Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sheets were ruined.

Twisted, damp with sweat, perfumed with jasmine and the sharp, earthy scent of Viper’s skin. The air was thick, heavy, still humming with the ghost of their last, shuddering breaths.

Outside, the city pulsed with neon lights, the hum of distant traffic filtering through the half-open window.

Sage lay there, draped over Viper’s body like the final stroke of an artist’s brush—soft curves against firm muscle, her fingers idly tracing the scar beneath Viper’s collarbone.

A lazy afterthought.

Viper barely reacted. She was still catching her breath, head tilted back against the pillows, dark hair mussed from Sage’s hands. A cigarette rested between her lips, unlit. She didn’t need it. The nicotine rush would be nothing compared to what Sage had already done to her.

Viper’s fingers traced lazy circles along Sage’s bare back, but there was no affection in the gesture. Just muscle memory. Just habit.

Sage exhaled slowly, pressing her cheek against Viper’s collarbone. She liked this part, the quiet lull after indulgence, where words didn’t matter and neither of them had to pretend.

There was no need for words.

Their arrangement never required them.

But Sage—Lingying Wei, the woman the world adored, the woman Viper had unraveled over and over again—wasn’t one to bask in the quiet.

She shifted against Viper’s body, her nails trailing lower, ghosting over her ribs, her stomach. A featherlight touch that wasn’t meant to comfort. It was a reminder.

A silent, knowing smirk against bare skin.

Viper exhaled sharply. Of course.

"Is that all I get?" Sage murmured, voice still raw from their last encounter. Her lips brushed the shell of Viper’s ear, heat and temptation wrapped in a single breath. "No words? No praise? No complaints?"

Viper let her eyes drift half-open, lazy and unimpressed. "You sound desperate for validation."

Sage chuckled, low and throaty. "Maybe I am."

Liar.

Viper knew better. She knew this game too well.

Sage was never the one who needed reassurance. She was the one who left people scrambling for more, the one who always slipped away before desire could turn into something more dangerous.

And yet, Viper found herself staring.

The way Sage’s hair cascaded down her bare shoulders, dark waves tumbling over soft skin. The slight sheen of sweat at her collarbone, catching the dim light of the hotel room. The slow, practiced way she pulled away, just enough to let Sabine feel the loss of warmth before she slipped off the bed entirely.

She moved like she had all the time in the world.

Viper, still sprawled on the mattress, watched as Sage reached for her cigarette pack.

The foil crinkled as she plucked one out, rolling it between her fingers. She brought it to her lips—not lighting it, just letting it rest there, contemplating.

Viper propped herself up on an elbow. "Since when do you smoke?"

Sage didn’t answer immediately. She tilted her head, eyes flicking to the city lights beyond the window. Then, as if remembering something amusing, she pulled the cigarette away and let it slip from her fingers.

It landed with a soft thud on the nightstand.

In its place, she retrieved something else.

A small silver-wrapped candy. Jasmine.

Viper’s eyes narrowed as Sage unwrapped it and placed it between her lips instead, letting the floral sweetness dissolve on her tongue.

It was deliberate. Everything she did was deliberate.

Viper knew this trick. The same one Sage had been playing since the day they first fucked. Reyna didn’t know she smoked.

"So." Her voice was low, rasping slightly from the whiskey she’d drunk earlier. "Reyna is back tonight."

It wasn’t a question.

There was no change in Sage’s expression. No hint of guilt, no hesitation. Just the faint curve of her lips as she turned, stretching her arms above her head, letting the silk sheets slide from her body like an afterthought.

"Yes," she said simply. "My wife is back tonight."

The words settled into the room like the final note of a song.

Viper said nothing. She only watched as Sage padded toward the bathroom, bare feet against cold marble. The door remained open as she moved to the sink, running cool water through her fingers, dabbing it over her throat where Viper’s lips had been. Every movement, every gesture—deliberate. Controlled.

Cleansing herself. Erasing her.

Viper let out a slow breath, turning onto her back, staring at the ceiling.

"So that means you won’t be staying with me tonight."

Sage flicked off the faucet, reaching for the robe draped over a nearby chair, slipping it over her shoulders with practiced ease. White silk. A perfect contrast to the truth.

"I suppose not."

A simple answer. Detached.

Viper should have been used to this. Should have known better than to expect anything more.

It shouldn’t have made Viper feel anything.

But the bitter taste settled on her tongue anyway.

Viper never paid much attention to her in college.

Sage had been a year younger, a quiet, diligent med student who always carried an air of grace, an untouchable quality that made people admire her from a distance. Viper had been in her own world—deep in chemistry and bio labs, dissecting theories and working late hours on experiments, barely sparing a glance at the students outside her field.

The only thing she ever heard about Sage back then?

She had a girlfriend.

Jett.

Some loud, cocky underclassman—agile, always running around with a skateboard, hair messy, voice full of laughter. Viper hadn’t cared. She wasn’t the type to give a damn about other people’s relationships.

Then, by the time Viper had graduated, Sage was still just a passing name. She had heard about the breakup. Something about Jett transferring back to Korea. Again—none of her business.

But then, months later, she saw an article.

A marriage.

Dr. Lingying Wei weds “Reyna"- Zyanya Mondragón, CEO of Mondragón Corp.

That had caught her attention.

Reyna. The empress. A woman so powerful and untouchable that even Viper—who had never cared much for wealth or high society—knew of her name. Sexy and very, very rich.

And somehow, Sage—a soft-spoken, gentle doctor—had landed her.

"Huh."

That was the only thought Viper had at the time. A mild flicker of curiosity, nothing more.

Then came Kingdom Hospital.

She hadn’t expected to see Sage again, much less as a colleague.

One day, a department head had directed Sage to her lab for assistance. Something about a new treatment requiring deeper chemical analysis. The first meeting had been professional—Viper barely acknowledged her, treating her like any other white-coat doctor who wandered into her workspace.

She wasn’t attracted to boring, innocent women.

But soon, she realized.

Sage was neither of those things.

It started small.

A glance that lingered too long. A hand brushing against hers during a lab test, not in clumsiness, but with intent. The way Sage’s lips curved when she spoke—deliberate, teasing.

Then, there were the moments at work.

The subtle, almost inappropriate things Sage would say.

"I love how precise you are with your hands, Viper."

"You’re really good at handling pressure, aren't you?"

No one else noticed. No one else saw the way Sage’s eyes flickered with amusement whenever she got away with saying just enough to send a message.

Viper was no fool.

She watched. She observed.

And she realized something.

Sage—the delicate, well-respected doctor—was dangerous.

A woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

And Viper wanted to see how far she could push her.

It wasn’t some romantic slow burn.

There were no innocent touches that turned into longing gazes, no hesitant confessions of repressed desires.

No.

It was raw. It was filthy.

It was Sage showing up at Viper’s doorstep one night, silk blouse half-unbuttoned, looking every bit the picture of a perfect wife—except her lips were swollen, pupils dark, and when she spoke, her voice was low and inviting.

"Are you going to let me in?"

And Viper, ever the scientist, had been more than willing to experiment.

The first time was rushed. Clothes torn, teeth biting into skin, hands gripping whatever they could reach. No softness, no pretense. Just heat.

The second time was slower—because Viper wanted to see.

She made Sage show her what kind of woman she really was.

And fuck, it was intoxicating.

Sage didn’t hide her lust. She embraced it. Encouraged it.

And her body—fuck.

It was made for sin.

Soft, pliant, but not delicate. Responsive.

And her voice?

Better than any porn Viper had ever watched in her teenage years.

Dirty, breathless whispers. Soft, needy gasps. Begging, teasing, moaning like she was meant to be ruined.

Viper had fucked other women before, but none of them had ever sounded like this.

And Sage? She was good. Not just at taking but at giving.

Even when she was at the top, she knew how to drive someone insane.

It was addictive.

Which was probably why Viper never bothered to end things.

Now, years later, nothing had changed.

Sage stood near the door, adjusting the belt of her robe, looking every bit the elegant, dutiful wife she pretended to be.

But Viper saw through it.

She always had.

Sage reached for her purse, fingers grazing the leather.

"Don’t miss me too much, Sabine."

A teasing farewell. A promise that meant nothing.

And then—just like always—she left.

Now, as she sat on the ruined sheets, watching the space Sage had left behind, Viper felt something annoying curl inside her.

Jealousy?

No.

That wasn’t it. She didn’t care about Sage’s little marriage.

Not really.

She just hated the routine of it.

The way Sage would slip out of her bed, pick up her good wife mask, and walk straight back to Reyna—like this was all just a temporary escape.

The way Sage never needed her, not really.

Viper reached for the cigarette Sage had thrown away earlier, rolling it between her fingers.

Then, with a sharp flick of her lighter, she set the tip ablaze.

Inhaled.

Exhaled.

The bitterness burned her throat.

I don’t care for her.

The lie tasted just as bitter as the smoke.

She took another long drag, inhaling deep, letting the nicotine settle.

It didn’t feel as good as Sage.

And that realization?

Fucking irritating.

Chapter Text

The penthouse was quiet.

Sage stepped inside, closing the door behind her with practiced ease, slipping effortlessly into the space that Reyna had built for her.

The apartment was immaculate, vast windows overlooking the glittering skyline, sleek black furniture arranged with precision. Every inch of it screamed wealth—power.

And yet, nestled amongst the expensive decor were small, carefully placed touches of warmth. A soft cashmere blanket draped over the couch, a half-finished book on the coffee table, an exotic orchid arrangement imported from some foreign country.

Little things Reyna bought for her.

Little things that said: I’m thinking of you, even when I’m away.

And there—near the open-plan kitchen—stood the Empress herself.

Zyanya Mondragón.

Reyna.

She was stunning, even after a long flight, even in the dim glow of the city lights filtering through the windows. Dark, silky hair fell in loose waves over tan shoulders, her caramel-colored skin catching the faintest sheen of sweat. She was still in the crisp white dress shirt she had worn to her business meetings, sleeves rolled up, top buttons undone, exposing a hint of her collarbones.

A drink rested in her hand—whiskey, neat.

Her other hand was tucked into her pocket, but the moment Sage stepped inside, Reyna’s posture changed.

A breath, barely noticeable, released.

Her broad shoulders softened, the tension in her frame easing like a wave receding from the shore.

"Lingying," she said, voice low, warm.

No one else in the world called Sage by her real name.

Only Reyna.

And Sage let her.

She smiled, small, sweet—the kind of smile that made Reyna’s heart ache.

"Welcome home," Sage murmured.

And just like that, Reyna was undone.

Reyna didn’t hesitate.

She set the glass down, crossed the space between them, and pulled Sage into her arms.

It was instinct.

Like she had been holding her breath for weeks, waiting for this moment—for her.

"I missed you," Reyna murmured into Sage’s hair, inhaling the delicate jasmine scent that always lingered on her.

Sage’s arms slipped around her waist, fingers resting lightly on Reyna’s lower back.

"I missed you too," she said softly. A beautiful lie.

Reyna closed her eyes.

She hated being away. Hated that her job—the empire she had built—constantly dragged her across the world, leaving her wife alone in this apartment, in this city, waiting for her.

"I’m sorry," Reyna whispered, genuine regret laced in every syllable. "I wish I could have come home sooner."

Sage pulled back just enough to look at her.

And Reyna melted.

Because those eyes—so deep, so tender—were full of nothing but understanding.

"You work hard," Sage said softly, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along Reyna’s back. "I know you do it for us."

For us.

Reyna exhaled, the weight of her own guilt pressing against her ribs.

"Still…" She reached into her pocket, fingers brushing over something small, delicate. "I got you something."

She pulled out a velvet box, carefully opening it to reveal the silver necklace nestled inside.

A beautiful, intricate pendant in the shape of a jasmine flower.

Sage’s favorite.

"Do you like it?"

Sage blinked once, then let out a soft, surprised breath.

"Reyna…"

She reached out, fingertips grazing the pendant.

"It’s beautiful."

Reyna smiled, relief washing over her.

"Let me put it on for you."

She moved behind Sage, carefully fastening the necklace around her slender neck, brushing silky strands of dark hair aside.

And as she did, her fingers lingered.

She adored her.

Adored the delicate skin beneath her fingertips, adored the elegant slope of Sage’s shoulders, adored the way she stood still, patient, trusting.

Sage was hers.

And she would give her anything.

Sage tilted her head slightly, letting Reyna touch her, cherish her.

She had always known how much power she held over this woman.

Zyanya Mondragón, the unstoppable business tycoon, the ruthless CEO feared across industries, was completely weak for her.

And Sage used it.

She played her part perfectly—the devoted, gentle wife.

She let Reyna hold her tighter, let her fingertips brush reverently over the necklace, let her press a slow, lingering kiss against the side of her neck.

"You spoil me too much," Sage whispered.

Reyna exhaled a small laugh, voice husky, low.

"You deserve to be spoiled."

Sage turned in her arms again, this time leaning up, brushing their lips together.

A chaste kiss. Sweet. Almost shy.

The kind that made Reyna’s heart ache, because she loved Sage’s shyness.

She loved how, despite being confident and elegant, her wife was reserved when it came to intimacy.

She loved knowing that she was the only one who could break through that shell.

That she was the only one who got to see Sage fall apart.

"Are you tired?" Reyna murmured, pressing another kiss to Sage’s forehead.

Sage sighed softly, as if she were actually fragile.

"A little."

Reyna cupped her face, brushing her thumb along her cheek.

"Then let me take care of you."

And Sage smiled.

Because Reyna had no idea.

No idea how much of this was a performance.

No idea that Sage had already been touched tonight. Already been fucked.

No idea that the reason she smelled like jasmine was because she had popped a candy into her mouth after discarding the cigarette she had wanted to smoke.

No idea that only hours ago, another set of hands had been on her body, another voice murmuring filth into her ear.

But Reyna wouldn’t know.

Because Sage never lost control.

She leaned into Reyna’s warmth, letting her arms tighten around her, letting her worship her like she was something to be treasured.

"I love you, Lingying."

Sage pressed her face against Reyna’s chest.

And smiled.

"I love you too."

Reyna had never been a jealous woman.

She had spent years negotiating deals with men who leered at her, powerful executives who thought they could intimidate her, who mistook her beauty for weakness.

She had crushed them all, built an empire out of their corpses.

No one controlled her. No one owned her.

And yet—this woman, this wife of hers—

Sage made her feel possessive.

Perhaps it was because Sage was so admired.

So many of Reyna’s colleagues, clients—even the fucking media—spoke of her as if she were untouchable.

"She’s exquisite, Mondragón. You’re a lucky woman."

"Dr. Wei is truly remarkable—such grace, such kindness."

"She must be so delicate, so gentle."

Reyna let them believe it.

Because Sage was graceful. She was kind.

But only Reyna got to see this side of her.

Only she got to see what lay beneath.

And tonight, she needed to see it again.

Sage lay against the pillows, dark hair fanned across the silk sheets, her body small beneath Reyna’s frame.

She looked almost shy.

Her silk robe had already slipped from one shoulder, leaving the soft curve of her collarbone bare.

She wasn’t resisting.

She never did.

And yet—Reyna loved the way Sage pretended to hesitate.

The way she let her fingers ghost along Reyna’s arm, let her breath catch ever so slightly when Reyna leaned in close, brushing lips against her ear.

"You’re beautiful, mi amor."

Sage’s lashes fluttered.

"You always say that."

"Because it’s always true."

Reyna let her weight settle, pressing Sage down, holding her in place.

She loved this—the contrast of it.

The way Sage was so composed in every other aspect of life, yet here, beneath Reyna, she came undone.

Or at least, that’s what Reyna believed.

She took her time.

She always did.

Sage’s body was a thing to be worshipped, and Reyna worshipped her like she was something divine.

Her lips moved along Sage’s neck, slow, deliberate. She felt the shiver that ran through her wife’s body, felt the way Sage’s fingers curled into the sheets.

She kissed her way down, tasting skin, savoring every reaction.

A soft sigh. A small gasp.

Every sound was a reward.

A sign that she was unraveling her.

Reyna wanted more.

She wanted to take Sage past the point of restraint.

Wanted to see her blush deeper, wanted to feel the moment where her control slipped entirely.

Wanted to be the only one who could make Sage lose herself.

Because Sage—her Sage— was always so controlled, so composed.

And Reyna wanted to ruin that elegance, if only for a moment.

Wanted to watch her perfect wife break.

It was easy.

So, so easy to let Reyna believe she had won.

To let her think she was the only one who could see Sage like this—breathless, flushed, vulnerable.

To let her believe that Sage’s hesitation, her shyness, was real.

Sage knew exactly how to move, when to arch, when to whimper just right.

She knew how to make Reyna feel like she was conquering something fragile.

How to stroke her ego while making her crave more.

Because that was the trick, wasn’t it?

If you let someone believe they had all of you, they would never suspect they had nothing at all.

So Sage let her.

Let her hold her down, kiss her deeply, murmur sweet praises against her skin.

Let her believe this moment belonged to her alone.

Let her believe she had broken her.

And when it was over—when Reyna finally pulled her close, holding her like she was something precious—

Sage let herself be cradled in her arms.

Soft. Small. The perfect wife.

Reyna kissed her forehead, voice a hushed whisper.

"You’re mine, Lingying."

Sage closed her eyes.

Smiled against Reyna’s chest.

And whispered back, in the softest, sweetest voice—

"Of course, mi amor."

Another beautiful lie.

Chapter Text

Jett had spent years preparing for this moment.

She had imagined it in a hundred different ways.

She’d see Sage again, after all this time, and maybe—just maybe—she’d have a chance to say what she never did before.

To apologize. To make things right.

To win her back.

And yet, when the moment actually came, it wasn’t at all how she expected.

The hospital lobby was polished and cold, its pristine walls and high ceilings humming with quiet efficiency.

Jett stood near the entrance, hands stuffed into the pockets of her sleek black jacket, eyes flicking between the receptionist’s desk and the hallways beyond.

Her badge—Han Sunwoo, Head Technician, Kingdom Corp—hung loosely around her neck. She hadn’t been here in years, but Kingdom’s hospital division had requested an on-site evaluation of their new systems.

She hadn’t even been thinking about her.

Until, of course, she saw her.

Sage.

She stepped into view like a ghost from the past—dressed in that immaculate white coat, dark hair swept up, her every movement precise, effortless.

For a second, Jett felt twenty again.

Felt her breath hitch, her chest tighten.

Because Sage hadn’t changed at all.

Still breathtaking. Still elegant, refined, out of reach.

And Jett—who had spent years trying to forget her, trying to become someone worthy of her—

Felt everything crash back at once.

Jett was the girl everyone wanted to be.

Fast, reckless, effortlessly cool.

She spent her days hanging out with the loudest, cockiest guys on campus—Phoenix, Yoru, even Chamber when he wasn’t being an unbearable asshole.

She partied hard, skipped classes she found boring, and coasted through life on raw talent. Genius, but untamed.

And then—there was Sage.

Her Sage.

The one thing Jett always bragged about.

"You don’t get it, mate," she’d tell Phoenix, throwing an arm around his shoulder as they lounged in the campus courtyard. "She’s not just hot—she’s fucking perfect."

"Right, right," Phoenix would smirk. "And this perfect girl of yours actually puts up with your shit?"

"Puts up with it? Please, she loves me."

And Jett believed it.

Because every time she did something reckless, every time she skipped a class or got into trouble, Sage was always there.

Waiting for her.

Calm, elegant, patient. So fucking patient.

And Jett—arrogant, stupid Jett—never thought that patience would run out.

Jett hated rules.

And Sage? Sage was full of them.

"Sunwoo, don’t drink so much."

"Do you ever think about your future?"

"You could be so much more, if you actually cared."

And Jett would roll her eyes, laugh it off, kiss Sage’s cheek and say—

"Babe, I’m fine. You worry too much."

And Sage would sigh, but never push too hard.

Because that was the thing—Sage never begged her to change.

Never yelled, never threatened, never acted like she was angry.

Instead, she would just look at Jett.

With that quiet disappointment.

That look Jett fucking hated.

Because it made her feel small.

So they fought.

Small things. Little arguments.

Jett forgetting a date because she was drinking with Phoenix.
Sage texting her to come home, and Jett leaving her on read.
Jett saying something careless, something stupid, making Sage’s eyes flash with something unreadable.

"Do you even care about anything?" Sage had asked her once.

Jett had brushed it off.

She didn’t realize how much that question mattered.

Not until it was too late.

The breakup was silent.

Jett hadn’t even realized it happened.

One day, Sage just stopped replying.

No texts.
No calls.
Nothing.

At first, Jett shrugged it off.

"She’s mad, but she’ll get over it."

"She always does."

Then a day passed.

Then two.

Then a week.

And suddenly—her Sage was gone.

No confrontation.
No explanation.
No last fight to hold onto.

Just silence.

And when Jett finally swallowed her pride and asked a friend what the hell was going on—

"Oh, you guys broke up."

Just like that.

Like it was nothing.

Like she hadn’t just lost the best thing that had ever happened to her.

Jett laughed. Pretended it didn’t hurt.

Then she failed her next exam.
Then she stopped going to class.
Then she got so fucking wasted that Phoenix had to drag her back to her dorm.

And before she knew it—she was on the verge of dropping out.

So she left.

Transferred to Korea.

Convinced herself she’d move on.

Jett tried.

She fucking tried.

Tried to erase Sage’s voice from her head.

Tried to forget the feeling of Sage’s hands pulling her closer, the warmth of her body in the middle of the night.

Tried to convince herself that she didn’t need her.

And so, she dated.

A lot.

At first, she went for girls like Sage. Smart, composed, elegant.

But none of them had her voice.
None of them had her touch.

So she switched.

Started dating reckless, wild girls.

Women who drank as much as she did.
Women who kissed her like they wanted to drown.

It didn’t work.

None of it fucking worked.

Because no matter how many women she kissed—her body never reacted the way it did when Sage touched her.

No one else made her ache.

No one else made her feel raw.

And one by one, they all left her.

Because no one wanted to be compared to a ghost.

Jett thought she had been getting better.

She had stopped drinking so much.
She had started climbing her way up in Kingdom Corp.
She had convinced herself that she was over it.

And then—she saw the news.

Dr. Lingying Wei marries Zyanya Mondragón.

Jett had stared at the article for a full five minutes.

Read the words over and over again, waiting for them to make sense.

Sage was married.

To someone else.

To fucking Reyna.

Jett laughed.

Then she drank herself into a blackout.

She woke up in a hospital bed.

Phoenix was standing over her, arms crossed, looking both pissed and a little worried.

"You good, mate?"

And Jett—who had always been so fucking good at pretending she didn’t care—

Couldn’t even answer.

Because something inside her had finally broken.

And through it all, one thing never changed.

She never got over her.

"Sunwoo?"

Jett blinked, reality snapping back into focus.

And there she was.

Sage stood in front of her, looking—fuck, she looked good.

Slightly surprised, lips parting in that familiar way. The way she used to whenever Jett did something unexpected.

"I didn’t know you were back."

Jett swallowed, forcing her voice to work.

"Yeah. Came back a while ago." She let out a small, awkward chuckle. "Guess I’m not as easy to get rid of as you thought."

Sage’s lips curved—just slightly.

"I never wanted to get rid of you."

And just like that, Jett was gone.

Because that tone—that soft, delicate sadness—made her chest ache.

It wasn’t just the words. It was the way Sage said them.

Like she had regrets too.

Like maybe this wasn’t what she wanted.

Like maybe she missed Jett just as much as Jett missed her.

And Jett—who had spent years blaming herself, drowning in guilt—

Felt something dangerous spark inside her.

Hope.

Sage tilted her head, studying Jett with quiet interest.

"You work here now?"

"Not exactly. Kingdom’s R&D head. Just checking on system integrations."

"Impressive."

Jett chuckled, rubbing the back of her neck. "Well, someone had to clean up the mess I made back in school."

A pause.

A silence that felt charged.

Then, softly—

"I heard you got married."

Sage’s lashes lowered.

"...I did."

Something about the way she said it—quiet, almost reluctant—sent Jett’s mind racing.

She had expected certainty, confidence.

But instead, Sage’s fingers fidgeted just slightly, her gaze flicking downward before meeting Jett’s again.

Unhappy.

The word bloomed in Jett’s mind, unspoken, dangerous.

Sage didn’t say it.

She didn’t need to.

Jett saw it in her posture. In the slight, barely-there sigh that passed through her lips.

In the fact that she wasn’t wearing a ring.

And just like that, everything in Jett’s chest tightened.

She left me because of this?

Because she thought she needed something better?

But if she’s not happy, then—

"I should go," Sage murmured suddenly, glancing at the clock. "It was… good to see you, Sunwoo."

She turned to leave.

And Jett—helpless, desperate, drowning in old feelings, falling all over again—

Grabbed her wrist.

"Wait."

Sage looked at her.

And for the first time in years, Jett had hope.

She wasn’t letting her go.

Not again.

Chapter Text

"Wait."

Jett’s voice came out rougher than she intended, her grip firm around Sage’s wrist.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Jett could feel the warmth of her skin, the faint trace of her pulse beneath her fingertips.

Sage turned her head, slow, deliberate—a queen looking over her shoulder.

And when her gaze met Jett’s—calm, unreadable—

Jett felt something.

Desperate. Hungry. Weak.

"Sunwoo."

Just her name. Nothing else.

But it still made Jett’s stomach clench.

"Let me buy you dinner," she blurted out. Too fast. Too eager.

A pause.

Then, finally—Sage smiled.

Soft. Sweet.

A fucking masterpiece of deception.

"Alright."

Jett never stood a chance.

Jett thought she had grown.

She thought she had matured, sharpened herself into something better—someone Sage could look at without seeing the reckless college girl she had once been.

But standing here, feeling the warmth of Sage’s presence, hearing the soft, deliberate melody of her voice…

She realized she was still the same.

Still helpless. Still pathetic.

Still hers.

Jett had thought she was the one in control.

Back in college, she was the wild one. The queen of campus.

Popular, cocky, untamed.

Every girl wanted her.

Every guy wanted to be her.

But none of them mattered.

Because Jett had Sage.

And that meant she had everything.

It hadn’t even made sense, at first—how she had ended up with the most elegant, composed, untouchable girl in school.

Sage was refined, respected.

Jett was reckless, impulsive.

Yet somehow, she had found herself in Sage’s bed, Sage’s arms, Sage’s world.

And she had thought, God, she really loves me.

She had thought she had won.

But she had never even been a player.

Because Sage had never dated her out of love.

She had dated her because she was bored.

Because Jett had been a game. A toy.

A wild animal she could break.

And Sage had broken her so beautifully.

Jett, the untamed, the chaotic, the free-spirited— had only ever belonged to Sage.

Not in public, where she was still the cocky, bragging flirt.

But in bed.

Jett had been on her knees for her.

Begging. Whimpering. Tamed, obedient, desperate.

Because when Sage told her to worship her, she did.

And Jett had loved it.

Had loved the way Sage controlled her, owned her, toyed with her like a pet.

Had loved the way Sage whispered commands that made her body burn.

Had loved the way Sage smiled down at her—cool, detached, powerful—while Jett moaned her name like a prayer.

