."
The pieces clicked into place. This was Kael, Monalisa's nephew.
"Oh! Yeah, we were just... working," Cherry stammered, extending her hand for a formal handshake. He took it, but his grip was lingering, hesitant.
"You don't like handshakes?" Cherry asked, slowly withdrawing her hand when the silence stretched too long.
"When it comes to ladies, I'm more of a hugging type... if you don't mind," he countered, his eyes locking onto hers.
"I actually mind," Cherry retorted, though the blush creeping up her neck betrayed her. "And well, I didn't get your name."
"Kael," he replied, his voice dropping an octave. He tilted his head slightly, and for a moment, the space between them felt electric. Cherry felt herself leaning in, drawn by the gravity of his presence. Her heart raced—a frantic, high-performance engine echoing the speed of a Lamborghini. She could smell him now—a mix of expensive oud and fresh linen. His lips were a natural, soft pink against his spotless complexion. Just one more inch, and the world would have dissolved.
"Heyyy!! I'm right here!" Sam's voice cut through the fog like a siren.
They both jumped back. Cherry looked away, her face burning, while Kael merely chuckled, undeterred.
"I might see you around dinner then," he said, taking a step back but lingering in the doorway. He pulled out his phone and held it toward her. A slow smile tugged at Cherry's lips. The desperation she felt was alien to her—a sudden, fierce need to stay in his orbit. She took the phone, dialed her number, and felt her own device buzz on the bed behind her.
As Kael walked away, Sam exploded. "What the hell was that!"
Cherry shut the door, leaning her back against it. "What does it seem like?"
"You were acting like a child! Don't tell me he actually entices you?" Sam asked, watched Cherry begin to frantically rifle through her wardrobe, pulling out the Skims lounge pieces she'd snagged during Black Friday.
"He's cute, and I'm single," Cherry said, blowing a raspberry. "Good timing, so I'm going to mingle."
"Is this your way of venting? Trying to have sex with a stranger to forget Travis?"
Cherry stopped, a silver dress clutched in her hands. "I'm not trying to do anything, Sam. I'm going to live my life. It doesn't have to be official. It just has to be... fun."
"Travis has been blowing up your phone—"
Cherry raised a hand, her five fingers forming a firm 'stop' sign. "He was never into me, Samantha."
"You're so mad you're using my full name," Sam muttered.
"Because you're trying to ruin this! I want what you have with Amole. No strings, just... heat."
Sam burst into laughter, a genuine, belly-aching sound. "What! Is it funny?" Cherry demanded.
"Actually, it is," Sam gasped for air. "You judge me constantly for my affairs, and now you want to join the club? C'mon, Cher, you aren't that girl."
"Oh, you've got me all wrong," Cherry said, her voice dropping to a serious, cold tone. "I am definitely that girl. Remember Green? The basketball star? That wasn't love, Sam. That was a fantasy I turned into reality. I'm done playing the wife role for guys who don't see me."
The room went quiet as the weight of Cherry's words settled. The transformation was happening in real-time. But before they could dig deeper, Cherry's phone chimed. It was a text from Cheryl, the intern she'd been wary of, inviting her for a night out.
Then, Sam's face went pale. She shoved her own phone toward Cherry. "Look."
Cherry's stomach dropped. There she was, trending at number two on the school's gossip blog. 'Travis and the Mystery Girl.' The video was grainy but unmistakable. Rage replaced her heartache. She dialed the number of the girl she knew was responsible.
The call connected. "How dare you do this! I asked you not to—"
"Hello! Good afternoon! How is your day? Fine, thank you," the voice on the other end interrupted with dripping irony.
"I specifically asked you not to post that," Cherry hissed.
"Please," the girl retorted, her voice hardening. "Don't talk to me in that tone. You aren't my boss. I'm not interested in Travis's playoffs anymore—my blog has more traffic than his games ever will. I have better things to do than listen to you rant."
Click.
The line went dead. Cherry stood in the middle of the room, shaking. "Girls nowadays have no loyalty," she whispered.
"I'm sorry, Cher," Sam tried to reach out, but Cherry was already moving. She grabbed the silver gown—the shortest, tightest thing she owned—and marched toward the bathroom.
"Is that the 'seduction' outfit?" Sam called out.
"It's the 'I don't care' outfit," Cherry replied through gritted teeth. She told Sam about Cheryl's invite to the bar.
"Why am I not invited?" Sam asked, her feelings clearly bruised.
Cherry paused at the bathroom door, looking at her best friend. She didn't want to lie anymore. "I don't know, Sam. Maybe because tonight, everyone is playing a game, and I'm the only one who didn't know the rules."