Had loved the way Sage never had to raise her voice, never had to demand.

Because Jett would always obey.

She was Sage’s dog, and she never even realized it.

Sage hadn’t left her because of immaturity, irresponsibility, recklessness.

Jett had thought their fights mattered.

Had thought they were the reason Sage had gone.

But they weren’t.

Sage had simply found a better future.

A better goal.

A more valuable prize.

Reyna.

Zyanya Mondragón.

A woman who could give Sage everything. Power. Wealth. Security. Love.

So one day, Sage had simply vanished.

Not because she was heartbroken.
Not because she was disappointed in Jett.
Not because Jett had failed her.

But because she didn’t need her anymore.

Jett had been fun.

But Sage wasn’t a woman who settled for fun.

She was a woman who chose her future, and discarded what didn’t fit.

And Jett—poor, stupid, devoted Jett—

Had been discarded.

They found a quiet restaurant near the hospital.

Jett had picked it without thinking, just desperate to keep Sage in front of her, desperate to stop time from stealing her away again.

Sage ordered tea, not wine.

Jett wondered if that was for her own sake, or if she just didn’t trust Jett not to get drunk and say something stupid.

"So," Jett leaned back, forcing a smirk. "You still working yourself to death?"

Sage tilted her head slightly. Amused.

"You say that like you weren’t worse."

"Yeah, well. I grew up."

Sage’s eyes flickered, scanning her face, lingering just a second too long.

"It suits you."

Jett felt her pulse jump.

She hated that Sage still had that effect on her.

Like her voice alone could reach into her chest and twist something already broken.

"You’re doing well," Sage continued, calm, conversational. "I heard Kingdom promoted you."

Jett shrugged. "Guess someone had to clean up my mess."

Another pause.

Then, softly—

"I always knew you would."

Jett swallowed hard.

She remembered those words, from so long ago.

"You could be so much more, if you actually cared."

And she had.

She had cared—for her.

Had changed, had tried to be better—

But Sage had still left.

None of it had been enough.

"And you?" Jett forced her voice to stay even. "Married life treating you well?"

She tried to sound casual. Like the answer didn’t matter.

Sage’s fingers brushed the rim of her teacup.

A small, elegant movement.

Then, a slow breath.

"It’s… fine."

The hesitation was so small, so delicate, that it could have been missed entirely.

But Jett caught it.

Because she was waiting for it.

Because Sage wanted her to.

Jett stared, her chest tightening.

"Fine?"

Sage exhaled, looking away for a moment—and that was it.

That small, perfect crack in her composure.

It was all Jett needed.

Because it meant Sage wasn’t happy.

And if she wasn’t happy, then—

Then maybe she still needed her.

Sage could feel it.

The shift.

The way Jett sat up straighter, the flicker of something new—or maybe something old—in those sharp, electric eyes.

Oh, she had missed this.

Reyna was a different game.

A slow one, built on restraint, illusion, patience.

With Jett, it was fire.

Obsession. Desperation. The eager need to prove herself.

And now, it was all coming back.

"You know," Jett started, grinning now, a little cocky, a little reckless, like she was slipping into her old self.

Like she thought she had a chance.

"I always knew your husband would be an idiot."

Sage blinked.

Jett leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand.

"Letting you go? Biggest fucking mistake of his life."

Sage’s lips curved, but she didn’t correct her.

Didn’t say her wife.

Didn’t tell Jett she was wrong.

Because that wasn’t the point, was it?

No—the point was letting Jett believe.

Letting her think this was real.

That there was still something between them.

And Jett—poor, poor Jett—was already chasing.

Sage exhaled slowly, letting her fingers drift across the rim of her cup.

"It’s getting late."

Jett sat up. "I’ll walk you home."

Sage tilted her head, watching her.

Oh, she was making this too easy.

"Alright."

The streets were quiet.

Sage walked a step ahead, elegant, effortless.

Jett kept stealing glances at her, her mind spinning.

It didn’t make sense.

Sage should have been happy.

Should have been distant, cold, completely out of reach.

But instead—she had let Jett buy her dinner.

She had let Jett see that hesitation.

She had let her walk her home.

And Jett—brilliant, reckless, deeply fucking stupid Jett—

Was already telling herself a new story.

Maybe Sage still loved her.
Maybe Sage regretted leaving.
Maybe she just needed someone to remind her who she used to be.

Jett could be that person.

She could bring her back.

She had to.

So when they reached the front of Sage’s building—

And Sage turned to her, quiet, waiting—

"Let me see you again."

Jett’s voice wasn’t confident anymore.

It was quiet. A plea.

And Sage heard it.

She turned to Jett, letting the moment hang, savoring the way Jett held her breath, desperate for an answer.

She looked at her carefully, like she was deciding.

Even though the decision had been made the moment Jett reached for her.

"Alright."

Jett exhaled. Relieved. Excited. Completely unaware.

Sage smiled, gentle, inviting.

Then, softly—

"Goodnight, Sunwoo."

She turned, stepping inside her building without a second glance.

Jett stood there for a long time.

Heart pounding. Burning. Drowning.

And Sage—inside her elevator, calm, composed—

Smirked.

Because Jett had never stopped being hers.

And now, it was time to remind her.

Chapter Text

"I’m sorry, mi amor."

Reyna’s voice was low, tight with frustration, heavy with guilt.

She stood near the window of their penthouse, her caramel skin glowing under the city lights, her white dress shirt still unbuttoned from where Sage’s hands had been minutes ago.

Her fists clenched.

Her jaw locked.

Her mind screamed, No. Not now. Not again.

But reality was cruel.

The Mondragón empire wouldn’t wait.

Spain needed her. Her people needed her.

And Sage—her precious, delicate wife—would be left behind.

Again.

"Zyanya…" Sage murmured from the couch, half-covered in silk, looking small, vulnerable.

Reyna ached.

Sage had been so understanding, so patient, and it only made Reyna feel more like a fucking failure.

"I was supposed to stay home this time," Reyna growled, running a hand through her hair. "Not even three fucking days, Sage. Three days, and they’re pulling me away again."

Her voice shook with rage.

Not at Sage—never at Sage.

At the world.

At herself.

At the fact that no matter how much power she had, no matter how many people bowed to her, she could never seem to hold onto the one thing she loved most.

Sage only smiled.

Soft, understanding. Fucking perfect.

"You work hard," she said gently. "I knew this could happen."

That only made Reyna angrier.

Not at Sage—but at how much she loved her.

Because Sage never complained.

Never accused her of neglect.

Never demanded more than Reyna could give.

And Reyna wanted her to.

Wanted her to beg, to cry, to be selfish— so Reyna would have an excuse.

So she could say fuck it all, stay, and let her empire burn.

But Sage wouldn’t.

Sage would only smile, reassure, tell her to go.

Because Sage was too good.

And Reyna was the one who didn’t deserve her.

"Come with me," Reyna said suddenly. Desperate. Wild.

Sage blinked. "To Spain?"

"Yes." Reyna turned, eyes burning. "I’ll make it work. I don’t care how. Just—just be there."

Sage hesitated.

Then, slowly, she exhaled, a wistful sadness settling over her features.

"I can’t."

Reyna’s chest tightened.

"Why not?"

"My patients," Sage murmured, tucking the silk around herself. "The hospital needs me."

Reyna almost laughed.

She could buy the fucking hospital if she wanted to.

But she wouldn’t force Sage.

Never.

So instead, she clenched her fists, breathing deep, steadying herself.

"Then at least let me hold you before I go."

And Sage let her.

Reyna kissed her hard.

Pushed her into the sofa.

Dragged the silk off her body, like she was trying to memorize every inch of her before she was forced to leave.

And Sage—perfect, quiet, soft Sage—let herself be taken.

She sighed into Reyna’s mouth.

She gasped at the right moments, arched at the perfect times, moaned so sweetly that Reyna thought she might fucking lose her mind.

It was slow and desperate, a lover grasping onto something slipping through her fingers.

Reyna worshipped her.

Kissed her everywhere. Marked her.

Dragged her nails down her thighs, kissed every single part of her until she was trembling.

"Mi amor," Reyna whispered between kisses, feverish, needy, wild. "My beautiful girl."

She felt Sage’s breath hitch, felt her body shudder, felt her fall apart beneath her.

And Reyna—fucking fool that she was—thought it was real.

She thought, She’s mine.

She thought, I’m the only one who gets to see her like this.

She thought, Even if I have to leave, she’ll wait for me. She’ll miss me. She loves me.

When it was over, Reyna held her.

She tucked the silk back around Sage’s body, brushed her hair from her face.

Kissed her forehead, soft, reverent.

"Sleep, mi amor," Reyna whispered. "I’ll be back before you know it."

Sage sighed softly, curling into her.

And Reyna let herself believe it was because she didn’t want her to go.

She let herself believe Sage would miss her.

She let herself believe she was the only one.

Then, finally, she stood, tucking her shirt back into her slacks.

She grabbed her bags, took one last, long look at her sleeping wife.

And left.

The second the door clicked shut, Sage opened her eyes.

Calm.

Steady.

Completely untouched.

She pushed the silk off her body, sat up without hesitation, without exhaustion.

Like she hadn’t just been fucked into the couch minutes ago.

Like none of it meant anything.

She reached for her phone.

Typed out a single message.

[Are you free?]

Sent.

Then she stood, stretched, walked toward the bathroom.

She wiped off Reyna’s kisses.

Brushed her hair.

Reapplied her lipstick.

Prepared herself for the next player in her game.

By the time her phone vibrated, she was already smiling.

Viper had answered.

[Always.]

The restaurant was perfect.

Dimly lit, the soft glow of pendant lights casting shadows that danced across the dark wood tables. The air was a faint blend of spices and expensive perfumes, mingling with the faint hum of quiet conversation. The walls were adorned with modern art, sleek and minimalist, and the floor-to-ceiling windows offered a stunning view of the city skyline—its lights twinkling like stars trapped beneath glass. Expensive, elegant, exclusive.

And yet, Viper pretended it was nothing.

She had spent days finding this place. Hours, scrolling through reviews, checking menus, reading every possible detail, ensuring it was exactly the kind of place Sage would enjoy. It had to be perfect. 

And when Sage had messaged her, she’d acted like it was just happenstance, a casual choice.

"Oh, I just picked something random."

A lie. A well-crafted, effortless lie.

Viper had never tried so hard in her life.

But Sage didn’t need to know that.

Sage only needed to think Viper was cool, detached, unaffected.

Because that’s how this worked.

Viper had to pretend she didn’t care—so that maybe, just maybe, Sage would care enough to keep coming back.

Sage arrived fashionably late.

She always did.

It was part of her nature—to make people wait for her, to let them sit in anticipation, wanting, wondering.

When she stepped through the entrance, the whole restaurant seemed to shift. 

The door opened with a soft chime, and for a moment, everything else in the room faded. Eyes turned, whispers stirred, and the air itself seemed to thicken with the electricity of her presence.

Viper sat back, watching, letting her own lips curve slightly around the rim of her glass.

"You know," she murmured as Sage slid into the seat across from her, casually, like she wasn’t just staring at her. "One day, you’re gonna be late for something important."

Sage tilted her head, amused.

"And yet, you’re still here waiting."

Viper smirked.

Fucking dangerous woman.

"Your wife out again?"

Viper asked it lightly, swirling her wine glass, watching as Sage reached for the menu, her fingers brushing the edges delicately, almost as though the menu itself wasn’t worthy of her touch.

Sage shrugged, unconcerned, as if Reyna’s absence didn’t matter.

"Spain this time. An emergency."

"Mm. And what was the emergency?"

"Something about an acquisition. Or a deal. Or a government dispute." Sage waved a hand lazily, as if the details were irrelevant. "I don’t know. I wasn’t really listening."

Viper nearly choked on her wine.

Of course.

Of fucking course.

Reyna—Zyanya fucking Mondragón—probably spent her entire fucking life trying to carve out time for Sage, bending over backwards, drowning in guilt every time she left.

And Sage didn’t even listen.

Didn’t even care.

And Viper hated how much that turned her on.

"Tough life, huh?" Viper smirked, resting her chin on her hand.

Sage hummed in agreement.

"Exhausting, really."

Fucking bitch.

Fucking perfect, untouchable bitch.

And Viper?

Viper was still chasing her.

They ordered.

Expensive seafood, delicately plated appetizers, things Viper had personally researched but pretended to pick at random.

And Sage—elegant, graceful, composed—ate with slow, deliberate movements. Every bite calculated, poised, like the meal itself was an art form.

Viper watched her over the rim of her glass, amused, frustrated.

"Not bad," Sage commented, taking another bite.

Viper shouldn’t have cared.

But she fucking did.

That single, offhand compliment made something warm and stupid bloom in her chest.

She hated it.

"Oh yeah?" she muttered, feigning disinterest. "Just found this place on Google."

Another lie.

Another stupid, pathetic lie.

Sage’s lips curled slightly.

She knew.

She always fucking knew.

But she didn’t call Viper out on it.

She just let her pretend.

And that?

That was worse.

"Jett is back."

Viper froze.

Just for a second.

Just long enough for Sage to notice.

She masked it quickly—taking another sip of wine, keeping her expression neutral.

But Sage was watching her. Amused. Studying. Testing.

"You remember Jett, don’t you?" Sage continued smoothly, voice light as a feather, but carrying a weight Viper couldn’t escape.

Viper leaned back, arms crossed, forcing her voice to stay casual.

"Your puppy?" she smirked.

"Mm." Sage took a slow sip of her drink. "She found me yesterday."

"How tragic."

Sage chuckled. "She seems happy to see me."

Something in Viper’s stomach twisted.

She wouldn’t let it show.

"Poor girl," Viper drawled, flicking the rim of her glass. "Probably still in love with you."

"Oh, she is."

Viper scoffed.

"And let me guess. You’re going to be kind to her, aren’t you?"

Sage’s lips parted in a soft, mockery of a sigh.

"I wouldn’t want to break her heart."

Viper laughed.

Sharp, bitter.

"You mean you don’t want to break her too fast."

Sage smiled.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t have to.

And Viper?

Viper took another sip of her wine, pretending like her heart hadn’t just been dragged across the fucking table.

Jett was pathetic.

That’s what Viper told herself.

Desperate, stupid, weak.

She was the type to get lost in Sage’s smile, to fall for her voice, to believe every lie Sage fed her like it was a fucking lifeline.

Viper wasn’t like that.

She was smarter.

She knew what Sage was.

She knew Sage didn’t love anyone.

Not Reyna.
Not Jett.
Not her.

So why the fuck did her chest still hurt?

Why the fuck was her grip tightening around her glass?

Why the fuck did she still want to touch her?

Viper forced another smirk, tilting her head.

"So?" she murmured. "What’s the plan?”

Sage leaned forward slightly, her perfume wrapping around Viper like a noose. The subtle scent of jasmine and cedar filled the air, drawing Viper in with a pull she couldn’t resist.

"Oh, you know me."

A soft, amused chuckle.

"I like to take my time."

Fuck.

Viper could already see it.

Could already see Jett falling deeper, chasing harder, losing herself just like they all did.

And Sage?

Sage would let her.

Because Sage never lost.

Because Sage didn’t care.

And Viper did.

The hotel was discreet. Expensive. Private. A place where powerful people had affairs, where secrets were kept behind soundproof walls, and where names were never exchanged at the front desk.

No names. No questions. Only desire.

And they would be here again.

The routine was perfected, effortless—an art form. They wore disguises, as always.

Sage, dark sunglasses perched on her face, a silk scarf draped elegantly around her neck to hide the bruises from Reyna’s claim.

Viper—a sleek black cap, a trench coat that flared slightly as she moved, always blending into the background. She never drew attention. That was part of the game.

It was all so simple, so easy, like everything about them. Yet, tonight—something was different.

The moment the door clicked shut, Viper had Sage pinned against it.

No hesitation.

No soft, slow undressing.

Just raw hunger.

Teeth against skin. Hands pulling silk away from Sage’s body as Viper’s breath came in ragged, desperate bursts. There was no time for soft touches, no time for the usual seduction. She couldn’t stand it. Not tonight. Not when Reyna’s marks were still fresh on Sage’s neck.

Viper’s fingers grazed the silk of Sage’s blouse, moving too quickly to be tender, too frantic to be loving. Her hands were already on Sage’s shoulders, ripping the material apart with a fury, pressing her into the door like she wanted to drown in her.

And for a second—just a second—Viper forgot. Forgot that she wasn’t the only one who touched Sage.

Forgot that Sage had walked into this room with someone else’s fucking marks on her neck.

Until she saw them.

The deep, unmistakable bruises, fading just beneath the edge of Sage’s scarf, reminded Viper of what she could never have. Reyna’s right to claim Sage.

Reyna’s right to leave marks without consequence.

Zyanya fucking Mondragón.

Viper’s stomach twisted, and the fury inside her only grew. Sage was still her obsession, her craving—her own personal war. And Reyna, the woman who owned Sage in every way, was the reason Viper couldn’t take what she wanted.

Viper had to be careful. Had to be discreet. Had to leave no traces, as if she were never here. And she fucking hated it.

But she said nothing.

Instead, she pressed harder, kissed rougher, bit down on Sage’s shoulder like she wanted to brand her.

Sage gasped—soft, breathless, amused by the change in Viper’s demeanor.

"Careful," she murmured, teasing.

"Why?" Viper growled, her voice low and threatening. "You’re not afraid of a little pain."

"Mm. But you are."

And that was the breaking point.

The restraints broke.

Viper’s control snapped like a thin wire under too much tension. She couldn’t hold herself back any longer. Not when Sage’s soft laughter, her unguarded smile, twisted the knife in her chest. Not when she was so close to losing herself completely.

No more slow, measured teasing.

No more careful, calculated movements.

Tonight, Viper wasn’t playing.

Her hands gripped harder, her lips bruised Sage’s skin, and her movements grew ruthless, ferocious, like she was trying to erase something invisible. Trying to replace Reyna’s claim with her own, mark Sage in a way that would make her forget Reyna’s touch.

But Sage noticed. Of course, she did.

She noticed how Viper was rougher, how she pressed deeper, fucked harder, moved with a ferocity that left marks on her soul but not her skin. Viper was trying to prove something.

And that amused Sage.

Because Viper would never admit it. Would never say that the bruises on Sage’s neck drove her insane, that she hated seeing those marks more than she hated anything else in her life.

But Sage knew.

She always knew.

At some point, Sage reached for the wine bottle. She wasn’t in a hurry. She didn’t have to be. Not tonight.

She was still pinned beneath Viper, her body bare and slick with sweat, glowing under the dim hotel lights. She took a slow sip, languid, savoring the taste, the indulgence of it.

Viper’s eyes followed her every move, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop. She was consumed by the burning jealousy, the agonizing desire to make Sage hers, if only for this night.

Sage’s lips curled into a lazy smirk as she leaned forward, her mouth just inches from Viper’s. She parted her lips, and without a word, she poured the wine between them.

Viper didn’t hesitate. She drank it straight from her mouth.

Didn’t spill a drop.

Didn’t break eye contact.

Just swallowed, kissed Sage deeper, her hands pulling at Sage’s hips, pushing her harder against the wall.

Sage gasped, then laughed—soft, wicked.

"Good girl," she murmured.

Viper’s chest burned at those words, the praise curling around her heart like a knife. She wanted to break Sage. Wanted to ruin her completely—but it was Sage who always had the last word.

And that was when it snapped.

Viper flipped Sage over, pressing her down into the mattress with a force that left her breathless, unable to move.

Sage didn’t have time to react before Viper was on top of her, kissing her hard and fast, each kiss a punishment, each bite a declaration of possession. She was insatiable tonight, drowning in the heat between them.

Sage didn’t fight it. She never did. She let Viper take whatever she wanted, because it was never enough for Viper. It was never enough for the woman who couldn’t have her completely.

By the time they were done, Sage was trembling, sweat-drenched, her legs too weak to move. Viper collapsed beside her, chest still rising and falling unevenly, but she didn’t feel satisfied. She felt hollow.

For a few seconds, the room was silent, except for the sound of their breathing. Then—

"You were rough tonight." Sage’s voice was lazy, amused, teasing.

Viper didn’t answer.

She didn’t tell her why. Didn’t tell her about the jealousy burning in her throat. Didn’t tell her that seeing those marks—those fucking bruises from Reyna—made her want to tear her own fucking skin off.

Instead, she rolled over, lit a cigarette, and pretended she didn’t care.

Sage watched her, curious. Her eyes never left Viper’s face, her lips curling in that mysterious way she always had when she was trying to decipher someone.

Then, finally—she smirked.

Chapter Text

The room was heavy with silence, the air thick with the scent of sweat, sex, and lingering tension.

Sage lay on the bed, casually draped in the sheets, a cigarette between her fingers. Her eyes were half-lidded, relaxed, almost detached as she inhaled deeply, the smoke curling lazily around her face.

Viper, still panting lightly, sat on the edge of the bed, looking out the window, but not really seeing it. The streetlights below blurred in her vision, the hum of distant city sounds only a faint murmur to her ears.

She felt the pull of exhaustion in her limbs, but more than that, she felt a gnawing hunger for something deeper, something that had always eluded her.

Sage exhaled a thick stream of smoke, and the slight sound of her lighter flicking caught Viper’s attention. She flicked her eyes back to Sage, who was lazily inspecting the end of her cigarette like she had all the time in the world.

“So,” Sage drawled, her voice smooth and languid, “you’re getting better at this. You’re almost… fun.”

Viper didn’t respond immediately. Her lips parted as if to say something, but she simply stared at Sage, lost in her thoughts. She wasn’t even sure how to respond, whether to feel satisfaction or a deeper emptiness after what they had just shared.

“Work's been piling up,” Sage said nonchalantly, clearly enjoying the brief lull. “Meetings, presentations, endless projects. The usual. Reyna’s still in Spain, thank God. I swear, if she had stayed another day—”

Viper’s hand twitched, but she kept herself in check.

The name Reyna burned in her chest, a bitter sting of jealousy.

Still, she remained silent, watching Sage’s every movement.

Sage took another drag, eyes half-lidded as she exhaled the smoke slowly, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of them.

“And Jett,” Sage continued, her lips curling into a teasing smirk as if she were saying the name of an old acquaintance. “Still chasing me, you know?”

Viper froze, although she hides it by sliding a piece of her hair to the back of her ear.

The mention of Jett was like an ice pick to her heart. It was one thing to know Jett had been part of Sage’s past, but to have her chased now, years later—like a dog chasing its owner—was something else entirely.

“You’ve heard from her a lot?” Viper asked, her voice tinged with an edge she hadn’t intended, a quiet bitterness seeping through.

“Mm.” Sage stretched, rolling her head back to glance lazily at Viper. “She’s been sending all these texts, emails, even a few surprise gifts. Trying to ‘rekindle’ things. Cute, huh?”

Viper clenched her jaw, the dark side of her thoughts flaring up again. She leaned back on her elbows, gazing at Sage with a quiet storm of emotions simmering beneath the surface. Jett. The one who had gotten to be with Sage first, the one who hadn’t even known the game she was playing.

Sage had always been like this. Cold, indifferent—yet enthralling in a way that kept everyone around her trapped.

“Cute,” Viper echoed with a thin smile, her eyes narrowing slightly, though her voice never wavered. “She really doesn’t know when to quit, does she?”

Sage raised an eyebrow. “Oh, she knows. She’s not stupid. But, you know, she just can’t help herself.” She took another drag, the smoke filling the space between them like an invisible barrier, almost like it was protecting Sage from the world.

Viper’s thoughts burned with questions—why did Jett keep coming back? What did she think she could win? Sage had made it clear to her, years ago, that Jett wasn’t worth her time anymore, so what was the point in all this?

Sage exhaled slowly, her lips curling into that enigmatic smile again, eyes flicking over Viper with a knowing gaze. “I mean, really,” she continued with a mocking tone, “It’s almost funny how determined she is. As if I don’t know exactly what she wants, as if I’m not in control here.”

Viper felt the jealousy twist tighter in her chest. She was right. Sage was always in control. Even when Jett chased after her, the chase was never for Sage—it was for the illusion of what she thought Sage could give her.

But Viper—Viper had learned. Viper knew the truth.

She knew that Sage didn’t care. Sage played her game with such casual cruelty, with such sharp precision, that it made Viper’s blood run cold. Jett, like her, was just another puppet in Sage’s hands, but what stung more was that Viper knew it—and that was what kept her so fucking close to Sage.

She wasn’t some foolish girl, chasing a ghost of what might be. She was here. She knew what it meant.

But even knowing all that, even with the knowledge of her place in this tangled web, she couldn’t stop the burning jealousy that made her sick to her stomach.

“So what’s the plan?” Viper asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside her. “You’re just letting her chase you, then?”

Sage’s smirk deepened. “Oh, it’s harmless. I let her think there’s a chance. It’s entertaining. Besides,” she leaned back, tapping the cigarette against the ashtray before bringing it to her lips, “it’s funny to see how far she’ll go to impress me. She’s just as dumb as I remember. So predictable.”

Viper’s eyes narrowed, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “And yet, she keeps coming back.”

“Exactly.” Sage’s voice was ice cold, casual in the way she spoke of someone who had once “meant so much to her”, yet was now reduced to nothing. “She thinks I’m weak. But I don’t mind giving her hope. I’ve always been good at letting people believe they still matter.”

Viper’s chest tightened, her hands curling into fists, though she kept them hidden. She was no different.

But it didn’t matter, did it? Because Sage always had the upper hand. Always.

A long pause stretched between them as Viper stared at Sage, her mind clouded by frustration and unspent desire. She hated this feeling, the feeling of being second.

But she would never admit it.

Her lips parted, and a sharp, venomous remark was on the tip of her tongue, but Sage spoke first.

“Are you jealous, Viper?” Sage asked with a casualness that made Viper’s heart race, like she already knew the answer. Her voice was lilting, almost playful.

Viper’s stomach churned. Her jaw tightened. “No. Just…” She trailed off, refusing to finish the thought. She couldn’t say it out loud. It was too pathetic.

Sage laughed, a low, knowing sound, and the sight of it—her perfect, effortless laughter—made Viper’s chest ache.

“Don’t lie to me,” Sage teased, raising an eyebrow, her gaze locking with Viper’s. “You’re jealous. Of her. Of Jett.”

Viper said nothing. There was nothing to say. She was jealous. It stung. But there was more. So much more.

She had been second to Sage before. Would she ever stop being second? Would anyone else be more than that?

Viper stood up abruptly, pacing across the room with tense, quick steps. Her breath came faster. She couldn’t be here. Not now. Not with these thoughts.

And yet, as she walked toward the door, Sage’s voice stopped her.

“Sabine,” Sage said softly, like she was just stating a fact. “Come back to bed.”

Viper froze.

It was all too easy.

She didn’t want to. She really didn’t want to.

But it didn’t matter. She could never leave.

The bitter truth settled in her chest like a stone as she turned around, eyes dark with hunger and frustration. She wouldn’t let go. Not now. Not ever.

She couldn’t bring herself to move. Not at first. Not while the weight of the situation pressed down on her chest. She was suffocating. The truth was undeniable, cutting through her like a jagged blade: She couldn’t leave. Not even if she wanted to.

Her fingers trembled for a moment, the faintest flicker of hesitation before she gave in—before she turned on her heel, already burning with frustration and desire.

Sage’s cold, flawless beauty was the only thing that mattered now.

The only thing that ever had. The only thing that ever would.

Sage watched her, those soft, mocking lips curving into a knowing smile, her eyes half-lidded with unspoken satisfaction, as if she knew exactly what was going on inside Viper’s head. The recognition in her gaze was almost enough to set Viper on fire.

Without a word, Viper climbed back into the bed, her movements deliberate, stiff with the tension of her internal battle. Her eyes locked with Sage’s for a moment, and she saw it—that glint. That maddening, self-assured confidence that made Viper ache, that made her want to scream in both frustration and longing. Sage was the puppet master, and she was the one caught in her strings.

Sage didn’t wait for her to settle. She was already moving, her body gliding with the same practiced elegance as before, all fluid grace and simmering control.

The air between them felt electric, the space just too small, too charged, too suffocating.

The moment Sage’s lips found hers again, it was as if a dam had broken.

Viper was drowning in her, in the heat of her mouth, the taste of her—every inch of Sage was fire, was pleasure, and it burned through Viper’s veins like molten lava.

And just like that, she was lost again.

Sage’s fingers danced over Viper’s body, slow, teasing, never giving her enough, always keeping her just on the edge, like a drug she knew would consume Viper.

She felt the deep thrum of desire building inside her, hot and relentless, spreading through her limbs, yet at the same time, there was this agonizing emptiness, this hollow, gnawing ache that seemed to swallow everything else.

It was a mix of everything—heartbreak, lust, desperation—and Sage made sure to feed it all with each kiss, each touch.

It hurt.

It always hurt.

Viper pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air, her chest heaving, her pulse racing.

She had to look away, couldn’t look at Sage’s eyes—those eyes that knew. Those eyes that saw straight through her, that could tell exactly what Viper needed, what she craved, and what she would always give in to.

Sage chuckled softly, a sound that made Viper’s heart twist in that maddening way it always did.

“What is it, Viper?” Sage purred, her voice low, dangerous, a silk thread that wrapped around Viper’s heart and squeezed. “Too much for you?”

“No,” Viper rasped, though it was a lie. It was way too much. It was all too much.

Sage’s fingers slid to the back of her neck, threading through Viper’s hair, tugging her head back, exposing her throat. The power in the simple motion sent a shiver down Viper’s spine. She hated it. She loved it.

Sage’s mouth found the sensitive skin beneath her ear, and the sensation was so overwhelming that Viper couldn’t contain the low moan that slipped from her lips. Sage’s mouth—so gentle, so cruel—was always a double-edged sword. Every time, it felt like she was breaking Viper a little more, as if she were chiseling away at something deep inside. Something fragile.

“Sage…” Viper breathed, the words coming out strangled. “Please…”

Sage ignored the plea, of course, but that was what made it worse. She knew the power she held.

With a soft laugh, Sage pulled back just enough to look at Viper. Her eyes were dark, predatory, as she watched Viper’s face contort with need, with hunger, and, beneath it all, the gnawing agony of wanting more, needing more, but never being able to have enough.

"Please what, darling?" Sage’s tone was so casual, so mocking, as if this had all been an act—a game.

The words were a knife in Viper’s chest, but Viper couldn’t look away, couldn’t stop the way her body responded. Her hands shot out, grabbing Sage’s shoulders, tugging her closer.

“I want you,” Viper’s voice cracked, the admission almost too much to bear. “I need you.”

Sage’s lips curled into a smirk. "You already have me."

And then she kissed Viper again, harder this time, taking control in the same way she always did—dominant, effortless, cold. Every inch of her seemed designed to make Viper crumble, to make her feel like she was nothing without Sage, like she was nothing but an extension of Sage's will.

It made Viper’s blood boil, yet at the same time, she couldn’t stop herself from giving in, from drowning in the kiss, from letting Sage take her as she always did. Sage’s hands roamed, rough and possessive, making Viper’s body tremble in ways that drove her insane.

Sage pulled away, just as Viper was starting to lose herself entirely.

“You look so beautiful when you’re like this,” Sage murmured, her lips brushing against Viper’s ear, her voice soft but laced with something darker. “So desperate. So… broken.”

That last word was a dagger. It dug into Viper’s soul, made her feel the emptiness in her chest, the hollow space where something real used to be before it was consumed by Sage’s touch.

But it didn’t stop her. No. It only spurred her on. Viper’s hands slid down Sage’s body, moving with a frantic urgency, because, despite the ache in her chest, despite the heartbreaking truth of it all, Sage’s touch was the only thing that had ever made her feel alive.

And the more rough Sage became, the more intense the sensation of loss, the more Viper felt her willpower slip away, piece by piece, until all she could think of was Sage’s name. Her heart screamed it. Her body screamed it. Everything inside of her screamed for Sage, even as she knew she was nothing more than a toy.

As Sage took her, the tears threatened, the bitterness, the suffocating frustration.

But Viper wouldn’t cry. She couldn’t.

She wasn’t allowed.

Sage’s name slipped from her lips, soft and desperate, a plea and a curse all at once. "Lingying... Lingying.."

"Good girl," Sage whispered against her skin, the words colder than Viper had ever heard them. “That’s what I like to hear.”

And that was it. Viper couldn’t fight anymore. She was lost in the fire, in the heat, and it was too late. The burn of Sage’s touch was the only thing she’d ever known.

And she would keep coming back for more.

Chapter Text

Viper woke with the bitter taste of the night still lingering on her lips, the remnants of sweat and wine clinging to her skin. The room felt empty in a way that seemed almost suffocating, like the air itself was too thin to breathe, too heavy with everything unsaid.

The bed was cold where Sage had been.

She blinked, eyes still heavy with the aftershocks of their time together, still lost in the haze of half-sleep, desire, and all the twisted emotions that tangled inside her. It took a moment for the fog to lift enough for her to realize what was missing. Sage.

She reached out instinctively, her fingers brushing across the smooth, empty space where Sage had once been, only to find the sheets cool to the touch. The familiar warmth of Sage's presence, the pulse of her body next to hers, was gone.

And for a fleeting second, panic clawed at her chest—Was she gone for good? But Viper quickly crushed the thought, knowing it was pointless. Sage was a creature of habit, someone who always came and went with the precision of a professional, always leaving behind that faint, intoxicating trace of jasmine that clung to the sheets like a ghost.

It had only been a few hours since their last indulgence, but already the absence of Sage felt like a chasm. A gaping hole where warmth, passion, and even resentment had once filled every inch of her mind.

Viper rolled over, dragging her fingers across the bedsheet, trying to catch the last wisps of Sage’s scent, the last reminder of her touch. It was there, faint but undeniable, like a fading memory. Jasmine, mixed with the faintest trace of expensive perfume.

She closed her eyes, letting the scent wash over her, breathing it in deeply, as if she could somehow pull Sage back into her orbit through sheer willpower.

But it was fleeting.

The scent was dissipating, the night fading into the harsh light of the morning, and there was nothing left but the empty, hollow feeling that followed in its wake.

Viper’s body still felt the weight of it all.

The satisfaction.

The exhaustion.

Her limbs heavy, weighted with the aftermath of being consumed by Sage’s relentless touch. But the satisfaction was fleeting, and beneath it—there was nothing.

No true fulfillment, no lasting comfort. Just a deep, aching emptiness that seemed to settle deep in her chest, a hunger she couldn’t explain and didn’t want to face.

The clock on the wall caught her eye—10:00 a.m.—already past the time they were supposed to be up. Not that it mattered to her. Not really. She was part of the research apartment, a place where everyone was far too consumed by their own work to care about anything as mundane as time. Research was the only thing that mattered, the only thing that kept people going—no deadlines, no rigid schedules, just the pursuit of something bigger than themselves.

But even as she thought that, Viper couldn’t ignore the nagging emptiness gnawing at the back of her mind. The void that never seemed to fill, no matter how much time she spent at the lab, no matter how many papers she wrote or data she compiled. It was all just a distraction, a way to keep her mind from wandering, a way to avoid the reality that no matter how much she achieved, no matter how far she climbed, she would always be beneath someone else. Always at the mercy of Sage.

She let out a breath, shaking her head as if to clear the fog, but it stayed with her. That hollow, sinking feeling that threatened to drag her under.

Viper buried her face in the pillow, inhaling deeply again, the scent of jasmine clinging to the fabric. She pressed her nose deeper into the soft cotton, hoping the scent would anchor her, would ground her in something familiar, something that wasn’t the chaos of her own emotions. It almost worked.

But then her mind wandered, as it always did, back to Sage.

Last night felt like a blur—a frenzy of passion, dominance, and craving. But beneath it, the truth was clear. Viper was always just a placeholder.

The thought made her stomach twist. The sharp edges of her own emotions cut through the fog again. She hated this feeling. She hated knowing how insignificant she truly was. Sage never cared in the way Viper cared, never looked at her with anything but that cold, calculative gaze, always observing, always controlling.

Sage had given her the illusion of ownership, of power, of being wanted. But in the end, it was all a lie. A game to Sage. A game where Viper was always the pawn, never the queen.

And yet—Viper couldn't stop herself. She had no choice but to play along. Because when Sage looked at her, when Sage touched her, when Sage’s voice whispered her name, there was nothing else. Nothing else mattered.

Viper didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to face the truth. It was too painful. Too suffocating. So, she closed her eyes again, letting the remnants of sleep pull her under.

But the emptiness remained, a gnawing presence in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t go away, no matter how deeply she buried herself in the sheets.

Her fingers curled into the pillow, gripping it tightly, as if somehow holding onto it could stop the world from spinning. She didn’t know how much time passed, how many minutes or hours it took before she finally pulled herself out of bed.

The cool air of the room hit her skin, and she shivered. It was always too cold when Sage was gone.

Sitting up on the edge of the bed, Viper rubbed her temples, trying to clear her mind, but it didn’t help. The same thought kept running through her head, over and over like a broken record: Sage had left her behind.

Again.

It didn’t matter that she had been here, in this city, in this room, in this bed. Viper was still invisible to Sage, still nothing more than a shadow.

But that wasn’t the worst of it. The worst of it was that Viper couldn’t leave. Not even if she wanted to. She was trapped in this twisted, sick cycle, caught in the gravity of Sage’s charm, her power, her control. And even when Sage wasn’t physically present, even when Sage had left the room, the pull remained. The need, the hunger, it never went away.

Viper stood up slowly, her limbs stiff from the night’s activities, and walked across the room, dragging her hand across the cold wall for support. The sound of the door opening and closing downstairs made her pause. Someone was here.

She knew it wasn’t Sage. Sage’s absence was always quiet, like a shadow drifting out of the room and fading into the distance. No one ever questioned her leaving. Not really. It was just another part of the game.

But still—the silence. It was unbearable.

With a sigh, Viper grabbed her robe and slipped it on, tying the belt tightly around her waist. Her reflection in the mirror caught her eye—disheveled hair, bloodshot eyes, skin flushed from the previous night’s indulgence.

She looked like a wreck.

And maybe that’s what she was.

But it didn’t matter.

Because in the end, no matter how much she hated it, she would always come back.

Viper turned away from the mirror and walked out of the room, determined to lose herself in work. If only for a few hours.

Chapter Text

The soft thud of the door closing behind Reyna was almost lost in the flutter of her heart.

She had been away for far too long—two weeks in Spain, working, attending meetings, sealing deals that were meant to secure her future, but the real truth was that she’d missed Sage more than she ever let on.

As she stepped into their home, everything felt still, like the house had been waiting just for her.

The soft hum of the house seemed to mirror her own exhausted breath, and yet, the moment she saw Sage standing there at the front door, Reyna felt as if the world had stopped.

Sage was standing there, as beautiful and pristine as ever, her dark hair falling like silk over her shoulder, her eyes gleaming with a mix of anticipation and something Reyna couldn't quite place.

She looked almost too perfect, like she had been waiting for this moment all along.

Reyna hesitated for a second, feeling the weight of her travels, her tiredness, her self-consciousness.

She was still in her business clothes, her makeup slightly smudged, a day’s worth of exhaustion etched in the corners of her eyes. But Sage—beautiful, radiant Sage—was unfazed by any of it.

Sage stepped forward, reaching out for her, and Reyna’s heart fluttered despite herself.

“Welcome home, darling,” she whispered softly, pulling her into a kiss that was gentle at first, sweet and soothing, like nothing had ever come between them.

Reyna melted into it, sighing against Sage’s lips, feeling the relief of coming home, of finally being with the one person who could make everything seem just right.

When they pulled apart, Reyna found herself breathless, trying to push away the layers of guilt that had built up during her time away. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face. “I must look awful.”

Sage smiled, a soft, knowing smile that Reyna had come to love. “You look perfect,” Sage said, her voice sweet, warm, as though she truly meant it.

Reyna swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words, the tenderness that wrapped around her like a soft blanket.

Reyna smiled back, though there was a hint of self-consciousness still tugging at her chest. “I missed you so much,” she whispered, her voice cracking just a little.

The guilt was there—always was—whenever she came back from work, whenever she wasn’t there for Sage. She knew how much Sage needed her, even though she could never seem to be around long enough.

Sage stepped back slightly, her fingers trailing down Reyna’s arm in the most intimate of ways. "I missed you too," she murmured, her eyes flickering with something Reyna couldn't quite decipher.

It was the kind of look that made her pulse race, like Sage had just seen something she wanted but hadn’t yet claimed. Reyna felt her stomach flip slightly, the tension building between them.

Sage offered to help Reyna with her luggage, and Reyna let her, smiling as she watched Sage lift her heavy suitcase with ease. “Thank you, darling,” Reyna said, her voice soft.

Sage’s lips curled into a smile. "You always do so much for me. It's only right that I return the favor," she replied, her words carrying a double meaning that Reyna didn’t pick up on.

To Reyna, it was just Sage’s usual kind and considerate self. But Sage’s smile was sharper than she realized.

They moved toward the living room, and Reyna collapsed onto the couch, finally feeling the exhaustion creep back into her bones. She sighed deeply, stretching her arms above her head, and Sage joined her with effortless grace, sitting next to her, so close that Reyna could feel the warmth of her body radiating through the fabric of their clothes.

Sage’s fingers moved gently through Reyna’s hair, soothing and slow, like she was trying to erase all the tiredness, all the distance that had been between them for the last few days. Reyna closed her eyes, her heart swelling with affection.

Sage was perfect.

She always was.

“I’ve missed you,” Sage whispered again, her breath warm against Reyna’s ear. “It’s so good to have you back.”

Reyna smiled, her fingers tracing over the fabric of Sage’s sleeve. “I’m glad to be back. You know how hard it is to leave you behind.”

Sage laughed softly, a quiet sound that made Reyna’s heart ache. "I know," she said, as though that was all there was to say.

Reyna sighed, her body relaxing into the couch as Sage continued to stroke her hair. The soft motion, the gentle pressure of Sage’s fingers against her scalp, was comforting in a way that only Sage could provide.

“You know,” Reyna said, her voice slow, thoughtful, “you look even more beautiful than the day I met you.”

Sage’s hand stilled for a moment, her fingers brushing against Reyna’s neck before continuing their path down her shoulder. There was a pause, a subtle shift in Sage’s gaze, as though she was carefully considering her words. “Do I?” she asked, her tone almost coy.

Reyna nodded, her voice quiet but sincere. “Yes. You’ve only gotten more radiant. Every time I see you, I realize just how lucky I am.”

Sage’s smile shifted, just a fraction, but it was enough for Reyna to notice.

There was something different about it, something knowing.

“I’m the lucky one, darling,” Sage replied softly, the warmth in her voice belying the underlying coolness that only Reyna would never notice.

But there was no room for doubt in Reyna’s heart. She was so sure of this—of Sage’s love.

After all, what could be more perfect than this? This beautiful woman who cared for her, who welcomed her home so gently, so lovingly?

As they sat on the couch, the evening unfolded slowly, the hours slipping by as easily as the air in the room.

Reyna’s exhaustion was starting to fade under the weight of Sage’s presence, and she found herself leaning more and more into Sage’s side, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing.

There was an unspoken peace between them, a stillness that felt right, as if everything in the world had aligned for this one moment.

Sage shifted slightly, her arm draping over Reyna’s shoulder as they settled into each other, her fingers gently brushing against Reyna’s skin.

For a moment, they were both content in the silence, the world outside falling away as they basked in their quiet connection. Reyna’s head rested against Sage’s chest, and she felt her body relax completely.

"I’m so glad you’re home," Sage murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s been so quiet without you."

Reyna smiled, her hand gently stroking Sage’s arm. “I know I’ve been away too much lately. I just… work takes so much out of me. But I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

Sage hummed softly, a sound of agreement, her fingers tracing small circles on Reyna’s back. "You don’t have to make anything up, darling," Sage said gently, but there was something beneath the surface that Reyna didn’t quite catch. "I understand."

Reyna nodded, her eyes fluttering closed, lost in the comforting embrace of Sage’s arms. "I just feel so lucky. So lucky to have you," she whispered, her voice tinged with a softness that reflected the depth of her feelings.

But Sage’s smile—though it remained serene, almost innocent—had a sharper edge to it, a glimmer of something that only she could know.

Reyna’s eyes closed. Everything was perfect.

What she didn’t know was that Sage had been the one pulling the strings from the beginning. She had orchestrated this life—this love—for a purpose, and Reyna, as perfect and trusting as she was, had fallen right into it.

Sage smiled to herself, her lips curling ever so slightly. She could feel Reyna’s heartbeat against her chest, steady and trusting. She had everything she wanted.

And Reyna would never even know.

Chapter Text

It had always been about control for Sage.

She never let her emotions steer the ship—never let the tide of fleeting attraction, or youthful passion, dictate her direction.

Everything had a purpose. Every glance, every word, every touch. They all had a reason.

And by the time she had reached her senior year of college, she had long since decided what she needed: power, security, a future.

And Reyna Mondragón was the perfect vessel to provide it.

Sage had spent years cultivating a reputation—intelligent, poised, composed. The kind of woman who commanded respect without ever raising her voice. She was the top of her class, always a step ahead, always a little untouchable, the one everyone whispered about in awe. She wasn't the wild one. She was never the girl who needed to shout for attention. No, her power came from the subtle way she made people crave her. It wasn’t about being loud—it was about being irresistible.

And Reyna was no exception.

It wasn't love for Sage, but it was opportunity.

When she learned that Reyna would be coming to campus for a recruiting event, Sage didn't waste a moment.

She knew the woman—Zyanya Mondragón—was everything she needed: rich, powerful, utterly magnetic.

The moment Sage heard Reyna would be there to scout for talent, her mind went into overdrive.

She didn’t want Reyna for the short term.

She wanted her to chase her.

She wanted to be the one that Reyna couldn’t ignore, couldn’t forget.

As the first step of her plan, Sage had to break things off with Jett.

Jett had been a nice diversion, an outlet for her frustrations, but who does not fit into the future Sage was building.

Sage had long known that she couldn't afford to be tied down to someone who might hold her back.

There was no room for sentimentality.

There was no place for lingering attachments.

She needed someone who would elevate her, not someone who needed saving.

So, one night, Sage had ended it.

She had made it look like Jett’s flaws had driven them apart—too young, too impulsive, too needy.

It hadn’t been a surprise to Jett, not entirely.

Jett had sensed it. The slow unraveling of what they had.

But Sage had made sure Jett never understood the real reason.

The truth was, Sage had found her next target.

It wasn't about love—it never was. It was about getting ahead. About finding the right partner to move her forward in life. And when Reyna came to campus, the timing was too perfect to ignore.

The recruitment event had all the markings of prestige—slick modern decor, guests in sharp suits, and the soft hum of important conversations filling the air.

It was exactly the kind of environment Reyna, Zyanya Mondragón, was accustomed to: powerful, polished, and quiet.

She moved through the space with the air of someone who owned it, radiating calm elegance. Every glance seemed to sweep over the crowd, but no individual seems to be worthy enough of her attention.

Sage had planned it meticulously.

She had waited for this moment long before the event. She knew when Reyna would arrive, where she would be, and the exact way she would move. Everything was in place. It was almost too easy.

Sage had never been the type to need to speak first. Her presence was enough. And tonight, she was playing a subtle game—one that required her to be seen, but not noticed.

Not yet.

She showed up alone, dressed in a perfectly tailored blazer that hugged her figure, black slacks that gave her legs an elegant, almost untouchable air, and a pair of heels that clicked purposefully as she moved through the crowd. Her hair was swept back, not a strand out of place, and her face was a flawless mask of cool composure.

She had kept her distance for a while, circling the room, speaking briefly to a few colleagues, but her eyes never left Reyna.

Not because she was captivated, not in the way others might have been.

It was because Reyna was a prize. A means to an end.

Sage had already calculated it all in her mind—how Reyna would react, what would happen next.

When their gazes met across the room, Sage knew it was the moment she had been waiting for.

Sage had not moved closer, had not reached out. She simply stood still, letting the space between them grow with every second. But their eyes—Reyna’s warm, deep gaze met Sage’s, and for a brief, shuddering second, the rest of the world seemed to fade away.

It was the smallest of movements—just a flicker of her gaze. But it was enough. It was exactly what Sage needed.

Reyna’s posture faltered for a moment. Her breath hitched, and then she caught herself. The moment was brief, but it lingered in the air between them. It was enough to make Reyna feel as though something had shifted, as if the room itself had subtly leaned toward Sage.

In that instant, Reyna felt like she was supposed to be looking at Sage. Like there was some magnetic pull that was beyond her control, pulling her in.

And then Sage did something unexpected. She didn’t smile. She didn’t give a lingering look. She didn’t step forward.

Sage turned away. Casually, as if the moment hadn’t happened. She continued talking to her colleagues, continuing to present herself as just another student, just another face in the crowd.

But Reyna couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened. That gaze had somehow pierced through her. It was an accident. No, it couldn’t be. She couldn’t allow it to be.

She tried to push the thought away. But it lingered. It stuck in her mind, like a whisper at the back of her thoughts.

By the time Reyna left the event and returned to her hotel room that evening, she found herself unable to shake the memory of that glance.

That brief, almost imperceptible exchange.

It haunted her in a way she wasn’t prepared for.

She had spent her life attracting the attention of powerful men and women, but there had been something different about her.

The feeling was unsettling. Unfamiliar.

Reyna tried to shake it off, but all she could think about was that woman—Sage.

The girl with the calm, composed air.

The one who had seemed so… untouchable.

The one who had effortlessly held her attention without even trying.

The next morning, as Reyna sat at her desk, her thoughts kept returning to that face.

It was dangerous.

She shouldn’t be thinking about someone like that. Someone like Sage.

But she couldn't help herself.

The more she tried to forget about the encounter, the more she found herself searching for information about Sage. Who was she? What was her story? How did she get here, to this prestigious event, with that air of confidence and subtle power?

Reyna found herself making inquiries—casual ones at first, nothing overt. She asked around, finding bits and pieces of information.

Sage was one of the brightest students, someone who was always at the top of her class.

Intelligent. Beautiful.

But that was the thing—Reyna was used to beautiful women. Used to being surrounded by them.

Sage was different. There was something quiet about her beauty, something that demanded attention without begging for it.

And that was how Reyna started to obsess.

She had tried to push it away. She tried to tell herself that it was just a fleeting feeling. But when Reyna found out that Sage had been accepted into a prestigious internship opportunity, something inside of her shifted.

It wasn’t just curiosity anymore. It was desire.

Without thinking, Reyna reached out.

A week later, Sage was sitting in her usual spot at the coffee shop on campus, a book open in front of her, the words dancing on the page but meaning little to her.

She had everything she needed.

Reyna was on the hook.

And it was just a matter of time before Reyna would come to her.

Sage was patient. She wasn’t going to rush this.

That was when Reyna approached.

"Excuse me," Reyna’s voice was low but sure, a slight smile curving her lips. "Sage, right? From the event last week?"

Sage looked up from her book, her expression one of polite surprise, as though she had been caught off guard, though in truth, she had been waiting for this moment.

Her eyes flickered up to meet Reyna’s, just for a second, just enough for their gazes to lock again.

“Yes,” Sage replied, her voice soft but controlled, composed, as always. "I remember."

Reyna’s smile deepened, though her eyes were searching now, as if she were trying to figure out who Sage was, what she wanted. It was almost a challenge in her gaze. Sage let it sit there. She wasn’t going to make this easy for Reyna. Not yet.

“I wanted to ask if you’d be interested in an internship with our company,” Reyna continued, her tone just shy of being too eager. But Sage could see the underlying hope in her eyes. Reyna was hooked. The game was on.

Sage paused for a moment, her lips curving upward into a small, demure smile. She pretended to think it over, as though the offer was unexpected, as though it wasn’t exactly what she had planned.

"I appreciate the offer," she said softly, her voice full of that sweet, composed elegance she always wore so well. "But I’ll have to think about it."

That was all it took.

Reyna, never one to let a chance slip by, leaned a little closer. “Take your time,” she said, her voice almost a whisper now, a touch of vulnerability hidden beneath the surface. “I think you’d be great.”

Sage’s smile widened, just a little.

“I’ll think about it,” she repeated.

And as Reyna left the coffee shop, there was something more in her step. It was subtle, but Sage could see it. Reyna was already chasing her. And Sage had no intention of running.

By the end of the week, Reyna had sent a formal email about the internship offer, this time with a little more urgency. She even included a personal note at the end. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes.

Reyna was already invested.

Sage had everything she needed now. She let Reyna chase her, just as she planned. But Sage wasn’t going to make it easy. She would always remain just a little out of reach. Because that was how she worked.

And Reyna? Reyna would never know that the chase had started long before she even realized it.

The game had only just begun.

It had started with that casual meeting in the coffee shop, Sage’s soft-spoken, elegant demeanor enough to keep Reyna hooked.

But now the chase was on in earnest.

Every movement, every word, every subtle glance from Sage was designed to make Reyna feel as if she were the one pursuing. It was a subtle game, one that Reyna couldn't quite put her finger on, but she felt it in her chest, the ache of something elusive that she couldn’t quite capture.

At first, Reyna had believed it was just an attraction—Sage was beautiful, poised, and intriguing. She had been impressed by the way Sage held herself, her quiet confidence, the way she didn’t need to try for attention but commanded it effortlessly. Reyna thought she could win her over easily. She had money, power, and influence; those things made things come to her, didn’t they?

But with each passing day, she found herself chasing harder, trying to draw out some sign from Sage that she was interested, that she wanted this too.

Sage was different. She made it clear from the start that she wasn’t like other women Reyna had met. She was calm, collected, and always in control. Even when Reyna had sent that first email about the internship offer, Sage had replied with polite indifference, a note of gratitude in her words, but nothing more. She never seemed too eager. Never too excited. Always just a little out of reach.

And that was what drove Reyna mad.

Reyna had tried everything—sending messages, arranging lunches, offering more opportunities—but Sage remained casual, unbothered. There were moments when Reyna could feel the warmth of Sage’s smile, a flicker of something, but then it would vanish, leaving her with nothing but a hollow longing that only seemed to deepen.

Sage wasn’t playing by the same rules as everyone else. She wasn’t chasing anything.

She wasn’t chasing me.

That thought gnawed at Reyna. It was maddening. No matter how much power she brought to the table—no matter how many opportunities she laid out for Sage—Sage was always a step ahead, always aloof, always acting as if she could take it or leave it.

And that drove Reyna to obsession.

The next time they met, it was at a gala, one of those stiff events that Reyna had attended countless times. She knew she’d see Sage there, and though she tried to act casual, to behave as though she wasn’t waiting for that one moment, she couldn't help but keep scanning the room for her.

When Sage finally appeared, it was as if the air shifted. It always did when she entered a room—she wasn’t loud or showy, but somehow, everyone’s attention seemed to gravitate toward her.

She was in a deep green dress that flowed effortlessly around her body, her hair styled in a simple but elegant updo. She looked like she had stepped out of a dream—like she belonged to a world far beyond the one Reyna inhabited.

Reyna watched as Sage spoke to a few people, her smile warm but distant, her voice quiet but commanding. It wasn’t that Sage was trying to get attention; it was simply that she exuded it without effort.

Reyna made her way over, keeping her steps measured, calculated. She couldn't allow herself to be seen as too eager, but she also couldn’t resist the pull. Sage’s gaze flickered briefly to her as she approached, and for a split second, Reyna felt the same stirring that had first struck her at the recruitment event. That pull, that moment when their eyes met and everything else faded.

This time, Sage didn’t turn away immediately. Instead, she smiled—the smile that never quite reached her eyes, the one that left Reyna wondering if it was real, if Sage was ever really there with her. It was polite, warm, but distant.

“Reyna,” Sage said softly, her voice smooth and composed as always. “You look lovely tonight.”

Reyna smiled, trying to keep her composure. She had been waiting for this moment, after all. She was prepared to make this work. She had to.

“You’re always so graceful,” Reyna replied, her tone a little too eager, but she couldn’t help herself. “I’ve been meaning to ask—how have you been?”

Sage’s eyes lingered on her for a moment, calculating. “I’ve been well,” she said, voice casual, as if nothing in the world could disturb her peaceful composure. “Busy. School, research. You know how it is.”

Reyna nodded, but she could sense the walls going up, just a little. “I’d love to have a real conversation sometime,” she said, her voice low, hopeful. “Maybe we could get coffee? Or lunch? My treat, of course.”

Sage’s smile faltered for just a fraction of a second before it returned, cool and polite. “I’m sure it’s a nice offer, but I’m quite busy these days. I’ll have to pass for now.”

And just like that, the door closed again. Reyna’s heart sank, but she forced herself to keep smiling, to act as though it didn’t hurt. It was all part of the game, wasn’t it? The chase. The waiting. The constant tugging at her that made her feel like she was on the edge of something—something she had to win.

Over the following weeks, Sage became more elusive. She stopped responding to Reyna’s direct attempts at conversation, and every time Reyna reached out, Sage would respond with nothing more than a polite message, offering no personal connection, no indication that she wanted anything more than the professional exchange they’d begun.

Reyna couldn’t stop. It was as if the game had taken on a life of its own. She wasn’t just trying to impress Sage anymore. She was trying to prove something to herself—prove that she could win her over.

She began to show up at places where she knew Sage would be, hoping for another glimpse of that composed, untouchable aura. She tried to get closer, to talk to her again, but each time, Sage remained just out of reach. She wasn’t rude. She wasn’t cold. She was polite, distant, the perfect balance of friendly but uninterested.

And with every rejection, with every polite but distant interaction, Reyna found herself falling deeper into the web. She couldn’t resist it. She couldn’t let it go.

Sage wasn’t about control. She didn’t need to show it. She didn’t even need to act like she cared. That was the genius of her approach—she made Reyna feel as though her wealth, her power, her prestige didn’t matter. Sage wasn’t impressed by it. Sage didn’t need it.

What drove Reyna mad was that Sage didn’t need anything from her. No matter how much Reyna gave, no matter how much she offered—attention, power, opportunities—Sage just was.

She didn’t chase. She didn’t ask. She never made a move unless it was her own.

It was the one thing Reyna had never experienced before: the feeling of wanting someone who didn’t want her back in the way she expected.

Sage was immune. And that gnawed at Reyna in ways she hadn’t anticipated.

At first, Reyna thought it was just another game—a challenge. It had been easy to attract powerful people before. Men, women, didn’t matter. They wanted her. She could have anyone, anytime.

But Sage wasn’t like the others. She wasn’t swayed by Reyna’s usual tricks—the casual flattery, the subtle manipulation, the quiet promise of what money and power could bring.

And for the first time in her life, Reyna felt small.

It was a strange, unsettling feeling—like a part of her had been laid bare. She was used to being the one on top, the one everyone wanted. She didn’t just have wealth and power, she had a presence. People bent to it, and if they didn’t, she bent them. But Sage... Sage wasn’t impressed.

Reyna had tried everything: the subtle hints of offering opportunities, the inviting smiles, the calculated moments of closeness. She had even dropped her guard for a second, showing Sage the vulnerable side she kept hidden behind her success. But nothing worked. Nothing made Sage look at her the way other people did.

It wasn’t that Sage wasn’t paying attention. No, Reyna could feel that Sage was always aware of her, but it was as if there was an invisible wall between them—one that she couldn’t quite break through. And it wasn't because of her money or her power. Sage didn’t care about any of that. It was something else, something far more elusive.

The more Reyna tried to close the distance, the more she felt Sage pulling away.

Sage didn’t need Reyna’s attention. And that was what made the chase so irresistible, so consuming. It was as though everything Reyna had ever known—everything that had made her feel powerful, valuable, untouchable—didn’t matter. Sage had somehow made her feel less than what she had always been.

And that, more than anything, scared Reyna.

Sage didn’t care about her money, her status, her connections. Sage didn’t need her. And that fear—of not being needed—began to consume Reyna in ways that nothing else ever had. For all the wealth and power Reyna possessed, she was terrified that it wasn’t enough for the one person she wanted.

It wasn’t about money. It wasn’t about sex. It wasn’t about anything that Reyna could give. No, this was something deeper. It was control.

Days turned into weeks. Reyna found herself obsessed—thinking about Sage constantly. At night, when she was supposed to be working, her thoughts would wander to that unapproachable figure. The way Sage carried herself with such quiet confidence, the way she would speak so gently but with such an assuredness, as though nothing and no one could disturb her peace.

Every time Reyna saw Sage at an event, every time their eyes met, it was the same: a brief, intense moment where their gazes would lock, and then it was over. Like Sage had never even noticed. Like it was nothing.

But Reyna couldn’t shake the feeling that something was happening. That somehow, Sage was making her feel like she was playing a game—one she wasn’t sure she could win.

It wasn’t that Reyna hadn’t tried. No, she had done everything that she knew worked. She would show up where she knew Sage would be, make sure their paths crossed “accidentally,” always with a soft smile and an invitation for coffee or lunch, always with the slightest touch that hinted at something more.

But every time, Sage was the same—polite, poised, not cold but distant, always just a little out of reach.

Reyna’s frustration was mounting, but so was her obsession. She started to feel like a woman on the edge of a cliff, unable to turn back, unable to stop herself. It had become more than just a challenge. It had become an obsession. Sage was the one thing she couldn’t have, and now that was all she could think about.

One afternoon, a week after their last interaction at the gala, Reyna decided to take a more direct approach. She had seen Sage walking out of the campus library, walking as though she had nowhere to go but everywhere at once. Her poise was almost painful, a deliberate grace that made Reyna’s heart stutter.

Reyna followed her, just close enough to keep her in sight, but not too close to appear desperate. She hated how desperate she felt, but it was the only thing driving her forward now.

When Sage stopped to check her phone in front of the coffee shop on the corner, Reyna saw her chance. She took a breath, stepped forward, and casually approached.

“Mind if I join you for a coffee?” Reyna asked, her voice low, steady, though her heart was racing.

Sage looked up from her phone, meeting Reyna’s eyes without hesitation, as though she had expected this. There was a flicker of something—curiosity?—but it was gone almost immediately.

“No, not at all,” Sage said, her voice polite, but distant, her smile just shy of warmth. “It’s a nice day. Have you been to this place before?”

It wasn’t a real invitation, but it wasn’t a rejection either.

“I come here sometimes,” Reyna said, sitting across from her, as though she had all the time in the world. “The coffee’s good, but the atmosphere’s better.”

Sage nodded, offering a soft smile. “I see what you mean. It’s quieter than the usual spots.”

Reyna watched her for a moment. Sage wasn’t making it easy. In fact, she wasn’t making it anything at all. It was as if they were simply two people having a normal conversation, but Reyna knew that it was more than that.

It was a test of interest. A test of desire.

Reyna reached for her coffee and sipped it slowly, trying not to let her frustration show. She had tried everything—her usual moves, her charm, her power—but Sage was unfazed. It was maddening.

“So, tell me,” Reyna said, leaning in just slightly. “What’s next for you? I can’t imagine someone like you just settling for what’s easy.”

Sage paused, looking at her with those calm, steady eyes. For a moment, it felt like a moment of recognition. Then she answered simply, without a hint of arrogance, but with that quiet confidence that had always pulled at Reyna.

“I think I’ll figure it out. The future will come in its own time.”

And that was it. No teasing, no invitation. Just words that hinted at something more, but revealed nothing. Nothing that Reyna could grasp. Nothing that would make her feel in control.

Reyna’s frustration was mounting. She wanted more. She wanted to claim Sage—wanted to show her she was worth something. But Sage wasn’t interested in being claimed. Not by her money, not by her status. Not by anything Reyna could offer.

And that was what kept Reyna coming back.

The chase had only just begun.

Chapter Text

Sage had always known the balance between distance and proximity.

Too far, and Reyna would lose interest—she wasn’t the type to chase something she couldn’t possess. Too close, and Reyna would feel she had already won.

It wasn’t that simple.

Sage wanted Reyna on the edge of her seat, but not so far that she’d fall off the edge. She had to remain just out of reach, the perfect distance to make Reyna hunger for more. She needed Reyna to believe that this was something she wanted—something she deserved—but also something she couldn’t easily take.

In the days after their coffee meeting, Sage knew she had planted the seed. Reyna had grown accustomed to being the one who had the power to make things happen, to force attention, to bend people to her will. But in Sage, Reyna had met a different kind of challenge: a woman who made everything feel casual, almost effortless, while still maintaining the upper hand.

Sage didn’t want Reyna to think she was powerless in this game. No. The game wasn’t about taking control, not directly. It was about making Reyna believe that she had to fight for it. That she had to earn what she was used to being given. It was about making Reyna feel like she was worthy of her attention, but never quite deserving of it.

And that’s why Sage chose her next move carefully.

It happened one rainy afternoon when Reyna had come into the library where Sage was studying. It was a perfectly ordinary day by all appearances. The kind of day where people didn’t expect much, just a few books, a quiet space, and the murmur of pages turning. Reyna had been talking to one of the professors in the corner when Sage noticed her.

Their eyes met briefly. Sage didn’t smile. She didn’t lean forward. She didn’t do anything. She simply let the space between them remain just long enough for Reyna to feel the stir of a desire to cross it.

It was subtle. It was so subtle, but it was enough. Just enough.

Reyna didn’t approach immediately, but the way her eyes lingered told Sage all she needed to know. Reyna wanted to reach out, wanted to make the first move. But she didn’t. Because Reyna wasn’t used to being in a position where she didn’t know what to do.

That was exactly what Sage had been counting on.

As Reyna walked toward the exit moments later, Sage allowed herself one quiet, deliberate step closer to the door. Their paths crossed—accidentally. It was a simple moment, brief, unnoticed by most, but Sage could see it in Reyna’s eyes.

There was that glimmer again. That hunger.

Sage kept her expression neutral, her back straight, her voice soft when she spoke. “I didn’t know you studied here. This place is usually too quiet for me,” she said, almost to herself, but loud enough for Reyna to hear.

Reyna froze for a moment, as if considering whether to acknowledge the remark. She didn’t need to speak, didn’t need to offer anything in return. But that moment, that fleeting exchange, was enough.

And it was the perfect opportunity.

Reyna’s lips parted, and then she closed the space between them. “I’ve come here a few times. I find the quiet helps with thinking.” She shifted slightly, her gaze lingering on Sage for just a fraction longer than expected. There was a softness there, a vulnerability, an eagerness.

Sage didn’t respond immediately.

She didn’t need to.

She simply waited, as if unsure whether she’d engage at all.

It wasn’t about what Reyna wanted—it was about making Reyna believe that it was about what she wanted.

“I’m just about to leave. Maybe I’ll see you around?” Reyna said, and Sage knew that she wasn’t just speaking out of politeness. She was testing the waters. Testing Sage.

Sage’s eyes met Reyna’s, and for the briefest of moments, something passed between them. But it was fleeting. It was subtle. Reyna wouldn’t notice it, not immediately.

“I’m sure I’ll be around,” Sage said, her voice calm, indifferent even. She offered a soft, almost imperceptible smile, just enough to show Reyna that she hadn’t dismissed her entirely, but not enough to make her feel like Sage had any real interest in pursuing anything further.

And that, in itself, was the invitation Reyna had been waiting for.

Over the following days, Sage kept her distance, but just close enough to let Reyna think she had a shot. It was always like this: Reyna would think she was making a move, pushing closer, offering invitations, but Sage never quite made the first overture. Every time, she left Reyna just a little more unsure, just a little more uncertain of where she stood.

She kept it casual. Effortless.

On the rare occasions they shared a few moments together, Sage would ask a polite question—something that had nothing to do with Reyna’s power or her connections, just simple curiosities. She would seem genuinely interested in Reyna’s thoughts on some trivial matter, but it would always be brief. Just long enough to leave Reyna with the taste of unfinished conversation, as though something important had almost been said but wasn’t.

One day, when Reyna was walking out of a lecture, Sage happened to be standing by the door. Their paths crossed again.

“Did you enjoy the lecture?” Sage asked, her voice light, her posture relaxed as though this was just another casual interaction.

Reyna paused. Her eyes met Sage’s, just a flicker of tension in the air. She didn’t immediately answer. She felt it, that same pull, that same brief moment where it was all too clear that Sage wasn’t interested in offering her any more than that. She had given Reyna the illusion of a question without an expectation for it to be answered, leaving Reyna to navigate the space between them.

“I did,” Reyna replied, though her voice was slightly strained. She didn’t understand why, but there was something almost exhausting about these moments with Sage—like she was always trying to stay a step ahead, always trying to hold something back.

“You know,” Sage added, tilting her head slightly as though mulling over something. “I’ve never understood how anyone can focus in that place. It’s so loud.”

Reyna didn’t know why, but the way Sage spoke made the simple comment feel like a hidden invitation. The way she said it, the way she acted as if it was just a casual observation—it was everything. And it made Reyna feel like she needed to respond, needed to keep this fragile interaction going.

But just as Reyna was about to speak, Sage smiled again—briefly, politely, but not enough to make Reyna feel seen. She wasn’t opening the door any further. She wasn’t offering an opening for Reyna to take.

“You know where to find me if you want to talk more about it,” Sage said softly, her voice a little quieter, but still unmistakably indifferent.

Reyna blinked. The words hung in the air for just a second too long. But before she could respond, Sage had already turned and walked away, her steps measured, controlled, each one moving her further out of Reyna’s reach.

Reyna stood there, frozen for a moment, the words spinning in her head.

That was it. That was all.

But it wasn’t enough for her to leave it alone. Sage was still there, still lingering in her mind, like a puzzle that needed to be solved. A game that she couldn’t win yet, but had to.

Sage wasn’t going to make it easy, but she was slowly giving Reyna just enough to keep the game alive. Enough to make Reyna think she was almost there—close enough to feel like the prize was within her grasp, but always just far enough to make the chase a constant, tantalizing obsession.

And that, Sage knew, would be enough to keep Reyna coming back.

Sage had always been deliberate in her movements, careful with every glance and every word. The balance between distance and proximity had become second nature to her. But there was a certain kind of power in proximity—one she had yet to fully explore with Reyna.

The time had come to push just a little closer, to offer a taste of what might be, but never enough to make Reyna feel she had it all.

After all, what was the point of capturing a prize if the chase lost its flavor?

Sage had already decided that it was time to shift the game, just a little.

She began showing Reyna a fraction more of herself—small, seemingly accidental gestures that weren’t about power or prestige, but about connection. Not enough to make Reyna think she had cracked the code, but just enough to make her believe she could.

It was like throwing out a little bait, making it tantalizing enough for Reyna to bite, but never enough to actually reel her in.

It started with the small things.

A shared moment at the library. Reyna, unexpectedly, was the one to pass by Sage's desk first. A fleeting glance was exchanged, and then, a simple “You look busy,” from Reyna. Sage looked up, her usual aloof composure softened just a little.

“Just a little,” Sage replied, offering the smallest of smiles, a smile that said there was something more to it, though the smile itself wasn’t enough to give away anything substantial.

“Good to see you,” Reyna said, and that was it. She didn’t hang around, didn’t make any extra effort. But the way Sage had let that moment unfold—naturally—left Reyna with a sense that it meant something more than it actually did.

That night, Reyna thought about it. She kept replaying the interaction, analyzing it. She realized that for the first time, it hadn’t been all business. It hadn’t been her usual power plays, her usual attempts to impress. It was casual. Easy. She’d caught Sage off guard, or so it seemed.

Reyna had no idea that Sage had orchestrated the whole thing. No, that wasn’t the point. The point was that it was different. And Reyna was hooked.

The next time they met was at a university event, an art exhibit. Sage had been invited as one of the top students in her major, a guest of distinction. Reyna, too, was there, of course, but she hadn’t expected to run into Sage.

It had been a while since their last interaction, and Sage was ready for this moment. She had been calculating the timing, choosing to attend the event as a way of casually showing Reyna she wasn’t as far away as Reyna might think.

Sage walked in, as usual, with a composed air—effortless, elegant, every inch the untouchable beauty. But this time, something in her posture softened as Reyna approached. There was nothing overt in the way Sage greeted her—nothing too warm, nothing too inviting—but there was a subtle difference in the way she looked at Reyna. A moment longer than necessary. A flicker of acknowledgment.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Reyna said with a light laugh, though it was clear she was a little surprised.

“I like to surprise people,” Sage replied, her tone light but with that same, subtle undercurrent that only Reyna could feel. There was something in the way she said it—something that made Reyna’s chest tighten just a little.

It wasn’t the usual sharp edge of a calculated, businesslike comment. There was warmth there—faint, but undeniably present.

And that was all it took.

Reyna couldn’t quite put her finger on it, but she felt the difference. She didn’t just feel it—she was distracted by it. By the way Sage held her gaze just a moment too long, the way she seemed to care about the conversation, but not enough to show it. There was no rush to be anywhere. No agenda, no veiled interest in Reyna’s wealth or status. Just a brief moment that lingered between them, like a spark without a match. It made Reyna smile wider, her heart racing a little.

The weeks went on like that. These little moments. At first, they were fleeting—so trivial that Reyna almost missed them. A brush of Sage’s hand when they reached for the same book. The quiet chuckle when Reyna cracked a joke at a group dinner. The way Sage looked at her from across the room during lectures, as though she hadn’t expected her to notice, but it was there—a flicker of recognition, a spark of something just beneath the surface.

It wasn’t much, not yet. But it was enough.

Reyna found herself thinking about Sage more than anything else. More than the latest business meeting. More than any of the successful investments she’d made. More than any of the important people who usually demanded her attention. No, this was different. With Sage, there was no winning. There was no obvious path to success.

And that frustrated her.

But also made her crave it more.

By the time they met again for coffee, Sage could tell Reyna was no longer just casually interested.

There was a kind of hunger there now, something Reyna wasn’t even aware of. She wanted to be close to Sage, but not in a way she was used to. This was different. She wasn’t trying to impress Sage, not in the way she usually would with other people. She wasn’t using her wealth, her connections, or her business savvy.

No.

This time, it was about winning something that didn’t have a price tag.

Reyna was trying to solve a puzzle.

And Sage was letting her try.

Sage had been waiting for this moment. She had anticipated it. She knew Reyna would get to this point.

The coffee shop was small, cozy, the kind of place where conversations could feel intimate, even in a crowd. As Reyna sat across from her, there was that familiar tension in the air. It had been building for weeks now.

“How’s the internship going?” Reyna asked casually, though she wasn’t really asking about the internship. She was asking about Sage’s life. Her interests. Her thoughts. Her presence.

Sage took a sip of her coffee, pausing just long enough to let the silence linger. When she met Reyna’s gaze again, there was something there—a subtle shift in her demeanor that wasn’t about business. It wasn’t about connections or future plans.

“It’s good,” Sage said simply, but her voice had a softness to it, an almost personal quality that Reyna didn’t remember hearing before.

Reyna tilted her head, a spark of something in her eyes. “Good?” she repeated. “That’s it?”

Sage smiled, just the slightest curve of her lips. “You asked,” she said, the tone so calm, so deliberate, as though she were making a quiet joke at Reyna’s expense. But the smile wasn’t dismissive. It was just there, enough to keep Reyna guessing.

The silence stretched between them, and for the first time, Reyna was acutely aware of the subtle pull of Sage’s presence. She wanted more. She wanted to know more, feel more. But the longer she stayed, the more elusive it felt. The game wasn’t over yet. Not by a long shot.

“I like talking to you,” Reyna said, a hint of vulnerability creeping into her words. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to say it, but it was true.

Sage raised an eyebrow, her smile still soft, her eyes glimmering with something unreadable. “I like talking to you, too,” she replied, but there was no warmth in her words—only the coldest hint of curiosity.

And that was when it clicked for Reyna. She wasn’t just trying to win Sage over. She was chasing something unattainable. Something she couldn’t get, no matter how hard she tried. And that made her want it more.

Reyna’s mind whirred with the unspoken truth. The game wasn’t about impressing Sage. It wasn’t about using her power, her wealth, or her connections. It was about getting close enough to matter. Close enough to make Sage care.

But that was the cruelest part of all. Sage never let anyone close enough.

And that, in turn, made Reyna want it more. To make her care. To get there. To win this game.

But Sage... Sage had a way of making everything feel so effortless, like Reyna’s effort didn’t even matter.

And that was exactly the feeling that would keep Reyna coming back. Forever.

Reyna had spent years in business, learning to navigate the fine line between what was calculated and what was instinct. She’d built an empire, piece by piece, using her connections, her mind, and her charisma. But none of that had ever felt quite as challenging as the way Sage had wormed her way into her thoughts.

Sage had always been so effortlessly composed, and yet Reyna found herself continuously circling back to her, obsessed with the way Sage made her feel like she was chasing something impossible. Something real. It wasn’t about the money. It wasn’t about the power. No, this was different. Sage made Reyna feel as though the more she tried to impress her, the further away she became from actually getting to her. The thrill of the chase had become something entirely new. And it had nothing to do with wealth.

Her mind had been occupied with one thought: Sage. She couldn’t help it. Every time she saw her, or even thought about her, she was hit with an insatiable need to get closer. No matter what she tried to tell herself, this was different. With every calculated attempt to get Sage’s attention, it was as though she found herself tangled deeper in the game—one that, she was beginning to admit, had nothing to do with power, money, or business. It had everything to do with her. With Sage. And it was addictive in a way Reyna couldn’t deny.

There was one thing that kept her coming back: Sage's seemingly effortless composure. Everything Reyna tried to do—whether it was in business or in life—came with a purpose. A carefully crafted plan. But with Sage? Every move felt like she was playing an entirely different game—one that wasn’t based on what Reyna could offer her, but on something much subtler, much more personal. Something Reyna was determined to unlock.

And it wasn’t until the conversation about medicine that Reyna finally caught a glimpse of something more in Sage.

It had started innocently enough, a casual conversation that had sparked something in Reyna’s mind.

It was a late evening dinner at one of the high-end restaurants that Reyna frequented with her colleagues. The atmosphere was elegant, with golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and soft music playing in the background. Reyna found herself in the company of the usual group of people—intelligent, sharp, and driven—but her focus was solely on one person: Sage.

Sage had been her usual enigmatic self, cool and composed.

As usual, she’d been standing slightly apart from the rest of the group, letting the conversation swirl around her, offering small, thoughtful comments without ever dominating the conversation. It was the kind of behavior that naturally drew people in, but never too much.

She was always the observer. The calm in the storm.

It was in one of those moments when the topic veered off course that Reyna noticed a subtle change in Sage’s demeanor.

They’d been discussing some new tech advancements in business, when someone casually mentioned AI's growing role in healthcare. Sage’s eyes seemed to light up, just a little, in that way Reyna had learned to watch for.

“I’ve been reading about it,” Sage said, her voice casual but something more alive beneath it. “AI-assisted surgery. Especially in neurology. Kingdom Hospital is doing some really interesting things with a machine they’re developing. It’s still in beta, but the idea of automating the precise movement in surgery—it’s fascinating.”

Reyna’s curiosity piqued. It wasn’t the first time she’d heard Sage mention her interest in the medical field, but this was the first time she’d seen her so... animated. Sage was never someone to express passion too overtly. She wasn’t the kind of person who wore her emotions on her sleeve. But this—this was different. The way her eyes shone, the slight widening of her pupils as she spoke, the way she leaned in a little closer to the table—it was clear that this was something Sage truly cared about.

Reyna made a mental note of it. Medicine. This was the key.

The following days felt like a blur to Reyna as she worked in the background to make things happen. There were calls to be made, messages to be sent, and favors to be called in. The more she worked on making Sage’s dream a reality, the more she realized that it wasn’t just about doing something kind for her. This was a test. A test of how much she was willing to invest in this connection.

She’d arranged for Sage to get an internship at Kingdom Hospital—one that few students would ever have access to without serious connections. The opportunity would mean the world to Sage, especially with her interest in neurology.

But Reyna made sure her involvement remained hidden. Her connections were vast, but her hand wouldn’t show here.

Sage would believe it was a stroke of luck, a fluke, a random opportunity that came her way. She would be a shadow in the background, arranging everything behind the scenes, without ever letting Sage know just how far she had gone to get her there. The last thing Reyna wanted was for Sage to think it was about anything other than Sage’s own merit.

It was only when Reyna’s secretary confirmed that everything was in place, and the offer had been sent out to Sage, that she allowed herself to take a step back. She knew what came next. The part of the game where Sage would feel the effects of Reyna’s subtle move, but wouldn’t be able to trace it back to her.

That evening, Reyna sat in her penthouse office, reviewing some documents, when her phone buzzed on the desk.

It was a message from Sage.

“Hey Reyna! Just wanted to say thank you for the internship offer at your company. It’s honestly such an amazing opportunity, and I can’t wait to see what’s in store. I’m sure it’ll help me with the Kingdom Hospital internship, too! Thanks again for the support.”

The words were simple. Polite. But there was something in the tone that made Reyna’s chest tighten. There was a lightness in Sage’s words, an almost unusually warm undertone that made Reyna’s pulse race. It wasn’t what Sage had said—it was the way she said it. The small crack in her usual armor. The feeling of real gratitude, the type that was more intimate than just professional. It made Reyna feel that something had shifted.

Sage was happy. And that happiness was because of her. But it wasn’t about the business. It wasn’t about the Kingdom internship either—it was because Sage had, for the first time, felt like someone truly cared about what she wanted.

Sage had always been so composed, so self-sufficient. But in this one moment, Reyna could sense that she wasn’t completely untouchable. That maybe, just maybe, Reyna had managed to slip past the walls Sage had so carefully built.

The next time they met, Reyna made sure to hold herself differently. She wasn’t desperate. She wasn’t trying to force anything. She wanted to make Sage believe that their connection was natural, that they were equals in this game.

They sat down for coffee at a small cafe, one of the more relaxed spots that Reyna liked to frequent when she needed a break from the pressure of her corporate life. The moment Sage walked in, Reyna noticed the subtle shift in the way Sage moved. She wasn’t as distant as usual. There was something warmer in her gaze, something... inviting.

Reyna smiled as she saw her approach. “I’m glad you could make it,” she said smoothly, leaning back in her chair. There was no need for pretenses anymore.

Sage gave a small smile back, a smile that seemed a little less guarded than usual. “I’m glad you asked me,” she replied, taking a seat across from Reyna. “It’s been a while since I had the chance to just... relax, you know?”

Reyna could feel the change. Sage wasn’t putting up barriers anymore. She wasn’t trying to stay above it all. She was letting herself be seen, just a little bit more.

Over the next hour, the conversation flowed easily, effortlessly. Sage shared more about her passion for medicine—this time, without the professional distance. She was speaking freely now, and Reyna was hanging on every word, desperate to know more. She was drawn to the way Sage’s eyes lit up when she spoke about things she loved. It was as though, for once, Sage had allowed herself to feel human—not just an untouchable enigma, not just a calculated player. She was just a woman with dreams, with passions.

And Reyna, for the first time, wasn’t trying to impress her. She wasn’t working. She was simply there. For her.

When they finally stood up to leave, Reyna noticed something subtle in Sage’s demeanor. A small, fleeting gesture—Sage’s hand brushing against her arm as they walked toward the door.

It was nothing. Nothing at all.

But to Reyna? It was everything.

And just like that, Reyna knew.

The game wasn’t over.

But this time, Sage had left her with a taste of something she couldn’t forget. Something that felt like progress—real progress.

Sage’s walls were still there, but they weren’t as thick as they used to be. And that? That was enough to keep Reyna coming back for more.

Chapter Text

Sage let the warmth of her tea fill her senses as she slowly took a sip, feeling the liquid glide down her throat, soothing the slight tension that had been building in her chest.

She’d been playing this game for months now, and it was starting to feel almost too easy. Too smooth. But that didn’t mean it was any less enjoyable.

In fact, it was just the opposite.

The more control she had over Reyna, the more delicious it became. Every calculated step, every carefully placed word—it was like slowly unraveling a puzzle. And Sage loved puzzles.

But she didn’t just want to solve them. She wanted to win them. To conquer them completely.

She’d crafted the message carefully, knowing it would set things in motion, draw Reyna closer without ever making it seem deliberate. The timing had been perfect.

“Hey Reyna! Just wanted to say thank you for the internship offer at your company. It’s honestly such an amazing opportunity, and I can’t wait to see what’s in store. I’m sure it’ll help me with the Kingdom Hospital internship, too! Thanks again for the support.”

There. It was done.

Sage didn’t smile as she set her phone down on the polished wood table. Her expression was one of perfect neutrality—nothing on her face betrayed the satisfaction that simmered beneath her cool exterior. Her lips were pressed together in a thin line, her gaze distant, though her mind was sharp and calculating.

She didn’t need to check her phone again. She knew Reyna would respond, she knew Reyna would feel that brief, almost imperceptible shift. The sudden lightness in her words would be enough to draw Reyna closer, even if she didn’t fully realize it.

Sage didn’t need Reyna to know the game was being played; she only needed to ensure that Reyna believed she was still in control.

After all, it was the illusion of control that made it all work.

The text was subtle enough to not make Reyna suspect anything, but loaded with just enough warmth to make her think they were becoming friends. Sage wasn’t just thanking Reyna for the internship—it was more than that.

It was about playing the game in a way that would make Reyna believe she was in control, when really, Sage was the one pulling the strings.

After all, Reyna was perfect.

She had everything Sage had always wanted. She had power, wealth, status—everything Sage was still working to build. But it wasn’t just those things that made Reyna so enticing. It was that Reyna had them and she was stunning. Unbelievably attractive. The way she carried herself, her elegance, her beauty, her aggressive and ambitious personality.

Sage didn’t just see Reyna as a potential partner in some romantic sense. No, Reyna was much more than that. She was a means to an end.

The perfect shortcut to crossing the barriers that had always stood in Sage’s way.

It wasn’t a game of love or affection—it was about survival.

In the world Sage had spent her life navigating, some people were born with silver spoons in their mouths, and others had to claw their way up the ladder, knowing full well that no matter how hard they worked, they would always be one step behind those born with privilege. Some people just won. And Sage was determined to be one of those people.

She wasn’t going to waste time with those who couldn’t help her. She didn’t have the luxury of waiting for things to fall into place. Reyna, with her wealth, her connections, her beauty—it was the perfect match. She could help Sage get where she needed to be, faster, more efficiently, and with much less effort.

As she finished the last of her tea, Sage set the cup down slowly, tapping the rim of the porcelain with her finger, lost in thought. The game was in motion, but there was still so much more to do.

Reyna’s response came in as expected, almost immediate, and full of that light, excited energy that had made Sage’s plan so irresistible in the first place.

“Of course! I’m so glad you’re happy about the opportunity. I know it’ll be great for your future!”

Sage didn’t immediately respond. Instead, she let the message sit there for a few moments, just enough time for Reyna’s words to sink in and make her feel satisfied with her own success. She had already pulled Reyna in, now it was time to keep her hooked.

Sage didn’t need to acknowledge the Kingdom Hospital internship yet. That wasn’t the point. It wasn’t even about being grateful for Reyna’s connections. What mattered now was something much simpler: making Reyna feel special. Making her believe that Sage was beginning to crack her shell, that she was beginning to care.

That’s when the cracks would begin to appear. Slowly, methodically, like a spider weaving a web. And Reyna, beautiful, brilliant Reyna, wouldn’t even realize she was caught.

Sage leaned back in her chair, crossing her legs with the practiced grace she had spent years perfecting. Every inch of her was a study in poise—every movement, every gesture, designed to command attention without demanding it. Her blouse, a soft shade of cream, clung to her slender form just enough to be elegant, not seductive. Her makeup was flawless but understated, the slightest hint of eyeliner accentuating the depth of her eyes. Her perfume—a soft blend of jasmine and sandalwood—lingered in the air around her, a fragrance designed not to overwhelm but to pull people in, leaving an invisible trail of allure that only those who were sensitive to it would ever notice.

Every detail mattered.

When Reyna had first shown interest, Sage had known exactly what to do. She had rehearsed the moments, studied her responses, anticipated every possible move Reyna might make. From the way she moved across the room at that event to the way she smiled—every angle, every glance had been thought through meticulously. Even the way she had not smiled when their eyes first met was deliberate. Reyna didn’t know that everything had been preordained—the way she would walk into that coffee shop, the way their first meeting would go, and every subtle movement after that. Every casual comment, every flirtatious exchange, was a calculated maneuver in Sage’s grand design.

Every interaction with Reyna was an opportunity to assert control, to gain more ground in this delicate power struggle. The world didn’t play fair. Some people had it easy, and others didn’t. But Sage was determined to play by her own rules, no matter how ruthless they might seem.

She had always known she would need someone like Reyna. Someone who could propel her forward in ways her hard work never could. Someone whose power was undeniable, someone whose wealth could open doors that had always been closed to Sage. She didn’t care about Reyna’s affection—she cared about her status. Her connection.

Sage’s lips curled into a smile, but it wasn’t a kind one. She could already see it—the way Reyna would look at her, the way she’d chase after her. It was inevitable. Reyna had no idea she was already playing into Sage’s hands.

Sage placed the tea cup back onto the saucer with the same casual, almost deliberate precision. The warmth in the porcelain seemed to seep into her skin, grounding her as she reflected on the next move in her game. Her fingers lingered on the rim of the cup, tapping lightly, thinking about the message she had just sent to Reyna. It was perfect—simple, thoughtful, yet designed to plant seeds that would bloom in exactly the way Sage wanted.

Sage knew the game she was playing, and she knew that Reyna was already deep in it, whether she realized it or not. Every action, every word, every fleeting look from Sage was meticulously calculated to draw Reyna in further, while never revealing her true hand. Reyna thought that Sage wasn’t chasing after her money, her power, or her connections. Not in the way everyone else was.

Mm, Sage thought, as she adjusted the collar of her blouse, her reflection in the mirror in front of her unblinking and sharp. That’s the trap. The key is making Reyna believe she’s different. Making her believe I value her for who she was, not for what she had.

The plan was flawless in its simplicity. And it was working. Reyna had begun to view their interactions through a lens of friendship—of connection based on shared interests and mutual respect. It was the perfect deception. Sage didn’t want Reyna to think she was after her wealth, after her status. That’s what everyone else saw. Everyone else, from Reyna’s business partners to her family members, all wanted something from her. And that’s exactly what Sage was trying to avoid showing.

If she thinks I’m just like the rest of them, I’ll lose her, Sage reasoned, her mind continuing to run the calculations. If she believes I’m only after what she can give me—after her influence, her status—then it’s game over. I need to be different. I need to make her believe I’m the one person who doesn’t care about any of that. I need her to see me as someone who values who she is, not what she has.

She wasn’t blind. She understood exactly why Reyna had become the object of so many people's desires. Reyna was a force of nature—a woman who had been born into the kind of wealth that most people only dreamed of, a woman whose beauty was so captivating that it could disarm the most powerful of men. And then there was her mind—sharp, calculated, strategic. A businesswoman who made deals that no one else could even comprehend, let alone execute.

But none of that mattered to Sage in the way it might have to someone else. The wealth? The status? The connections? Those were mere tools. Instruments to be used in her own ascent. To gain her own power. To break through the doors that had been closed to her for far too long.

But the trick, the genius part of it, was making Reyna believe that Sage didn’t see any of that. Making her think that Sage valued her for who she was, not for the wealth or power that came so effortlessly to her.

And so Sage had made her move. She'd thanked Reyna for the internship offer, of course, but it wasn’t just gratitude. No, that was just a mask, a moment of closeness that Reyna would recognize as something personal. Sage had turned the attention back to Reyna’s character—subtly, of course.

Sage had framed the message in a way that emphasized her personal growth, her journey. It wasn’t just about getting the Kingdom Hospital internship; it was about how this was an opportunity for her to prove herself, to take another step forward in her career. By doing so, she didn’t just acknowledge Reyna’s influence; she gave the impression that it wasn’t the only reason Sage was pursuing the opportunity.

She wanted Reyna to feel like Sage wasn’t just using her for the things she could provide. She needed Reyna to feel like she was more than just a stepping stone to Sage’s success. Because, for now, the last thing Sage wanted was to alienate her by appearing like everyone else.

The more Reyna believed that Sage didn’t care about her wealth—her connections, her family’s empire—the more she’d want to prove herself. The more she’d desire Sage’s approval. And that desire would turn into obsession.

Sage set the phone down, checking her reflection one last time. Her hair fell in perfect waves, framing her face with effortless grace. Her makeup was subtle, just enough to highlight the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the natural curve of her lips. The scent of her perfume lingered in the air—a soft, sophisticated blend that Reyna would recognize.

Every little detail was always planned. Every look, every gesture, every word she spoke to Reyna—it was all rehearsed in Sage’s mind. Every time Reyna thought she was seeing something casual, something spontaneous, it was carefully crafted. Sage was playing the long game, building up an image. The image of a woman who didn’t care about wealth, about power, about status. A woman who was only interested in the connection between them, in Reyna’s personality and character.

And that, in itself, was the greatest power Sage could wield.

What Sage needed was for Reyna to fall for the illusion—the illusion that Sage was different. That Sage was the one who valued her. Not her money, not her business empire, not her name or her connections—but the woman she was. The real Reyna.

Sage had been so careful to draw that line. She wanted Reyna to believe that she wasn’t interested in the things everyone else cared about. She wanted Reyna to think that she valued something deeper. And in doing so, she made Reyna work harder. She made her chase harder.

And that’s when the addiction would begin.

Sage picked up her phone again and scrolled through her messages, a slight smile curling at the corner of her lips. The text was sent, and now it was only a matter of time before Reyna would respond, before Reyna would reach out again.

And when she did, Sage would be ready. She’d keep playing the game. She’d keep letting Reyna believe she was winning, even though the truth was that Sage had already won. She was already deep in Reyna’s mind, working her way into Reyna’s thoughts.

Sage’s gaze lingered on the reflection of her face in the glass. The sharp, composed image stared back at her—calm, elegant, untouchable. She had spent years carefully curating this persona, sculpting it until it became second nature. The subtle tilt of her head, the curve of her smile, the gleam in her eyes—everything was a deliberate choice, a calculated move in the grand game of life. She was the picture of poised beauty, a woman of power who had carefully cultivated the art of seeming effortlessly perfect.

Her eyes shifted out the window, but her mind was far from the present. Her reflection faded into the background as a new image filled her thoughts, pulling her back through time. She leaned back in her chair, taking another sip of tea, the warmth of the cup grounding her.

The past was a dark well, one that she had learned to peer into without flinching.

She had learned long ago that every step she took forward had been built on a foundation of silent sacrifice, a game she had played from the very beginning.

It had been a bitter, cold winter the night she was abandoned. The orphanage had smelled like wet wool and disinfectant, the kind of sterile, artificial scent that could never mask the reality of its existence. It was a place where the weak went unnoticed, and the strong clawed their way to survival.

But Sage had learned early on how to survive.

When she was just seven, she understood that no one was going to help her. There were no knights in shining armor to sweep her away from the harsh reality of her world. Society had no mercy for orphans—especially ones who were born with nothing to their name, not even a family to call her own. If she wanted to escape this place, to climb out of the pit she had been thrown into, it would have to be by her own hand.

But she had a weapon, a powerful one, one that few could resist: herself.

From the moment Sage had arrived at the orphanage, she knew the rules. The other children fought for scraps of food, scrambled for attention, their faces dirty and bruised, their eyes hollow with hunger. Sage knew that to survive here, to be more than just another forgotten face, she had to be different. She had to be better. She had to make them want her.

So, she did what she had to do. Sage learned how to be the perfect child, the one that the adults couldn’t help but fawn over. She was obedient, always doing exactly as she was told, her manner polite and respectful. But it was more than that. It was about knowing when to show a hint of vulnerability, the perfect amount of innocence to melt a heart. And she was charming, oh, so charming. She knew how to smile just right, to make people believe that they were the ones doing her a favor, not the other way around.

The volunteers who came to the orphanage, the donors who visited to look for a child to sponsor—they were all pawns in her game. Sage learned how to make them feel like they were the most important people in the world, even as she assessed which ones could offer her the most.

It wasn’t about begging for help; it was about making them want to offer it.

At night, while the other children slept in tattered blankets, Sage had the warmest bed. While the others fought over scraps, Sage was always the first to be served the best food. She wore the finest clothes, carefully chosen for her by the donors who couldn't resist her charm. She was different, a hidden pearl among the muck and grime. And in this game, that was everything.

Sage had never been a fighter in the traditional sense. She didn’t raise her fists; she raised her mind. And her mind was sharper than anyone could have imagined. From a young age, she learned that no amount of hard work or good grades would guarantee her success in this world. There was no place for the idealistic dreams of a child with a clean slate. The world had rules, and those rules favored the powerful, the ones who knew how to play the game.

Good grades were a luxury, a ticket to the illusion of success, but they weren’t enough. A degree from a prestigious university? A diploma hanging on the wall? That was just a piece of paper, a decorative item to be framed and forgotten. It didn’t open doors for you. It didn’t make people want to offer you power. No, power came from knowing how to bend the world to your will.

Sage had coldly observed the failures of so many well-meaning souls around her. They worked hard, they studied, they believed that if they followed the rules, success would come. They were wrong. The world didn’t care about your morals. The world didn’t care about your efforts. The world cared about results. And results came from connections, from alliances, from making the right people believe in you.

And that was where Sage had her advantage.

She had made it to the top of the orphanage's social ladder, but that was only the first step. She knew that if she wanted to make it beyond this place, beyond the walls of the orphanage, she would need more than just charm. She would need something that could break the cycle, something that could open the doors that had always been closed to her.

She needed power.

And that power came in the form of Reyna.

Sage had known about Reyna long before their paths ever crossed. She had watched the way Reyna moved through the world, the effortless command she held over everyone around her. Reyna had everything—wealth, power, connections, status. She was a player in the game, someone who could pull strings and shape the world around her. And Sage understood something fundamental about people like Reyna: they didn’t play for fun. They played to win.

But that didn’t mean that Reyna couldn’t be used. And that was where Sage came in.

She had no capital, no empire to fall back on. But she had something just as valuable: an understanding of how to manipulate the game. She didn’t need to be the one at the top; she just needed to be the one controlling the board.

Reyna was the opportunity, the perfect pawn in Sage’s game. She was the key to everything Sage had ever wanted: status, power, influence. But there was a catch. Reyna couldn’t know that Sage was after those things.

Sage had to make Reyna believe that it was her—Reyna’s character, her heart—that mattered most. Sage had to make Reyna believe that she wasn’t like the others who sought her for her wealth or her status.

And that was the delicate dance Sage had learned so well. She had to make Reyna fall for her in a way that felt organic, natural, without seeming forced. It was all about creating the illusion of a genuine connection, one that Reyna would chase after, one that would make her want to prove herself. But as always, Sage was in control.

She had no intention of letting Reyna win this game.

Not when she had already set the rules.

Sage’s eyes returned to the window, the glass now reflecting her face once again. She smiled. She could already see it—the pieces falling into place.

Reyna was just the latest player in a game that Sage had already won.

Chapter Text

The text had been a turning point.

A carefully orchestrated message that carried more weight than its innocent words suggested.

Sage had made sure it seemed like an offhand remark—gratitude for the internship, a simple acknowledgment of Reyna’s efforts.

But to Reyna—it was a sign of something deeper.

It was more than just a thank-you. It was an invitation into something new, a bridge that seemed to extend just far enough to make her want to cross it, to prove herself worthy of it.

Reyna had never been a woman to back down from a challenge, especially not one as deliciously complicated as Sage.

Of course, she didn’t know that every moment, every smile, every touch was a calculated move in a game that only Sage knew the full rules to.

Reyna couldn’t help but want more, to chase after whatever mystery Sage held within her.

The days that followed felt like a slow unraveling of the boundaries between them.

Sage’s carefully curated distance began to waver ever so slightly. Her gestures warmer, her smiles lingering just a little longer than before.

Reyna found herself eagerly anticipating every interaction, reading into every word, every glance.

But it wasn’t just Sage’s attention that Reyna craved—it was something deeper, something more elusive.

It was the feeling of being seen.

Reyna had always been a force in her own right, a woman who commanded respect, who built empires and moved mountains with her power and wealth.

But with Sage, it felt different.

It wasn’t about what Reyna had.

It was about who Reyna was.

Reyna didn’t need to show Sage how much power she wielded or how much money she had in the bank. That wasn’t the game here. With Sage, it was as if all the material things she had worked for didn’t matter. What mattered was her. And the idea of losing that connection, of losing Sage, filled her with an urgency she couldn’t fully comprehend.

It was a delicate dance, and Reyna was terrified of making a wrong step. She had always been the one in control—whether in business, in her relationships, or in life. But with Sage, it was different. She wasn’t in control. And for the first time in a long time, Reyna was afraid.

It happened one evening after a late-night meeting with one of her investors. Reyna had been smoking, as she often did when she needed to unwind, her mind racing with the details of her next business move. It was the first time in a while that Sage had joined her for a casual drink, and the air between them was thick with unspoken tension.

Sage had already pointed out her smoking habit before—more than once. Each time, Reyna had brushed it off with a laugh, but tonight, there was something in the way Sage watched her, something that made Reyna’s heart beat faster in her chest.

“You know, I really don’t like it when you smoke,” Sage said softly, her eyes dark but not angry. It was a gentle reproach, one that seemed to carry more weight than it should have. “It’s bad for your health, and I don’t like seeing you harm yourself.”

Reyna felt a knot tighten in her stomach. It wasn’t the first time Sage had said something like that. But this time, it hit harder. The words weren’t just a casual warning; they felt like a plea, like a vulnerability that Reyna had never expected to see from Sage.

“I know,” Reyna murmured, her voice almost sheepish. “I’ll try to quit, for you.”

Sage’s lips curved into a small smile, but it was different this time. It wasn’t just polite. It was soft, almost tender. “I’d like that,” she said, her voice quiet but meaningful.

Reyna exhaled a cloud of smoke, staring into Sage’s eyes. For the first time, she saw not just the woman of elegance and mystery that had captivated her from the beginning, but someone who cared. And it made her heart flutter in a way that no business deal ever could.

The next few weeks passed in a blur of increasing closeness. Sage’s subtle gestures became more frequent. The way her hand lingered a little longer on Reyna’s arm when she passed by. The way she would text Reyna randomly, checking in, sharing small, almost trivial details about her day.

It felt intimate in a way that no amount of wealth or business success ever could.

Reyna found herself constantly thinking about Sage, wondering how she could be more present, more attentive, more worthy of the attention Sage was beginning to show her.

The unease Reyna had felt in the beginning—the fear that she was playing in a game she couldn’t win—began to ebb away. With every passing moment, Reyna felt more sure that Sage was beginning to let her in, that their connection wasn’t just one-sided.

Still, the fear never completely left.

Reyna had always been the one in control. She built her empire from the ground up, moved mountains with the sheer weight of her will, and always knew how to play the game.

But when it came to Sage, she was off-balance, unsure, and—if she was being honest—terrified.

She could feel it now, more than ever.

This was no longer just a flirtation, no longer the casual exchange of attention that she’d grown accustomed to.

No. This was something deeper. Something that mattered.

And that terrified her.

Every night, she lay in her bed, her mind racing, obsessing over the possibility that she might lose Sage. That she wasn’t enough. Every little thing Sage said, every glance, every soft word felt like it carried a weight that Reyna couldn’t ignore. She had always been used to the idea of winning—of conquering and claiming.

But this time, it was different. With Sage, she felt as though she was fighting for something she might not be able to hold onto.

Sage had never cared about Reyna’s wealth, her status, or her power. It wasn’t about those things—not the way others around her always had been.

And that, in some ways, made Reyna feel both closer to Sage and further away.

The more she realized Sage didn’t need her money or connections, the more she feared losing her.

Reyna knew how to win when it came to business. She knew the rules. She knew how to leverage influence, how to negotiate, how to rise above the competition.

But relationships? Love?

That was a different game.

And she wasn’t entirely sure she knew how to play it.

But she wanted to.

She wanted to earn Sage’s heart, wanted to make sure that, for once, she wasn’t a shortcut to success.

She wanted something real. And she had to make it happen.

So she did what she always did. She planned.

It wasn’t anything too extravagant—Sage wasn’t the type to fall for grand gestures.

But Reyna knew how to set a stage.

She arranged a dinner at a small, intimate restaurant, one that didn’t scream luxury but still carried a quiet sophistication. She made sure the setting was perfect: the lighting just dim enough, the atmosphere comfortable yet elegant. The right level of exclusivity without being overbearing.

She wanted Sage to feel special, to feel seen, and most importantly, to feel like Reyna had put thought into this moment.

It was after dinner, when they were seated on the outdoor terrace, the night air crisp but pleasant, that Reyna took a breath and finally let herself speak the words that had been swirling in her mind for weeks.

“Sage…” She paused, unsure of the words that would follow, but knowing they had to be said. “I know we’ve been… spending a lot of time together lately, and I wanted to ask you something. Something serious.”

Sage glanced at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes were warm, not the cold, detached gaze Reyna had grown used to from others who wanted something from her, but something gentler, more genuine.

It made Reyna’s heart skip a beat.

“What is it?” Sage asked, her tone light but with an undercurrent of curiosity.

Reyna could feel her pulse racing, but she kept her voice steady.

She wasn’t about to back down now.

“I… I want to be more than just friends with you, Sage. I want us to be… exclusive. I want you to be my girlfriend.” The words felt heavy as they left her lips, like the entire weight of her empire rested on that one question.

The thought of Sage saying no, of being turned away, was too much to bear.

Sage’s expression didn’t change immediately. There was a brief moment of silence that felt like an eternity to Reyna, her heart pounding in her chest as she waited for a response.

Finally, Sage smiled, but it was different this time—softer, more uncertain. She blushed slightly, a rare but endearing reaction that made Reyna’s breath catch in her throat.

“I… I’ll have to think about it,” Sage said, her voice gentle, yet carrying an edge of hesitation.

Reyna’s heart sank. Think about it? What did that mean? She had laid herself bare, made herself vulnerable, and yet, it wasn’t enough. Was Sage unsure? Was there something Reyna wasn’t seeing?

“Of course,” Reyna replied, her voice almost tight with disappointment. “Take all the time you need. I… I’ll wait.”

The next day was a blur. Reyna couldn’t focus on work, couldn’t keep her mind off the conversation that had taken place the night before.

It felt as though everything had shifted.

She had put herself out there—had put everything she had on the line—and for what? A vague “I’ll think about it.”

Her employees noticed the change. Reyna had always been professional, always composed. But today, she was distracted. Her usual sharpness was dulled, and her irritation bubbled up unexpectedly. During a board meeting, when one of her executives made a suggestion that didn’t quite align with her vision, Reyna snapped at them. Her voice was colder than usual, her tone sharper.

After the meeting, one of her assistants hesitated before coming to her with a report. “Is everything alright, Ms. Mondragon?” they asked tentatively, clearly nervous.

Reyna waved her off with a dismissive gesture.

But the truth was, nothing felt alright. She was on edge.

She kept replaying Sage’s words in her mind. The uncertainty. The hesitation.

It gnawed at her, made her feel as though she was falling into an abyss she couldn’t escape.

She needed answers. She needed to know.

Later that night, as Reyna sat alone in her penthouse, staring out the window at the city skyline, her phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts. She glanced down and saw a message from Sage.

“Do you want to go for a walk?”

Reyna’s heart skipped. Her fingers trembled slightly as she typed out a quick response. Yes, of course. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.

It wasn’t much—a simple invitation for a walk—but it was enough to send a rush of emotions flooding through Reyna. She had no idea what this meant, what was going to happen, but she couldn’t let herself overthink it.

She needed this.

When she arrived at the park where they had agreed to meet, Sage was already there, her figure standing out against the soft glow of the streetlights. She was wearing a light jacket, her hair falling loosely around her face, and her smile—God, that smile—was enough to make Reyna’s pulse quicken.

Sage greeted her with a small, knowing smile, and without a word, they began walking side by side along the path, the quiet of the night surrounding them. Reyna felt a mix of anticipation and uncertainty, her heart beating louder than the sound of their footsteps.

After a few minutes, Sage slowed down, turning toward Reyna. There was something different in her expression now—something soft, almost vulnerable.

Without saying a word, Sage gently reached for Reyna’s hand.

Reyna’s breath caught in her throat. She froze for a moment, her heart racing as she looked down at their hands, the warmth of Sage’s skin sending a shiver through her. Slowly, hesitantly, Reyna allowed her fingers to curl around Sage’s, the simple act sending a wave of relief and happiness washing over her.

She had never known happiness like this before—never known it could be so quiet, so gentle. Not the thrill of a new business deal, not the rush of signing a high-profile contract.

No. This was different.

This was real.

For the first time in a long time, Reyna wasn’t afraid. She wasn’t worried about losing her grip on the game. She didn’t have to fight for control anymore.

As they walked hand in hand, Sage’s smile was the only thing that mattered.

Reyna had won.

…Or did she?

Reyna’s heart fluttered with excitement every time she looked at Sage, the woman who had, without warning, become the center of her universe.

She had worked her entire life to build an empire—a fortress of wealth, power, and status—but nothing compared to the thrill of this pursuit. Nothing made her feel more alive than the subtle tension that thrummed between them, the delicate dance of pushing and pulling, the feeling that, with every step forward, she could lose everything she had worked for.

The idea of losing Sage felt like a devastating blow she could never recover from.

As they walked hand in hand, side by side, Reyna couldn’t help but feel like the whole world had shifted.

They had been together for over a year now, and every moment felt like a fragile thread holding her to Sage, one wrong move, one misstep, and it could snap.

She had never worked so hard to impress anyone. Not even her fiercest business competitors had demanded this kind of effort from her. But Sage… Sage was different.

She wasn’t interested in her wealth or her status; that much was clear. She wanted her, not the trappings of what Reyna could offer. And that terrified her.

Reyna had learned early on that in her world, nothing was ever just given. The power, the status, the people who flocked to her—they all had a price.

But Sage? Sage didn’t care about any of that.

And that made Reyna feel like she was constantly walking on a tightrope. Every gesture, every word, every look had to be measured. If she slipped, if she faltered, Sage could slip away—and she couldn’t bear the thought of that.

Her mind raced. Every time Sage disagreed with her, every time she showed concern or disappointment—Reyna took it as a sign that Sage actually cared. She didn’t care if Reyna was being annoying or too persistent. Sage wasn’t like her past lovers, who would have just smiled and played along. No, Sage was different. She didn’t just put up with her; she made her feel seen, made her feel equal.

And that was something Reyna had never had before.

Reyna’s past relationships had always been transactional. She had made a habit of signing confidentiality agreements, ensuring that nothing ever slipped through the cracks. Her lovers were cared more about her status than about her. They didn’t care to understand her beyond the surface. They couldn’t. But Sage—Sage saw through that veneer. She saw Reyna as more than just a businesswoman, more than just the empire she had built.

She didn’t want to lose that. She didn’t want to lose Sage.

So, she did what came naturally. She tried harder. She worked even harder to impress, to win over Sage’s approval, even though deep down, she knew she didn’t have to.

But that didn’t matter. She had always played the game to win.

She brought up the idea of marriage one evening, her words tentative, as though testing the waters.

It wasn’t something she’d ever truly considered before.

Marriage, for Reyna, had always been something for people who wanted to bind themselves legally, something for those who wanted to stake a claim, to create a promise that could never be broken.

But with Sage, she wanted that. She wanted the security of it—the feeling that they were bound together in a way that no one could undo.

“Sage,” she started, her voice soft, “what if we… got married?”

Sage looked at her, the light in her eyes flickering with something that Reyna couldn’t quite place. She was surprised—caught off guard, perhaps—but not in the way Reyna had hoped.

“It’s too soon,” Sage replied, her voice calm but firm. “We’ve only been together for a year. Marriage is a huge commitment.”

The words hit Reyna like a blow. Too soon? How could it be too soon? She had already put everything on the line. She had already sacrificed so much to keep this relationship going, to make Sage see her as more than just a trophy, more than just a business deal.

But Sage didn’t seem to understand. Or maybe she did, but she wasn’t ready to take that next step. Reyna couldn’t shake the fear that gripped her chest. She didn’t want to rush things, but she needed to know that Sage wasn’t going anywhere. She needed the certainty that this—whatever this was between them—wasn’t just some passing phase.

“I just… I don’t want to lose you,” Reyna confessed, her voice tinged with desperation. “I don’t want us to end up like… like all the others.”

Sage’s expression softened, but there was a quiet sadness behind her gaze. “You’re not just anyone, Reyna. And I don’t want to lose you either. But marriage is a big decision. It’s something we can’t rush into.”

Reyna could feel her heart sink. She wanted to beg, to plead with Sage, to tell her that she didn’t need time to think, that she was ready, that she was already committed. But she knew better. She knew that if she pushed too hard, she could lose everything.

After that conversation, Reyna found herself haunted by the thought of Sage’s rejection. Too soon. Was she rushing? She had never felt more uncertain in her life. Every morning, she would wake up with a renewed resolve to make Sage see how serious she was—how much she cared. But the thought of Sage slipping away remained at the back of her mind, gnawing at her.

A few weeks passed in a haze. The tension between them wasn’t tangible, but it was there. Reyna began to question everything—every word, every gesture. Was Sage truly interested in her, or was this just a game? Was she using her, just like all the others had, seeing her only as a stepping stone, a way to climb higher? The anxiety was starting to eat her up from the inside.

And then, one evening, as Reyna sat at her desk working late, her phone buzzed with an unexpected text. It was from Sage.

“I’ve been thinking. Maybe we should talk.”

Reyna’s heart stopped. She didn’t even know how to respond. She stared at the message for what felt like an eternity before typing back.

“Sure. What’s on your mind?”

“Can we take a walk tonight?” the reply came through. It was simple, casual—but Reyna could feel the weight of it.

She had never felt so flustered in her life. She had negotiated multi-billion dollar deals, faced down her worst competitors, taken risks that could either make or break her empire—but nothing compared to this. The uncertainty of Sage—this game that was unlike any other she had played.

As Reyna made her way to the park, the air thick with anxiety, she could feel her hands trembling. She was uncertain, unsure of what would happen next. Was this a breaking point? A turning moment? Or was Sage simply playing with her?

They met under the glow of a streetlamp, and Reyna’s breath caught when Sage smiled at her, her face serene, but there was something in her eyes—something warm, something that made Reyna’s heart race even faster.

“Are you alright?” Sage asked softly, concern lacing her voice.

“I—yeah. I’m fine,” Reyna replied, trying to calm the churning in her stomach.

Sage’s gaze softened. “You’re not fine. You’re a little on edge, aren’t you?”

Reyna didn’t know how to respond. She hadn’t been able to put her fears into words, not yet. But as they stood there, the night air cool against their skin, Sage reached out and took Reyna’s hand, gently curling her fingers around Reyna’s trembling ones.

And in that simple touch, everything clicked into place. Reyna’s heart fluttered wildly in her chest. She could feel it in her bones—this was it. This was the moment when Sage chose her, when Sage accepted her, not for her wealth or power, but for what they shared.

“You’re not going anywhere, are you?” Reyna whispered, her voice shaky.

Sage shook her head slowly, her lips curving into a soft smile. “No, Reyna. I’m not going anywhere.”

That night, Reyna slept soundly for the first time in weeks, the weight of her fears finally lifted. And as the days passed, everything began to fall into place. They became more intimate, more connected, and yet, there was still a lingering sense of uncertainty. Sage hadn’t given her the answer Reyna had wanted, but her actions spoke louder than any words could.

And then came the moment that Reyna had waited for.

The night was cool, the air thick with a quiet tension that Reyna couldn't ignore. She had worked for so long, tried so hard, and now, for the first time since she met Sage, she felt something different. She felt like she had finally won. It was a strange sensation—one that made her skin feel hot with both excitement and relief.

Sage had just received confirmation that she was officially appointed as Chief Physician at Kingdom Hospital. It was a prestigious position, and Reyna knew how much it meant to Sage—how hard Sage had worked for it. Of course, Reyna had leveraged her own connections to help facilitate the process, but she never let Sage know that. It wasn’t about that.

What mattered was that Sage was happy.

And when Sage smiled at her that night—genuinely, brightly, with no hint of her usual cool composure—it was as if everything fell into place. She was radiant, her eyes gleaming with a warmth Reyna had never seen before. It was the same warmth that she had come to crave so much in their relationship. The warmth that told Reyna that she was enough.

"Reyna," Sage murmured, her voice soft and low, tinged with a sweetness that made Reyna’s heart race. "I did it. I got the position."

Reyna’s lips parted in a smile, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached out to touch Sage's hand. "I knew you could do it."

Sage's eyes softened, and for a moment, Reyna thought she saw something vulnerable in them—something she had rarely, if ever, glimpsed before.

"You’ve always believed in me," Sage said quietly. "And now, I’ve got what I wanted. It’s all coming together."

Reyna’s heart thudded heavily in her chest, the weight of her emotions hitting her all at once. This was the moment.

"That's amazing, Sage," Reyna said, trying to steady herself. The idea of this moment being perfect made her want to grab hold of it, cling to it with everything she had. She had worked so hard for this, for them, for the love that had blossomed between them. She didn’t want to let it go. Not now, not ever.

Sage’s smile deepened, her fingers brushing against Reyna’s lightly. "You’ve been incredible throughout all of this. I’m really grateful for you, Reyna."

The words, simple and sweet, meant the world to Reyna. She had never felt more secure than in this moment. This was it. The walls she had built around herself—always guarding her heart, her wealth, her empire—had finally come down. She didn’t want to be afraid anymore. She wanted Sage to be hers, and she wanted the world to know it.

Reyna inhaled sharply, summoning the courage she had used to conquer every other challenge in her life. She had been calculating, strategic in business, in relationships, in every part of her life. But this… this was something more than she had ever faced. Something that made her feel exposed, vulnerable.

She met Sage's gaze, holding it for a long beat, as if searching for something in the depth of her eyes. There was no going back now.

"Sage…" Reyna began, her voice faltering at first, then steadying, her words growing bolder with every breath. "Will you marry me?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and vulnerable. Reyna could feel her heart racing in her chest, waiting for Sage’s reaction, terrified yet hopeful.

Sage’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, a blush creeping into her cheeks. She wasn’t expecting this, not yet. Not this fast. But Reyna could see it—there was a flicker of something more in Sage’s gaze. Something that told Reyna that she hadn’t lost the game.

Sage smiled—a soft, almost secretive smile—and nodded. "Yes, Reyna. Yes, I will."

Reyna’s breath caught in her throat. She said yes. And in that moment, everything seemed to make sense. She wasn’t just some businesswoman anymore. She wasn’t just an empire builder. She was hers. And Sage was hers. The future was theirs, a future that Reyna had never dared dream of before.

Reyna didn’t waste any time. The next few days were a blur of planning, of making sure everything was perfect. A grand wedding, the kind that would leave an impression, the kind that would make Sage proud. It wasn’t about showing off—it was about showing the world that Sage had chosen her. And no one could question their bond. Not now, not ever.

She had been to dozens of high-profile weddings in the past, many of them extravagant and full of the kind of people who usually circled around her: business magnates, investors, and celebrities. But this wedding would be different. This wedding wasn’t just for show. This wedding was a statement.

Sage had agreed to everything—every detail, every dress, every guest list. But Reyna made sure it was grander than anything she had ever done before. There was no holding back. She wanted Sage to know that she had put everything on the line for this.

The night before the wedding, Reyna stood before the mirror, adjusting her suit, the sharp cut of her black tuxedo reflecting the confidence she felt on the outside. It was official now. She wasn’t just a successful woman in the business world anymore—she was also the one Sage had chosen. She had succeeded in securing her heart.

The day of the wedding arrived, and Reyna couldn’t help but feel like she was walking on air. This was the moment she had been waiting for. She had always been a player in her own right, always in control, always making the rules. But today… today she was surrendering it all to Sage.

As Sage stood beside her at the altar, breathtaking in her white gown, her eyes only on Reyna, everything else seemed to fade into the background. There was no one else in the world. Just the two of them.

Sage’s smile as she took Reyna’s hand made Reyna’s heart race all over again. She felt the world shift beneath her feet, but in a way that felt right. This was where she was meant to be. This was where they were meant to be.

They exchanged vows, simple yet meaningful, and as the rings were placed on their fingers, Reyna couldn’t stop the overwhelming wave of joy that swept over her. She had won. In this game of life, she had found the one person who would stand by her side. No longer would she have to fear rejection, no longer would she have to wonder if Sage was just playing the game.

Sage was hers.

As they walked down the aisle, hand in hand, the weight of their future together finally settled in Reyna’s chest.

For once, she felt like she had everything she needed.

So does Sage.

—or does she?

Chapter Text

The honeymoon was over.

For Sage, the extravagant getaway with Reyna had been everything she’d hoped for—a final seal on her victory, a beautiful distraction from the chaos of the real world. The slow, luxurious days filled with indulgence and love had been a comforting break. But now, the honeymoon was over, and the glittering world they had built together was starting to feel suffocating.

Reyna was always busy—always on the phone, always in meetings, always dealing with the endless stream of businesses, acquisitions, and deals that seemed to consume her every waking hour. Reyna had everything. The empire, the prestige, the wealth, the beauty, the adoration of everyone around her. And now, the title of wife was added to that list.

But none of that mattered to Sage, not anymore. Not when everything felt like a performance. The constant smile, the attention, the careful maintenance of the image that had taken years to perfect—all of it had become tedious. The game wasn’t exciting anymore.

She didn’t want to break her marriage, of course. That was never the goal. But she did want to feel something. And Reyna, despite all her beauty and success, had never quite been able to satisfy the deeper hunger inside Sage. The hunger for control, for attention, for not needing to pretend.

Reyna had always been busy, always trying to impress her, always working hard to keep her attention. Sage wasn’t sure how long she could keep up the act. She’d already let Reyna believe that she was the one in control of this relationship, and now that they were married, the mask had become heavier than she expected.

She needed something more than just Reyna. And, of course, Reyna’s absence—her constant travel, meetings, and business commitments—gave Sage the perfect opportunity.

It had been nearly a month since their wedding, and Reyna’s schedule had grown even more packed. Sage didn’t mind the solitude at first. She had learned to enjoy her own company, to relish in the stillness of her apartment, the quiet hum of the city outside. But now, it felt like a void—one she couldn’t ignore.

And then, the perfect chance had arrived.

Sage found herself in Kingdom Hospital again, this time for a routine consultation about a new chemical treatment they were developing for a particularly aggressive cancer strain. Her expertise in the field of biochemistry had earned her a reputation, and the department head—who had heard of her work—had requested her presence for assistance. She hadn’t expected to see anyone that would intrigue her there. Not until she saw Viper.

Sage had only heard about Viper before, mostly from rumors that circulated in professional circles. Viper had a reputation for being a brilliant mind in medicine, but also someone with a much darker, more complicated side. The perfect type of person to create an affair with, Sage had thought the moment she saw her.

Viper was tall, strikingly elegant, with an air of confidence that was both alluring and intimidating. Her sharp features were matched by a piercing gaze that seemed to cut through any pretension. The moment their eyes locked, something stirred inside Sage—something that told her that Viper was the kind of person who wouldn’t play by the rules.

And as it turned out, she didn’t.

Their first interaction was purely professional. The department head had introduced Sage to Viper as a colleague, and Viper barely acknowledged her at first. She was busy with her work, brushing past Sage with barely a glance. But Sage noticed the quick, calculating flicker in her eyes as they briefly met, and that was enough to let Sage know—Viper was aware of her.

The chemistry between them was undeniable, even if neither of them had acknowledged it outwardly. Viper was a hard person to read, but Sage saw the subtle shift in her demeanor when their paths crossed again in the lab. There was something dangerous about Viper’s indifference, something that intrigued Sage on a level she couldn’t quite explain.

Sage had always been in control, always orchestrating every detail, bending the world around her. With Reyna, it had been about charm and patience, careful moves to build a fortress of trust, to become the one she could never lose. But with Viper…

Viper was different.

There was something about her, something raw and untamed, that made Sage want to break her down and rebuild her. She didn’t need to play the same games she had with Reyna; Viper wasn’t a delicate thing to be won with soft gestures and calculated kindness. Viper was a challenge.

Sage had known the moment she met her that Viper would be drawn to someone like her. She could see the hunger in those dark eyes, the thrill of danger in the way Viper moved. Viper didn’t want safety. She wanted chaos. And Sage, with her carefully constructed persona, her polished surface, was the perfect contrast.

Viper liked to play games—dangerous games. And Sage knew exactly how to get under her skin.

The first time it happened, it was almost too easy. She had walked into the lab, her steps measured, her body draped in a blouse that was just a little too low-cut, just a little too tight. She had felt Viper’s gaze the moment she entered, could practically feel the heat radiating from her.

Sage had done this before, used her appearance, her body, as a tool to get what she wanted. But with Viper, it was different. She could sense the hunger in her, the way Viper's eyes devoured her from across the room. Viper wanted control too. But she was too impulsive, too reckless to see how it could be manipulated.

Sage had let the tension build for a few days, watching Viper, teasing her with small interactions—lingering just a bit longer than necessary, brushing her hand against Viper’s when passing papers, the briefest touch on the shoulder when she offered to explain something. Each moment carefully designed to keep Viper’s attention, to make her want more.

It worked. Of course, it did.

Sage had known from the first glance that she would be Viper’s obsession. The question wasn’t if, but when.

That night, after a particularly long day at the hospital, Sage had taken the leap. She had walked to Viper’s apartment, every step measured, every detail of her appearance purposeful. Her blouse was silk, tight around her waist, half-unbuttoned just enough to leave the imagination hungry. She made sure her hair was perfect, just messy enough to seem like she had rushed here without care. She needed to look like she didn’t need this, even though she did.

When Viper opened the door, Sage didn’t even let her speak. She stepped forward, pushing the door open wider, her lips curling into a slow, knowing smile. Viper’s gaze dropped to her body, and for a moment, it felt as though the air between them thickened.

“Are you going to let me in?” Sage asked, her voice hushed, but firm—demanding, even if it was laced with an invitation.

Viper didn’t answer at first. She just stared at her, as though trying to figure out whether this was a game, or if it was real. But Sage wasn’t about to wait for her to make up her mind. She knew what Viper wanted.

Without waiting for permission, Sage walked in, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Viper stood still for a moment, her lips parted, but then she let out a low laugh—a breathy, almost mocking sound.

“You’re bold,” Viper said, but her tone wasn’t one of disdain. It was approval. Viper liked this. She liked being provoked, being tested. And Sage was more than happy to oblige.

The moment their bodies came into contact, everything else disappeared. There was no hesitation, no games. Sage wasn’t interested in slow seduction here. She wanted Viper’s attention, and she wanted it now.

Their clothes came off in a rush, no careful unbuttoning, no pretense of romance. It was raw. Skin against skin. Teeth scraping, fingers gripping, nails digging into shoulders. Viper’s hands were everywhere—on her back, her thighs, pulling her closer. There was no softness. It was just two bodies, desperate, hungry for something different, something they couldn’t have in their real lives.

Sage felt it—the release—the moment she was no longer a wife, no longer the woman who controlled the world around her. She was just another body, another plaything. But that didn’t make her weak. It made her more powerful. She knew exactly how to make this moment hers, how to control it, how to make it so intoxicating that Viper wouldn’t be able to escape it.

And Viper? She wanted it just as badly.

Their first time together was fast, furious. There was no softness. Just heat. Just two people exploring the darkest parts of themselves, with no care for what came after. No promises. Just a hunger that couldn’t be satisfied with anything else. Sage knew what she was doing, knew how to make every gasp, every moan, every touch feel like the thing that Viper craved.

It was addictive.

The second time was slower. Sage made sure of that. She wanted to see how far Viper would go. She wanted to break her, wanted to see if she could get Viper to crack, to show her a side of herself that even she didn’t know existed.

Sage had pushed Viper to the limit, making her beg, making her desperate. And when Viper had looked up at her, her eyes dark with need, that was when Sage knew she had her.

Viper was hers. And that realization—that knowledge—was enough to make everything else disappear. Viper was more than just an affair partner. She was the experiment that Sage had been waiting for. The person who didn’t need to be controlled with careful manipulation, the one who would break herself willingly, just to keep the game going.

And when Sage saw the way Viper’s body trembled beneath hers, the way Viper’s hands gripped her, Sage felt something she hadn’t felt in years—a thrill, an excitement, a need that wasn’t satisfied by her perfectly curated life with Reyna.

Sage had the power. She always had.

But with Viper, it was different. This wasn’t only about control. It was about exploration. It was about pushing boundaries, seeing how far they could both go before they broke.

And that, Sage realized, was the most exciting game of all.

Chapter Text

Viper had never been the type to overthink. Life was simple, and if something complicated it, she’d just toss it aside. That was why Sage had always intrigued her.

Sage didn’t fit the mold. Sage didn’t need to play games. She made them. It was almost laughable how easily she had slipped into Viper’s life. Viper had always thought of herself as the one in control, the one who pulled the strings, but with Sage—Sage was the puppet master. And somehow, Viper had gotten tangled in her web without even realizing.

Viper had no moral guidelines. She was never one to care about right or wrong, good or bad. It didn’t matter. She didn’t care about what Reyna thought, or what anyone thought, for that matter. People were like pawns to her—useful when they had something she needed, disposable when they didn’t. Reyna was just another woman. Another status symbol. And Sage? She had always been a mystery, but one that intrigued Viper far more than any woman she’d ever met.

It wasn’t that Sage was perfect—far from it. But Viper liked the contradiction. Sage was never desperate for affection, but her beauty, her control, her quiet confidence… they pulled you in. It wasn’t love; Viper didn’t believe in that. It was power. And Sage wielded it effortlessly.

There was something intoxicating about her—something that made Viper second-guess her usual detached self. There was a certain allure in watching Sage move, in seeing how easily she navigated the world, how everyone around her seemed to bend to her will without realizing it. Even Viper, who prided herself on never being swayed, found herself falling deeper under Sage’s spell with each encounter.

It started innocently enough—texts, messages, casual invitations to dinner. But those dinners? Viper wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what Sage was doing. Every time, she saw the glimmer of control in Sage’s eyes, the way she always seemed to be just one step ahead. That smile Sage gave, a little too sweet, a little too knowing.

Viper knew the game, and she played along. But deep down, she felt something shift. Something she didn’t want to admit.

The first night they’d been together—just sex, Viper told herself—it had been raw, fast, driven by need, with no time for pretense. Sage had walked into her apartment, a vision of sophistication, her blouse half-unbuttoned, her scent wrapping around Viper like a drug. Sage had been the perfect picture of a woman who didn’t need anything. A woman who never let anyone see her cracks.

And Viper had wanted her. God, how she had wanted her.

But it wasn’t just physical. Sage’s mind, the way she thought, the way she spoke, it all captivated Viper. There was a calm in Sage, a stillness that unsettled her. Viper wasn’t used to that. She wasn’t used to someone who didn’t care. Who didn’t need anything. It made her wonder.

Why the fuck was she feeling like this?

But then, she saw it—something she hadn’t expected. Sage was starting to see her as something more. At first, it had been easy to brush off, to pretend it wasn’t real, but with each passing day, Viper felt the web tighten around her.

Sage made it look effortless. Dinner dates, expensive seafood, delicately plated appetizers—things Viper had personally researched but pretended to pick at random. Sage had caught her pretending, of course. She always did. But Sage didn’t comment on it; she just smiled that enigmatic smile, like she knew everything, and Viper just went along with it.

There was no doubt in Viper’s mind that Sage was controlling the situation. But she didn’t mind. In fact, there was a certain thrill to it—the idea that she, the one who never let anyone close, was being led down this path. Viper didn’t like it, didn’t want it, but the more she tried to resist, the deeper she was drawn in.

And it wasn’t just the games, the manipulation. It was the way Sage spoke to her, the subtle touches, the way she held her gaze just a second too long. It was the way Sage made her feel like she was the only one in the room. Even when it was clear Sage had no interest in love, Viper couldn’t help but feel something.

Sage’s lack of care was something Viper couldn’t shake. She could see the way Sage would look at Reyna, at people, with a detached air. Sage didn’t love anyone. Not Reyna. Not Jett. Not her. And yet… Viper still wanted her.

Why?

Viper stood in her apartment one evening, staring out of the window, her fingers curling around a glass of wine. The thoughts gnawed at her, sharp and relentless. She didn’t want to admit it, but Sage was getting to her. Slowly, she was becoming part of her world. Sage’s world.

She was second to Sage, always would be, and it fucking hurt. Viper had never been second before. Never.

She slammed the glass down on the table, pacing across the room with quick, frustrated steps. The weight of it—the realization that she had been outplayed—was starting to sink in. She didn’t want to care. She couldn’t care.

But it was too late.

Her phone buzzed on the table, pulling her from her thoughts. She glanced at the screen. A text message from Sage.

“Come to the hotel tonight. I need you.”

Viper didn’t even think twice. Her fingers flew across the screen, replying: “I’ll be there.”

As soon as she hit send, she froze. The truth hit her like a heavy, suffocating fog. She hadn’t even hesitated. No second thoughts. No doubts. She’d just agreed to another night with Sage, to another round in her game.

Viper let out a mocking laugh, bitter and empty. You’re hopeless, she thought. You know you’re a fucking loser. You always were. But you still want to play.

She took another sip of her wine, savoring the burn as it slid down her throat. She was fooling herself, pretending that it didn’t matter. She knew the truth now. She wasn’t just part of Sage’s world. She was trapped in it. And she didn’t care. Or maybe, she did. But either way, there was no turning back.

She tossed the glass on the counter, grabbed her jacket, and made her way to the hotel. She wasn’t sure why she felt this pull tonight—maybe it was the fact that Sage had been distant lately, or perhaps it was that something in her had shifted. All she knew was that tonight, she was walking into Sage’s world again. Unwillingly, perhaps, but she didn’t want to admit it. She could still walk away anytime.

That’s what she told herself.

But deep down, she knew that wasn’t true.

She knocked on the door, and when it opened, Sage was standing there in that way that always drove Viper crazy. Silk robe, tousled hair, and that look on her face—the one that always made Viper feel like she was both nothing and everything at the same time.

Sage stepped aside, a soft, almost unreadable smile playing at the corner of her lips. “You’re here,” she said, voice rich, warm, with a hint of something that made Viper’s stomach tighten.

“I wouldn’t miss it,” Viper replied, stepping inside.

The suite was dim, lit only by a few candles, the soft flicker of their flames casting shadows across the room. Sage had always known how to set the mood.

Viper stood for a moment, just taking in the space, then turned to find Sage sitting on the edge of the bed, her robe hanging loosely from her shoulders. Her eyes were heavy, tired from the surgery she’d had earlier in the day, but there was still that flicker of something dangerous behind her gaze. Viper knew what it was. It was control. Always control.

“You look tired,” Viper said, approaching slowly, not caring that the words were laced with mock concern. She didn’t really care if Sage was tired, but she wasn’t one to push. Not yet, anyway.

“I am,” Sage replied, her voice dropping lower. She looked up at Viper, that faint smile still on her lips, but there was something different now. “But it’s nothing a little company can’t fix.”

Viper didn’t waste another second. She closed the space between them, her lips crashing into Sage’s. There was no softness to it—no hesitation. Sage’s mouth opened against hers, letting Viper in, tasting her. And still, Viper couldn’t deny the pull she felt, the power Sage had over her even when she wasn’t trying.

Sage’s hands found their way to the buttons of Viper’s shirt, tugging them open with a precision that showed just how practiced she was in this. “You’ve been good at following instructions,” she said, her lips barely brushing against Viper’s as she spoke.

“I always do,” Viper replied, her voice thick with a mixture of lust and annoyance. It wasn’t enough for her to be controlled like this, but tonight? Tonight, there was something about Sage—something that made her want to indulge in it.

Sage’s fingers slid to Viper’s waist, tugging her closer until they were pressed up against each other, skin to skin. The warmth of Sage’s body was intoxicating, and for a brief moment, Viper couldn’t even think. All she could do was feel.

“You want me to be gentle?” Viper asked, breaking the kiss, her voice thick with amusement. She was still playing the game, still acting like she was in control of the situation.

But Sage’s eyes gleamed, that challenge flaring in them once again. “I said gentle,” she whispered, her voice like honey, and it made something tighten in Viper’s chest. “But you can’t help yourself, can you?”

Viper smirked, taking a moment to observe Sage’s face, her expression. “Not really. But I’m sure you’ll manage.” She slowly pushed Sage back onto the bed, the power shift already taking place, subtle but there.

Sage allowed it, her body sinking into the mattress with an ease that showed her trust. But there was something about her, something about the way she was looking at Viper, that made it clear.

She was still the one in control.

And that’s what Viper liked. That’s what she needed. It was a power struggle wrapped in desire, a tangled mess of control and chaos.

As Viper straddled her, she leaned down, kissing Sage roughly, taking her mouth with all the aggression she had been holding back. Sage moaned into the kiss, hands gripping Viper’s arms, pulling her in closer.

But then, something shifted again. It was subtle. It always was. The moment Sage broke the kiss, she took a deep breath and then whispered, “Enough with the teasing. Be rough with me. I’m tired of pretending.”

The words hit Viper like a shockwave. She had expected it—had known it would come. But hearing it out loud, in Sage’s low, commanding tone, ignited something in her chest.

Without warning, Viper gripped Sage’s wrists, pinning them to the bed as she kissed her again, this time deeper, harder. There was no gentleness now. Sage had asked for it, and she was getting it.

Sage’s body arched beneath her, her legs wrapping around Viper’s waist as she ground herself against her, demanding more. The passion that flared between them was raw—untamed. The kind of desire that didn’t need permission.

“You really want this?” Viper growled against Sage’s lips, her voice husky and dark. Sage’s eyes met hers, full of heat, of want.

“Yes,” she whispered, her voice breathless. “I want all of you. Now.”

And just like that, Viper gave it to her. She took what she wanted, hard and fast, as Sage’s body rocked beneath her. The bed creaked under the weight of their bodies, the sounds of skin slapping together and harsh breaths filling the room.

Sage’s moans were low and guttural, rising with each thrust, each push that came from Viper. The faster Viper moved, the more desperate Sage became. She was wild, almost frantic, as if she couldn’t get enough. And Viper? She didn’t care how rough she was anymore. She didn’t care about anything except the primal need to take control, to dominate, to make Sage lose herself in the pleasure of it all.

Sage’s body tensed, her legs tightening around Viper’s waist, and then—just like that—she broke, her back arching off the bed as she gasped out her climax.

For a moment, Viper stopped, her own body aching, her heart pounding in her chest. But before she could even fully process it, Sage pulled her back in, demanding more, urging her on. The hunger in her was unmistakable, and Viper—grinning, never having enough—gave in again.

They tore through the night, every word, every motion, every second of it feeding the madness. And as they collapsed together, both of them panting, sweating, tangled in the sheets, Viper realized the truth.

Sage wasn’t just playing the game. She was the game.

And Viper was never going to win. But that didn’t stop her from trying.

In the end, the only thing that mattered was the fire that burned between them. And Sage, always the winner, always in control, smiled up at her. She had Viper exactly where she wanted her—hopelessly tangled in her web.

Chapter Text

For years, Jett hadn’t dared to text her.

She could face down malfunctioning systems mid-crisis, handle board meetings filled with cold, calculating men who doubted her skills, negotiate tech partnerships with effortless confidence. She was Han Sunwoo — Kingdom Corp’s head technician, sharp, capable, respected.

But standing in the hospital’s underground parking lot with her phone in her hand, staring down at Sage’s contact — saved all these years, never deleted — her fingers trembled.

Wei Lingying.

Just a name on a screen.
But Jett felt like her heart might break through her ribs.

She hovered over the keyboard.
She could write anything.
She should be casual. Cool. Professional.

But she wasn’t that person around Sage.

In Sage’s presence, she was twenty again. Reckless, loud, infatuated.
A dog begging for her master’s attention.

The first message took her twenty minutes to type, then delete, then type again.

Hey. It’s been a while.
I heard Kingdom Hospital’s bringing in new systems. I’ll be on-site for the evaluation. 

Maybe… if you’re free… we could catch up?

She hit send before she could think.
And instantly regretted it.

Her palms were sweaty. Her heart was racing. She leaned against the concrete wall, eyes closed, counting her breaths like it was some high-stress system calibration.

The three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.

Then:

Sage:

Of course. It’s good to hear from you, Jett.

Professional. Polite.

But her heart soared anyway.

When Jett walked into Kingdom Hospital’s admin wing the next morning, her polished heels clicked confidently on the marble floors. Her badge hung neatly against her tailored navy jacket.

Her expression was composed, cool, all business. She was efficient, courteous, direct.
Doctors, staff, even the department heads greeted her with respect.

But the moment she caught a glimpse of a slender figure in a white coat, dark hair pinned in its usual graceful twist—
Everything crumbled.

Sage.

Her breath caught. Her heart stumbled.

Sage turned.
Their eyes met.

Sage’s lips curved gently.
“Sunwoo.”

The sound of her name in that soft, familiar voice nearly buckled Jett’s knees.

She smiled—too big, too eager, catching herself and immediately trying to tone it down.
“Doctor Wei.”

Sage laughed quietly.
“Still so formal?”

And just like that, the years between them evaporated.

Jett found excuses to linger around.
Every system check she could personally oversee, she did.

She was efficient, yes. But if she finished early, she’d stroll past the internal medicine wing, pretending to glance at her tablet as if checking diagnostics, though her eyes constantly sought Sage.

Sometimes she’d spot her in the staff lounge, sipping tea, brows furrowed slightly over a case file. Sometimes passing by in the corridor, greeting other staff with her serene grace.

Jett memorized the way her lab coat fit around her waist. The soft pink tint of her lips. The faintest glimmer of jasmine trailing behind her.

She was obsessed.
Hopelessly, endlessly obsessed.

And she wasn’t subtle.

Once, during a late afternoon inspection, Sage appeared at the far end of the corridor. Jett, mid-conversation with two other technicians, immediately straightened, her smile warming tenfold.

Her coworkers blinked.
Jett, usually brusque and sharp-tongued, had suddenly turned soft.

Sage approached, nodding politely to the others before turning to her.
“Busy day?”

Jett shrugged, casually tucking her hands into her pockets to hide her nerves.
“All the new systems check out. Nothing I can’t handle.”

Sage’s smile deepened, her eyes glinting with amusement.
“I never doubted you.”

Jett felt heat rush up her neck.

The two techs beside her exchanged a glance.

As soon as Sage left, one of them teased,
“Was that… the Dr. Wei?”

Jett forced a cool smirk.
“She’s just an old friend.”

Outside those hospital walls, Jett was untouchable.

Her team saw it every day: the sharp command of her voice, the crisp authority in her stride. She was precise, focused, effortlessly competent.

Even when corporate suits tried to corner her with impossible requests, Jett shut them down with a single, careless smirk.

“I’m not here to fix your bad planning,” she’d say with that half-laugh, half-threat tone that made entire departments scramble.

Her subordinates called her ice-cold behind her back. Admired her ruthlessness. Respected her distance.

But the moment Sage’s name appeared on a schedule?

That mask cracked.

She smiled more. Softened her tone. Checked her reflection twice before heading out.

Everyone noticed.

But no one dared comment.

She started leaving small offerings.

A cup of bubble tea from the best shop in the city, left at Sage’s office door with a small sticky note:

Thought you could use something sweet.

A wrapped box of fresh honey cakes from that obscure bakery Sage once mentioned in passing during their college days.

An arrangement of fresh white lilies on her desk one morning, with no name attached—but Sage knew.

She always smiled, the smallest, most infuriatingly gentle smile, and thanked her.

And that only made Jett fall harder.

She texted more often.
Updates on tech systems became excuses for messages at all hours.

All systems stable. Also… found that old café we used to go to. Still has terrible coffee.
Do you still have that old jade bracelet? I saw one today and thought of you.

Sometimes Sage replied.
Sometimes she didn’t.

Either way, Jett waited.
Always.

And if Sage didn’t answer, she just tried harder the next day.

If there wasn’t an opportunity to see her…
She made one.

A minor glitch in the data backup server.
A system audit “just to be sure.”
A courtesy check on staff medical devices.

All so she could bump into Sage in the hallway, watch that smile light her face, and pretend—for just a moment—that they were still something.

Something more than just old flames flickering in the shadows.

And slowly, day by day, Sage let her get closer.
Not quite lovers.
Not quite strangers.
Something in between.

And that was enough.

For now.

It started with small talk.

They sat in the hospital café one afternoon, the sterile white walls softened by gentle light and quiet conversation. Jett sipped on her iced Americano, fingers tapping restlessly against the plastic cup, while Sage sat across from her, her posture elegant, her expression patient.

They were supposed to be talking about system updates.
Instead, Jett found herself saying—

“Do you remember that night before finals?”

Sage’s lips curved slightly. “Which one? The one where you convinced me to sneak into the library at midnight, or the one where you fell asleep on my textbook after insisting we ‘pull an all-nighter together’?”

Jett chuckled sheepishly, her fingers rubbing the back of her neck.
“The library one.”

Sage’s eyes glittered with amusement. “When security nearly caught us and you tried to convince him you were an exchange student who ‘didn’t know the rules’?”

Jett winced. “I panicked, okay?”

Sage laughed softly, the sound delicate but warm.
“And then you tried to bribe him with bubble gum.”

Jett flushed. “Hey, I was resourceful.”

Sage tilted her head, eyes soft. “You were reckless.”

There was no judgment in her tone—just fondness.

Jett swallowed the lump in her throat. “You always took care of me,” she said, quieter now. “I never really… appreciated that back then.”

Sage didn’t respond immediately. She simply rested her chin on her hand, studying her with that thoughtful gaze that made Jett squirm.

Jett rushed on, needing to fill the silence.
“And you remember… that one time I got sick? After that party?”

Sage’s smile turned indulgent. “You drank too much, forgot to eat, and ended up with a fever so high you could barely stand.”

“I was an idiot,” Jett muttered.

“You were young,” Sage corrected gently. “And foolish.”

Jett’s throat tightened.
“You stayed up all night taking care of me.”

Sage’s eyes softened. “Of course I did.”

Jett looked down at her coffee, swirling the ice with her straw.
“I don’t think I ever said thank you.”

Sage reached across the table, resting her hand briefly over Jett’s.
“You didn’t have to.”

But Jett knew she should have.
All those little moments Sage had quietly carried her through—the late-night study sessions, the times she’d nursed Jett’s hangovers, the way she’d cook for her when Jett was too lazy to find herself something to eat.
She’d taken it all for granted.
And now, every small kindness from Sage felt like a precious gem she had thrown away and was desperately trying to gather back.

Jett forced a crooked grin.
“You still drink jasmine tea,” she said softly, nodding toward Sage’s cup.

Sage smiled. “Some habits never change.”

Jett’s heart twisted.

She took a breath, then blurted:
“Do you remember that night after my first tournament win?”

Sage blinked, then her smile softened into something almost wistful.
“You climbed onto the dorm roof at two in the morning and screamed my name.”

Jett laughed, eyes crinkling with embarrassment. “I was drunk.”

“You were ecstatic,” Sage corrected, eyes twinkling. “You said—”

“That I’d win the world if you were beside me,” Jett finished, her voice quieter.

Sage’s expression faltered for just a second.
And Jett clung to that.
Because it felt like something real.

She leaned forward slightly, her pulse racing.
“I meant that, you know.”

Sage’s gaze softened further, but her tone was careful, gentle.
“I know.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, the weight of unspoken things between them.

Jett finally broke it, her voice light but strained.
“You know… everyone used to think I was the wild one. The reckless girl. But I always thought you were the brave one.”

Sage’s brow arched slightly.
“Brave?”

“You didn’t care what anyone thought,” Jett said, her words spilling out faster now. “You never needed to show off. You just… were. You were always so composed, so untouchable. But you let me in.”

Sage’s eyes shimmered with something unreadable.
And Jett pressed on.

“I miss that.”

The silence stretched between them.

Finally, Sage exhaled slowly.
“I miss it too,” she said softly.

Jett’s heart soared.
She bit her lip, trying not to smile too broadly.

There was hope.

She could still be the one to make Sage smile like that.
She could still prove herself.

She just had to try harder.

And Sage?
Sage only sipped her tea, her expression calm, hiding the flicker of satisfaction behind her lashes.

She knew exactly what she was doing.
Letting the leash slip just enough for her puppy to think she had earned it.

Jett couldn’t help herself.

She watched Sage sip her tea, the soft curve of her fingers around the delicate porcelain, the grace in every motion. Her skin looked so soft. Her smile so warm.

It almost felt like college again.
Like nothing had changed.
Like she could still reach out, tangle her fingers in Sage’s hair, and pull her in for a kiss.

But then…

She saw it.

The glint of gold on Sage’s left hand.

Jett’s breath caught.
She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

A simple, elegant band. Slim. Understated.
Exactly what Sage would choose.
Tasteful. Refined.
A ring that whispered, not shouted.

But still—it screamed at Jett.

Dr. Lingying Wei marries Zyanya Mondragón.

Sage’s hand shifted as she adjusted her sleeve, and the ring sparkled cruelly under the café lights.

Jett felt like the air had been punched out of her lungs.

She looked away, her throat tightening painfully.
She shouldn’t be here.
She shouldn’t want this.
But she did.
God, she did.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she forced out, her voice tight, brittle around the edges.

Sage looked up from her cup, her expression soft—too soft.
“I wondered if you’d come back.”

Jett’s heart twisted.
“I almost didn’t.”

Sage tilted her head, her dark eyes gentle, curious.
“Why not?”

Jett’s laugh was hollow.
“Because I thought I didn’t deserve to.”

The silence between them stretched thin.

Sage reached across the table again, her fingertips grazing over Jett’s hand.
Warm. Light.
But that ring—cold metal pressed lightly against Jett’s skin—burned like ice.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Sage murmured.

Jett swallowed the lump in her throat.
“You… look happy.”

Sage’s smile faltered for just a moment.
Then she nodded.
“I am.”

A knife straight through the chest.

But then, just as Jett was about to look away, Sage’s eyes softened further, something small and sad slipping into her expression.
“But sometimes…”

Jett held her breath.

Sage looked down, the smallest shadow flickering across her features.
“Sometimes I miss the simplicity of the past.”

It was everything Jett needed and nothing she deserved.

Her heart soared again, foolish and desperate.
“You know,” Jett said quietly, “it’s never too late for simple things.”

Sage looked up at her, her lashes fluttering as if caught off-guard.
There was a pause.

Then Sage smiled.
A soft, wistful smile.
One that made Jett ache all over again.
“That’s kind of you to say.”

Jett clenched her fists under the table.

She wanted to grab that hand—rip the ring off—
She wanted to kiss Sage breathless—
She wanted to tell her she still dreamed about her, still missed the weight of her in her arms, still remembered every soft noise Sage made when she teased her in bed.

But all she could do was sit there and smile like it didn’t kill her.

Sage’s fingers lingered on her wrist a moment longer before pulling back, leaving warmth and emptiness in their wake.

Jett forced herself to breathe.
She forced herself to stay.

She could handle this.
She had to.

Because Sage was right in front of her.
And even if she couldn’t have her the way she wanted…
She’d take what she could get.

A conversation.
A smile.
A moment.

She’d settle for scraps if it meant staying close.

Sage lifted her cup again, that golden band flashing once more.
Jett looked down at her lap, biting the inside of her cheek until it hurt.

She had no right to be jealous.
But she was.
She was burning with it.
Jealousy, regret, longing—
All tangled in a knot she couldn’t untie.

Across the table, Sage’s gaze softened again, as though she could see right through her.
And maybe she could.

But all she said was, “Thank you for coming.”

Jett swallowed hard.
“Always,” she whispered.

And she meant it.
She always would.

The dinner was winding down.
The conversation soft, quiet.
Almost gentle.

Jett could almost pretend it was just them.
Almost pretend they were two old lovers finding their way back, piece by piece.

She’d told Sage about her time in Korea.
The long nights alone, the mistakes she’d made, the lessons she’d learned.
And Sage had listened—really listened.

She laughed at Jett’s stories.
She offered soft, warm smiles.
She complimented her growth, her professionalism, her strength.

Every word felt like balm and blade.
Soothing and cutting.

Jett was floating.
Drunk on the closeness, high on every flicker of attention Sage gave her.

And then…

Sage placed her napkin down, eyes soft, almost apologetic.
“I should go.”

The words landed like a slap.

Jett swallowed hard.
Her chest tightened painfully.
“Oh.”

Sage’s smile was gentle. Too gentle.
“I’ve taken too much of your evening already.”

Jett shook her head quickly.
“No—you haven’t. I— I’m glad you did.”

Sage stood, smoothing down her coat, her fingers brushing her collar.
The golden ring glinted one last time.

Jett stood too, her heart pounding, fighting back the sudden desperation rising in her throat.
She didn’t want this to end.
Not yet.
Not when it felt like she was finally close enough to matter again.

Sage looked at her, eyes soft with something that Jett desperately wanted to believe was regret.
“Thank you, Sunwoo.”

Her voice was so tender.
And the use of her real name—
It undid her completely.

“You’ve grown into someone incredible,” Sage murmured.
“I’m proud of you.”

Jett’s breath caught.
Her heart cracked open, raw and exposed.

She hadn’t realized how long she’d waited to hear those words.
How much she still craved that approval.
That recognition.

She blinked rapidly, trying to keep her composure.
“T-Thank you,” she whispered.

Sage reached out then, fingertips grazing her cheek for just a moment.
A touch so light, so fleeting, but devastating all the same.

“If only…” Sage’s voice faltered.
And that crack—oh, that perfect, fragile break—
Jett latched onto it with all her heart.

“If only what?” she breathed, her voice trembling.

Sage smiled, small and wistful, and her eyes glistened just a little—
Or maybe Jett imagined it.

“If only life were simpler,” Sage whispered.
She shook her head softly, stepping back.
“But you deserve someone who can give you everything.”

Jett’s heart shattered all over again.

“I don’t—”
Her voice broke.
“I don’t need everything. I just…”

But Sage was already pulling on her coat, hiding that soft sadness behind a composed smile.

“I’ll see you soon,” she said gently.
Like a promise.
Like hope.

And Jett clung to it.
She clung to that little, broken piece of hope with everything she had.

She walked Sage to the door, her hands curled into fists at her sides, fighting the urge to reach out, to pull her back, to beg her to stay.

But all she did was whisper, “Goodnight.”

Sage paused in the doorway.
Her eyes met Jett’s one last time.
And there it was—
That flicker of longing, so soft, so fleeting, so perfectly placed.

“Goodnight, Sunwoo,” she murmured.

And then she was gone.

The door clicked shut.

Jett stood there for a long moment, staring at the empty space where Sage had been.
Her chest ached.
Her throat burned.
And yet—

She smiled.

Because even though she was left standing alone…

Even though the ring on Sage’s finger felt like a brand on her heart…

She had hope.

If only life were simpler.

Sage had said it herself.

And maybe—just maybe—
That meant she still had a chance to save her.

___

The restaurant door closed behind her with a soft chime.

Sage stepped into the night air, exhaling slowly — not relief, not exhaustion.
Satisfaction.

She slipped into the back seat of the car Reyna had sent for her — of course, Reyna always sent cars, always made sure her precious wife was taken care of.

She sat back, legs crossed, the city lights flickering past the window.

The ring on her finger glinted.
She turned her hand slightly, watching how the gold caught the passing light.

And then — she smiled.

Because everything had gone exactly as planned.

Jett’s wide, eager eyes across the dinner table.
The nervous tremble in her voice as she recounted those silly stories from Korea, all tailored just to make Sage laugh — to amuse her, to prove she had changed.

She had seen the way Jett’s hands fidgeted in her lap.
The careful way she sat up straighter whenever Sage’s gaze lingered.
The quick flush in her cheeks when Sage called her by her name.

Sunwoo.

Sage tilted her head against the window, her smile deepening.

She hadn’t needed to say anything cruel.
Not directly.
All it had taken was a subtle shift — the way Sage’s hand moved, fingers brushing her wine glass, the gold ring catching the light deliberately.
Not by accident.
Not by chance.
She had placed her hand carefully, let the light glint just right — enough to draw Jett’s eyes to it.

And she had watched.

Oh, she had watched the flicker of pain in Jett’s gaze.
The breath that hitched, the way her throat worked as she swallowed back everything she wanted to say but couldn’t.
The way her smile faltered, just for a second, before she forced it back into place.

Exquisite.

But Sage hadn’t stopped there.
No — that wasn’t her style.

She had let her fingers linger on the stem of the glass, slowly turning it, the ring gleaming with every movement, catching Jett’s attention again and again.
Every time Jett’s eyes drifted back toward it, Sage smiled.

But not too much.

Just enough for Jett to catch — a softness, a sweetness, as if the ring wasn’t a barrier, but a warm treasure.
Something Sage cherished.
Something Jett could never touch.

And when Jett’s fingers trembled slightly around her chopsticks, her appetite clearly gone —
Sage tilted her head just so.
As if to ask, what’s wrong?
So innocent.

Jett’s jaw tightened.
Her smile was forced.
Her laugh was brittle.

And Sage?

She savored it.

Because nothing tasted sweeter than the hope and pain twisted together in Jett’s eyes.
And Jett didn’t even realize she had been handed that carefully crafted poison.

Not yet.

Because that was the point.

Not to break her.

No.

To keep her.

Trapped.

Suspended.

Balanced on the knife’s edge between hope and despair.

Sage let her eyes close for a moment, replaying every detail of the evening like a favorite melody.

The breathless way Jett had said "thank you" when Sage told her she was proud of her.
As if those words had been a prize she had spent years chasing.

And then, that perfect line:

"If only life were simpler."

She had practiced it.
Just the right amount of hesitation.
The soft catch in her voice.
The fleeting flicker of sadness in her eyes — gone before it could be questioned, leaving only the taste of what-could-have-been.

Sage opened her eyes again, the city lights blurring into gold and silver streams.

She knew exactly what Jett was doing right now.
Sitting in her car.
Hands gripping the steering wheel.
Heart racing.
Replay after replay of that dinner playing in her head.

She would analyze every word.
Every glance.
Every smile.

And she would believe —

She would truly believe —

That Sage needed her.
That Sage wanted her.
But couldn’t have her.

And so she would try harder.
Push further.
Fall deeper.

All because Sage had given her just enough light to see the cage she was already locked inside.

Sage ran her thumb along the inside of her ring finger.

She didn’t wear the ring for Reyna.

She wore it for the others.

For Jett.
For Viper.

A symbol.
A reminder.

That they could taste, they could touch —
But they could never keep.

The driver took a sharp turn, and Sage straightened slightly, smoothing out the folds of her coat.

She would go home now.
Reyna would call to say goodnight.
She would murmur soft affection, gentle reassurances, strokes of comfort for a woman who lived drowning in guilt Sage had carefully cultivated.

And Jett would spend her night wide awake, staring at her phone.
Wondering if she should message first.
Wondering if Sage was thinking of her.

And Viper…

Sage’s smile softened at the thought.

Viper would be in her sterile lab, pretending to focus on work.
Failing.

Thinking of Sage’s lips, her laugh, the taste of her skin.

All of them.
Pieces on her board.
Dancing exactly where she placed them.

The driver pulled up to the Mondragón estate.
Sage stepped out, graceful, composed.

She walked up the steps slowly, savoring the silence of the night air.
Before she unlocked the door, she glanced down at her phone.

A new message from Jett:

Thank you for tonight. I’ll do better.

Sage’s smile was soft and sweet.

She typed a reply.

You were already perfect.

She hit send.

And stepped inside.

Another perfect move.

Another thread pulled tight.

Chapter Text

Reyna stepped off the plane in the early evening, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she exited the terminal. The scent of the city—faintly earthy, but undeniably alive—filled her lungs, a stark contrast to the sterile, air-conditioned atmosphere of the airport. Her body was tired, the weight of a week’s worth of meetings and jet lag clinging to her like a heavy coat. But the moment she saw the familiar black car waiting for her, with the driver’s face barely illuminated by the streetlights, she felt a rush of relief.

Home.

It was always the same. No matter how exhausted she was from business trips, no matter the endless discussions, negotiations, and deals that drained her, she always had this moment—the anticipation of seeing Sage. The idea of walking through the front door, hearing Sage’s voice, feeling her touch—it was what kept her going.

The ride home was quiet, and Reyna let her thoughts wander as the city passed by in the blink of an eye. She tried to push the exhaustion to the back of her mind, to focus instead on how she would surprise Sage. She’d bring her favorite wine, maybe a small gift from Brazil, just to let her know how much she appreciated her support while she was away. Sage was always so good at holding down the fort when Reyna was traveling. It was one of the many things Reyna loved about her.

When they arrived, the lights of their home flickered in the distance, a comforting sight. Reyna could already picture Sage inside, probably lounging in one of her usual spots—either on the couch with a book or in the kitchen preparing dinner. It was so like Sage to make everything feel warm, inviting, and peaceful.

As Reyna stepped inside, she was immediately hit by the comforting scent of sage and lavender—Sage’s favorite candles. The house was exactly as it had always been—pristine, beautifully designed, and peaceful.

But something felt... off. A quiet murmur, a tug at the edge of her senses, told her that something wasn’t quite right, even if she couldn’t put her finger on it.

“Hello?” Reyna called softly, her voice echoing in the spacious hallway. “Sage?”

It didn’t take long before Sage appeared at the top of the stairs, her silhouette framed by the soft lighting from the hallway. She was wearing something simple—her favorite silk robe, the one that barely touched her skin but made her look like she’d stepped out of a dream.

“Reyna,” Sage said, her voice soft and warm. “You’re back early. I wasn’t expecting you until tonight.”

Reyna smiled tiredly, her eyes meeting Sage’s. “I changed my flight. Missed you.” She stepped forward, dropping her bag by the door and moving toward Sage.

Sage’s lips curved into a gentle, knowing smile. She descended the stairs gracefully, her eyes holding that familiar warmth as she met Reyna halfway, wrapping her arms around her in a hug. Sage’s touch was always perfect—soothing, careful, intimate. Reyna closed her eyes, letting the feeling of being home wash over her. This was right, wasn’t it? It always had been.

Sage pulled away slightly, her hands resting on Reyna’s shoulders as she looked down at her with a hint of amusement. “You look exhausted. Business trip was brutal, I take it?”

Reyna laughed softly, shaking her head. “Yeah, you could say that. Brazil was a mess of meetings. All those deals…” She trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m glad it’s over. Just want to relax.”

Sage’s eyes softened with concern. “I’m sure you’re dying for some rest. I’ll make us something light, if you’d like. You must be starving.”

Reyna nodded gratefully, not even realizing how much she wanted to simply sit down and let Sage take care of everything. The past two weeks had been a blur of business and isolation. At times, she felt the weight of being alone, without the small moments of intimacy that Sage always provided. But tonight, she was back home. Everything was going to be okay.

As they moved toward the kitchen, Sage’s movements were fluid, like she’d never stopped cooking or preparing for Reyna’s return. She’d been busy, too. Reyna understood that. Sage was always busy, always balancing everything with effortless ease.

But as they sat down together at the kitchen table, eating the meal Sage had prepared, something gnawed at the back of Reyna’s mind. It wasn’t a feeling of unease, exactly. More like a tiny seed of doubt that had begun to sprout, unfurling just a little bit in the stillness of the room.

Sage was talking about her day, recounting a few things from the office. Reyna was listening, nodding along, but her thoughts kept drifting back to the moment she had walked through the door. The way Sage had greeted her—so warmly, yes, but almost too easily.

Reyna realized she hadn’t been hugged like that in a long time. The gestures felt familiar, yes, but… distant. Almost as though it had been a routine greeting rather than something born of excitement or yearning. It wasn’t anything overtly wrong, of course, but in the silence of the night, in the small spaces between words, Reyna felt a slight shift. The difference was subtle, but it lingered in her chest like a shadow that wouldn’t quite leave.

She pushed it down, shaking her head. I’m just tired, she thought. I’ve been away for so long. Maybe I’m just missing something in myself.

The conversation with Sage continued, flowing as naturally as always. But Reyna couldn’t stop feeling that little flicker of something that didn’t quite fit. She caught herself looking at Sage more than usual, analyzing her expressions, her body language, the way her eyes danced when she spoke. It wasn’t quite a suspicion—no, that wasn’t it—but something told Reyna that Sage was withholding something. Something was different.

She glanced at Sage from across the table, her hand absently playing with the edge of her wine glass, a sense of longing tugging at her. She wanted more. More than this casual, practiced intimacy. More than the way they’d fallen into their routine.

But when had things become routine?

The thought had barely formed before Sage spoke again, drawing her attention away from her musings. “Reyna,” Sage said, her voice warm and affectionate, “You must be tired. I’ll leave you to rest after dinner. I know how hard you’ve been working.”

Reyna nodded, her chest tightening just a little at the sudden sense of being taken care of. Sage always did this—always understood when Reyna needed rest, when she needed to be left alone, when she needed attention. And yet…

She felt a longing in her chest, an ache for something more than just the role of “tired, hard-working wife.” There had been a time when they were more than that, hadn’t there? When their nights were filled with talk and laughter, when Sage’s touch was more than just soothing.

But tonight, everything felt slower. Almost too gentle.

Sage pushed back from the table, standing and clearing the dishes. Reyna watched her for a moment, her gaze lingering on the way Sage moved—effortless, graceful. But there was something distant about it tonight, something that made Reyna feel like she was watching from behind a glass. Like there was a barrier between them that hadn’t been there before.

As Sage went to clear the dishes, Reyna stayed seated, her fingers tracing the rim of her glass. The wine had settled into her chest, but it did little to quiet the unease that had started to grow, a soft thrum that she couldn’t quite ignore.

What is it? Reyna wondered to herself.

Why does this feel... different?

Reyna lay awake in the large bed they shared, the sheets cool against her skin as she stared up at the dark ceiling. The quiet of the night was almost oppressive, the kind of silence that was never fully peaceful. It felt like something was missing, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was. The room was too still, too perfect, much like everything else in her life at the moment. And that was the problem, wasn’t it?

Sage was too perfect.

There was no other way to describe it. Every interaction felt smooth, every word from Sage’s lips measured and calm. It was always gentle, always considerate. But lately, Reyna had begun to feel the weight of that perfection. It was a strange feeling, like a quiet hum in the back of her mind, an undercurrent that made her restless when she tried to sleep.

What is wrong with me? Reyna thought, her hand resting on her chest, as if she could still feel the warmth of Sage’s touch.

She had everything she could possibly want. A perfect home, a perfect wife, a perfect life. And yet, lying here now, the ache in her chest was something deeper, something more unsettling than mere tiredness.

Sage had been wonderful to her. Always so welcoming when Reyna returned home, always attentive, always ready to reassure her after long days away. There was never any confrontation, never any tension. Even now, the memory of Sage’s soft words and tender gaze from earlier in the evening played in her mind, making her chest tighten in guilt. Sage had truly welcomed her home. She had done everything right, as she always did.

So why did it feel like something was slipping?

Reyna sighed, turning over onto her side to face Sage’s pillow, which still held a faint trace of Sage’s warmth. It smelled faintly of lavender, a scent she had come to associate with Sage’s presence. She tried to focus on the calming scent, but it only reminded her of the nagging emptiness she couldn’t escape.

Is this what it’s like to be greedy? Reyna thought, her fingers curling into the pillow. To want more when everything is already perfect?

She hated that feeling, hated that she could not be content. She had everything any woman could dream of, didn’t she? A beautiful, devoted partner, a life built on security and love. And yet... every time she came home, every time she was with Sage, something inside her ached for more.

It wasn’t Sage’s fault, not at all. Sage had never been anything but perfect. But Reyna’s thoughts, the self-criticism, had been creeping in, unbidden. She was constantly away, constantly working. And when she was home, it felt like there was something missing in their connection, something that Sage was giving—just not to her, at least not enough. But was it fair to expect more from Sage? Wasn’t she being greedy, demanding something more than what she had been given?

Reyna rolled onto her back again, staring up at the ceiling. The quiet continued to press against her, a stillness she couldn’t shake. She thought back to the way Sage had welcomed her home earlier. There had been nothing wrong with it. Nothing at all. But the absence of something deeper, something... alive between them made her feel like she was suffocating under the weight of her own thoughts.

Maybe I’m just not good enough for this marriage anymore, Reyna wondered, the thought a knife to her chest. She had always been the one who was out of the house, out of their shared space. Always the one who was busy, consumed by work and travel. Could it be that Sage had grown tired of that? Maybe it was Reyna’s fault. Maybe she had neglected her role in the marriage, left Sage to shoulder too much, to keep everything perfect while Reyna remained absent.

She bit her lip, trying to suppress the growing guilt that filled her chest. No, I shouldn’t think that way. She loves me. She tells me she loves me. She’s never shown me anything other than affection.

But still, that small whisper of doubt remained. She could feel it in the way Sage always seemed so together—so in control of everything, including their home, their relationship. Sometimes Reyna felt like an outsider in her own marriage. How could Sage be so perfect? How could she always be so perfect? There was no room for flaws, no room for anything that didn’t fit into this picture-perfect life they had created together.

And then there were the moments when Reyna would see the small glimmer of something else—something too perfect about Sage’s perfection. It was a subtle thing. Like when Sage made sure everything was exactly the way Reyna wanted it before she even asked. Or when she seemed to anticipate her every need before it was even voiced. It was sweet, yes, but it was also suffocating. The effort, the work it took for Sage to maintain this image of the perfect wife—it had to be exhausting, didn’t it?

And Reyna had been the one to pull away, to allow the distance between them to grow while she focused on her work, while she built her career. She had allowed Sage to take the reigns of everything—the household, their life, their marriage. She had been too busy to notice. Too busy to pay attention to what was happening beneath the surface.

How could I be so blind?

But she wasn’t blind, was she? She had seen the subtle signs. She had noticed the way Sage sometimes withdrew, as if she was waiting for something Reyna couldn’t give. The occasional moments when Sage seemed distant—not in a way that was overt or obvious, but in a way that was almost imperceptible to anyone who wasn’t paying close attention. The small hesitations, the slight shifts in her gaze when they were alone together. It was like Sage was waiting for something from Reyna, but Reyna couldn’t figure out what.

Reyna closed her eyes, trying to block out the mental noise. She didn’t want to feel this way. She didn’t want to feel as if she was failing her marriage, failing Sage. She loved her wife—God, how she loved her. But somewhere along the way, something had shifted. And Reyna couldn’t tell if it was her own fault or if it was just the natural ebb and flow of a relationship that had started to grow stagnant.

But was it too much to want more? To want the connection, the spark, the fire they had once shared when they first met? Was it wrong to desire something beyond the perfection that had become their reality?

Maybe I’m just tired. Maybe I’m overthinking this, Reyna tried to convince herself.

But her thoughts weren’t so easily stifled. They continued to gnaw at her, this quiet, persistent ache that had settled into her chest.

Sage had always been perfect. But was perfection enough?

And Reyna… Reyna wasn’t sure she could live with just perfect.

Reyna spent the next day in a haze, the quiet ache of her thoughts lingering like a constant weight on her chest. The house felt the same—perfect, pristine, and utterly still—but somehow, the stillness felt heavier, more suffocating. Every glance at Sage made the discomfort grow, though Reyna couldn’t quite place why.

The more she tried to dismiss the feeling, the more it gnawed at her. It was a strange sort of disconnect that she couldn’t escape, like a shadow lurking just out of view, shifting and elusive.

By the time evening rolled around, the weight of her thoughts became unbearable. Reyna knew she had to talk to Sage. The tension between them, the unease in the air—Sage deserved more than this cold silence, this unsaid distance that Reyna had unintentionally let settle between them.

But as she sat across from Sage at dinner, the words stuck in her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The familiar routine of their dinner, the soft clink of glasses, the smooth way Sage moved through the evening, only amplified the contrast in Reyna’s own mind. She felt like an outsider to her own life.

Finally, after the plates had been cleared and they sat in the quiet of the living room, Reyna couldn’t keep it in any longer.

"Sage," she began, her voice quiet, unsure. "I’ve been thinking... a lot."

Sage looked up from her phone, a small, attentive smile curving her lips. "About what, darling?" she asked, her tone light, as if nothing in the world could be wrong.

Reyna hesitated. "It’s just… I don’t know. It feels like… things are a little off between us."

Sage’s smile faltered, just a touch, barely noticeable. “Off? What do you mean, love?  Her voice was soft, the concern in her eyes genuine—or so it seemed.

Reyna’s stomach twisted, the guilt churning in her chest. “I don’t know. I’ve been feeling this… distance, I guess. And I can’t help but think it’s because of me, maybe. I’ve been away so much, I’ve been so wrapped up in work, I—”

Sage set her phone down slowly, her fingers gently tapping against the surface of the coffee table, as if weighing her words. She tilted her head slightly, her gaze intense, but tender. “Reyna, darling,” she said, her voice smooth, the edges of it carrying a warmth that felt like a balm to Reyna’s frayed nerves, “you’re here now. That’s all that matters. We’re together.” She reached out, touching Reyna’s hand gently. “You’ve been working hard. I don’t blame you for being busy. It’s just who you are.”

Reyna swallowed, but the ache in her chest only grew. “But I should be more present for you, Sage. I should be more here.”

Sage’s smile softened, her thumb running lightly over Reyna’s knuckles. “You are here now, Reyna. That’s what matters to me.”

There was a quiet moment, and Reyna felt the weight of Sage’s words. But it didn’t erase the feeling that something was missing, something she couldn’t explain. It wasn’t that Sage wasn’t being kind. She was—Sage was always perfect, always saying the right things. But perfect... it started to feel like a cage, something she couldn’t escape. The silence between them, though seemingly comfortable, was beginning to feel too heavy.

Reyna opened her mouth again, but before she could speak, Sage stood, offering her a hand. “Come to bed, darling,” she said, her voice warm and inviting. “I think we both need rest.”

Reyna followed without protest, though her mind raced. She needed to talk more, but every time she tried, Sage’s softness enveloped her, and her own doubts felt too intrusive, too unwelcome.

Once in their bedroom, the soft glow of the nightlight illuminated the familiar comfort of their space. Sage moved toward the bed, the slow rhythm of her steps somehow adding to the atmosphere of calm, of contentment that she always created. Reyna, on the other hand, felt restless.

She climbed into bed, the cool sheets feeling alien against her skin. Sage slid in beside her, her body warm and close, her hand automatically seeking Reyna’s as she settled. For a moment, Reyna thought she might finally feel the comfort she so desperately needed. But instead, the ache lingered, gnawing at her insides. She stared up at the ceiling, unsure of what she was really waiting for, unsure of what she needed from Sage.

Sage’s breathing evened out as she shifted, the quiet of the night creeping in around them. Reyna couldn’t sleep, couldn’t quiet the thoughts racing through her mind. And then—almost as if on cue—she heard it.

A soft, almost imperceptible sound from Sage’s side of the bed. A muffled sniffle. Another, quieter one.

Reyna’s heart skipped in her chest. She turned toward Sage, who was facing away from her, her back to Reyna’s. But even in the dark, she could tell something was off. The faint sobs were so quiet, Reyna almost doubted them at first.

It was like the world shifted in that moment. Reyna’s thoughts about herself, about Sage, about their marriage—they all stopped. She reached out, her fingers trembling as she brushed against Sage’s shoulder.

“Sage?” Her voice was thick with concern, too soft, too careful.

Sage immediately stilled, her body going rigid for just a moment. Then, as if realizing Reyna was awake, she turned toward her with a look of surprise—just enough surprise to make Reyna feel a twinge of guilt. “Oh, darling,” Sage whispered, her voice shaking slightly. “I didn’t mean to wake you. I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Reyna’s breath caught. She could see the sheen of tears on Sage’s cheeks, the vulnerability in her eyes—eyes that had always seemed so calm, so composed, now broken in a way Reyna had never witnessed before. “Sage, what’s wrong?” Reyna whispered, her chest tightening with a fierce, protective need.

Sage’s lip trembled as she shook her head. “I just… I’ve been trying so hard to be everything for you, Reyna. To be perfect. And I know you’ve been working so hard, and I feel like I’m not enough... that I’m not doing enough. I’m sorry, I just…” Her voice broke off, a soft sob escaping her throat.

Reyna felt the wave of guilt crash over her, drowning her in the sensation that she had done something wrong, something unforgivable. The vulnerability in Sage’s voice, the way she was letting her guard down—it was too much. Reyna’s heart shattered.

She moved closer, her arms wrapping around Sage from behind, pulling her close. Sage’s body stiffened for a moment before she relaxed into Reyna’s embrace, her breathing shallow but steadying.

Reyna’s voice trembled as she spoke, her words spilling out in a rush. “Sage, I’m so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like that. I’ve just been so caught up in myself, in my work… I’ve been selfish, and I didn’t see what you needed. I’m so sorry.”

Sage didn’t respond immediately. But after a long moment, she gave a soft sigh and turned in Reyna’s arms, just enough to look at her with those wide, tear-filled eyes. The way she gazed up at Reyna—the perfect mixture of vulnerability and gratitude—made Reyna’s heart ache.

“I just… I don’t want you to leave me, Reyna. I love you so much, and I’ll do anything to make you happy,” Sage whispered, her voice still shaky.

Reyna could barely breathe. “I’m here, Sage,” she whispered, as she pulled her even closer. “I’m here. I’ll always be here. I just… I need to try harder.”

Sage’s lips curved into a soft smile—so small, so sad, yet so perfect in its simplicity. "I know," she whispered, her arms tightening around Reyna as she settled into her embrace.

Reyna stayed still, feeling the pulse of Sage’s heartbeat against her own, her mind racing. She felt like she was losing her grip on everything. But Sage’s touch, Sage’s warmth, was the only thing that felt real right now. And for just a moment, she let herself forget everything, letting the quiet pull her into the illusion of normalcy.

She didn’t know that it was exactly what Sage wanted. But for Reyna, it was enough—for now.

___

Sage’s eyelashes flutters, almost imperceptibly, under the darkness of night.

The soft sobs that had escaped from her lips were part of the plan, of course—nothing but a calculated maneuver designed to pull Reyna closer. Sage had always been good at reading people, knowing exactly what they needed, what they wanted, and when to give it to them. She had been playing this game for so long that it had become second nature. But tonight… tonight something felt different.

As the quiet desperation from Reyna's earlier words echoed in her mind, Sage realized that she hadn’t anticipated the shift. It was subtle, but unmistakable: the sliver of doubt in Reyna’s voice, the hesitation in her touch. There was a growing sense of distance, one that threatened to unravel the delicate fabric of their relationship. Reyna had always been demanding in her own quiet way—needing reassurance, needing to feel wanted—but now there was something more. Something almost… greedy.

Sage could feel it in the air as she lay beside Reyna, the small movements of her wife’s body betraying a tension that hadn’t been there before. It wasn’t enough to be obvious, but it was enough to set off a quiet alarm in Sage’s mind. She knew that Reyna hadn’t consciously figured it out, but she was starting to want more, and Sage couldn’t allow that. Not now.

The plan, the one she had so carefully crafted over the years, was based on control—on carefully guiding Reyna, Jett, Viper, all of them, through a maze that only Sage had the map to. She didn’t need to physically control them every second. She controlled their emotions, their needs. And in return, they all gave her the attention, the loyalty, and the validation that she craved.

But Reyna had always been the most delicate part of the puzzle. Sage had wrapped her in warmth and comfort, weaving the perfect image of a doting wife, and for the longest time, that had been enough.

But now? Now Reyna’s subtle unease was a crack in the surface of the perfect marriage they had built together. It was enough to make Sage pause.

She had to think quickly.

When Reyna’s hand touched her shoulder in the dark, her voice soft, calling out to her, Sage already had her response prepared. "Oh, darling," Sage had whispered, her voice breaking in the exact way she knew would pull at Reyna’s heartstrings. It was perfect. The small break in her voice, the tremor, it was exactly what Reyna needed to hear. Sage had done this a thousand times, manipulating every emotion that Reyna felt, but this time—this time she had to act fast. The cracks in their relationship were getting wider, and she couldn’t afford to lose Reyna’s devotion, not now. Not when everything else was falling into place.

The tears came easily. They always did when she needed them. She let her shoulders shake, let her breath catch just enough to make Reyna feel the weight of her vulnerability.

Let her feel responsible. Let her believe she’s the one causing this. Let her think she’s the one at fault.

Sage knew how Reyna worked. She was too kind, too empathetic for her own good. If Sage showed even the slightest hint of sadness, if she presented herself as fragile, Reyna would fall right back into that role of protective partner. She would try to fix it, to mend whatever was broken. And that’s exactly what Sage needed right now.

It wasn’t an act of weakness on Sage’s part. No. It was an act of manipulation, carefully honed, like a surgeon with a scalpel, cutting just deep enough to trigger the right emotional response.

The tears that spilled from her eyes, the soft hiccup of breath as she pretended to sob silently, were all part of the performance.

I can’t let her get too far away.

Reyna had shifted, her body stiffening at the sound of Sage’s muffled sobs. Sage felt it—the tension in her touch as she reached out to comfort her. She knew Reyna wasn’t fully asleep; she could sense her stillness, her careful listening. But Reyna had no idea what was going on beneath the surface. She still thought that this was all real, that Sage’s distress was genuine, that the tears were the result of some deep-seated, unspoken pain.

Sage heard Reyna’s soft, trembling voice, her words laced with guilt, and it was the perfect trigger. The guilt in Reyna’s voice, her apology—it was just the right pitch. Reyna was already slipping back into the role that Sage had so carefully crafted for her: the apologetic wife, the one who believed that the problems between them could only be solved through more love, more attention.

And it was working.

Sage turned into Reyna’s embrace, letting her fingers trail lightly down her wife’s arm. She had to make it seem like Reyna’s touch was what calmed her, what soothed her—the subtle shift of their bodies, the almost desperate cling of Reyna’s arms around her. It was exactly what she wanted, what Reyna needed to see. The vulnerability in her own voice—just the right amount of weakness, mixed with just the right amount of need—was already doing its job.

She felt Reyna’s arms tighten around her, the soft press of her body as she pulled Sage closer. She let out a small, breathy sigh, making sure the sound was just loud enough for Reyna to hear. Then, just before she pulled away, she gave a small, practiced sniffle, like she couldn’t quite hold herself together.

“Oh, darling,” Sage whispered, her voice soft, but with a trace of vulnerability that she knew would make Reyna feel even worse. “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve been so good to me. I know you’ve been so busy... I just... I just want to feel like I’m enough for you.”

Reyna’s hand ran through her hair, the guilt thick in the air. Sage could feel it pressing down on her—Reyna’s desperate need to make things right, her desire to prove her love.

Sage closed her eyes, pretending to drift into the soft embrace of sleep, though she could hear Reyna’s shallow breaths, could feel the shift in her wife’s movements as she settled more tightly against her.

And then, as Reyna’s breath became even and slow, Sage allowed herself to give one last, tiny sob—a small hiccup that barely registered—but was just enough. She kept her eyes closed, waiting for the exact moment when Reyna would think she had fallen asleep.

And as Reyna’s breathing became quieter, almost imperceptibly, Sage knew it was time. She let her own breathing slow, giving the illusion of sleep.

Just one more step, darling, Sage thought, her lips curling into a small, secretive smile as she allowed herself the briefest of moments to appreciate the perfection of her own control. One more whisper of vulnerability, and Reyna will be mine again. Just like always.

Sage’s mind worked through the steps with mechanical precision, each one carefully calculated to put Reyna exactly where she needed to be—helpless, guilt-ridden, and fully invested in the idea that Sage was the delicate one, the one who needed her care.

And Reyna, dear Reyna, would never even know the truth.

Sage let herself drift off into a comfortable, calculated sleep, knowing that tomorrow would bring another round of subtle manipulations, another chance to pull the strings just so, to keep her wife exactly where she belonged: by her side, vulnerable, yet firmly under her control.

Reyna, however, lay awake in the dark, still holding Sage close. Her thoughts churned, unable to settle, but slowly, as the quiet darkness enveloped them both, the uncertainty began to fade, replaced by the feeling of Sage’s warmth, her presence. And in that warmth, Reyna felt the first stirrings of guilt, the painful sense that she had been wrong, had somehow caused the rift between them.

But all of that would pass. After all, Sage needed her.

And Reyna would always, always be there for her.

Just like she was supposed to be.

Chapter Text

Reyna stood at the kitchen counter, staring at the half-empty cup of coffee in front of her. It had gone cold, but she didn’t mind. She wasn’t really drinking it, not now. Her mind was elsewhere—restless, swirling with thoughts and emotions she wasn’t sure how to untangle.
She hadn’t seen Sage like that before, hadn’t felt the kind of tension that had filled the space between them last night. There had been something so raw, so… vulnerable in Sage’s eyes. Reyna felt as though she had caught a glimpse of the woman behind the perfectly composed façade—the woman who never let anyone see her cracks. The thought made her feel uneasy, as though the person she thought she had known so well was somehow a stranger now.

But in the quiet moments before they fell asleep, she realized something: Sage had let her see that vulnerability for a reason. She had let it slip, just enough for Reyna to notice. And now, Reyna was left wondering—had she been too focused on her own work, her own distractions to see what Sage needed? Or was Sage showing her this side because, for the first time in years, she was no longer the perfect wife, the unshakable pillar Reyna had once leaned on?

But no, Reyna thought, shaking her head slightly as she took a deep breath. Sage wasn’t like that. She’d never be weak.

Still, that sad, almost imperceptible look in Sage’s eyes—it lingered with her, even as the day unfolded, despite her attempts to push it away. Sage had been so calm, so gentle with her, comforting Reyna the way only she could. Her soft words, her hands brushing Reyna’s hair back, her subtle smile that wasn’t quite as bright as it should have been—all of it had made Reyna feel like the only thing that mattered was making sure Sage felt loved, appreciated. She hadn’t even realized until last night how much she’d been neglecting Sage, how she had let work, distance, and responsibilities take the place of their intimacy.

The evening came quickly, and Reyna found herself standing in front of the stove, stirring a simple dinner, but it felt important. She had to fix it. She needed to. She had hurt Sage by not being there, by not seeing what had been right in front of her all along.

When Sage entered the kitchen, her presence filled the room with that warm, almost serene calm that Reyna had grown so accustomed to. There she was, again, standing perfect and poised. But beneath it all, Reyna couldn’t shake the feeling that Sage was holding something back—something painful.

Sage smiled as she approached the counter, her eyes scanning the meal Reyna was preparing. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said, her voice soft, the words measured but genuine.

“I wanted to,” Reyna replied quickly, almost too quickly, as if defending herself against the guilt that threatened to swallow her whole. “I’ve been away so much… I just want to make it right. I know I’ve been distracted. I know I’ve let you down.”

Sage’s smile never faltered, but Reyna noticed the way her gaze softened, the way her eyes lingered on her for just a second longer than usual. "Darling," she said, her voice a gentle murmur. "You don’t have to apologize for anything. I understand. You’ve been working hard. I’m proud of you."

Reyna felt a lump form in her throat. She’s so perfect, she thought again. How does she always know what to say?

But there was something in the way Sage said those words—something in the warmth of her tone that struck a chord in Reyna’s chest. It was as if Sage was letting Reyna off the hook in a way that made her feel even worse for her neglect. Sage was perfect. She was understanding, always calm, always composed. And now Reyna felt like she was the one failing to live up to her own expectations.

“Are you sure?” Reyna asked, her voice barely above a whisper. She set down the spoon she had been stirring with and turned to face Sage. “You’ve been so patient with me. I don’t want you to feel like you’re always the one making excuses for me.”

Sage’s smile dimmed just a little—a flicker that was almost imperceptible, but Reyna saw it. She caught it, and it made her heart ache. The sadness wasn’t overt, not at all. But it was there. Beneath the kindness, the understanding, there was this quiet, hidden sadness that Reyna had never noticed before.

“I’m not making excuses, Reyna,” Sage said, her voice soft and steady. “I love you. And I want you to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. You don’t need to apologize for taking care of your work. I just… I just don’t want you to forget about us.”

It was a small statement. A small vulnerability. But it hit Reyna like a wave.

She didn’t know why, but it felt like a truth she hadn’t been seeing.

As the evening wore on, they ate their dinner, and the conversation was light, but Reyna couldn’t stop thinking about what Sage had said. I just don’t want you to forget about us.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that something more was at play here, something that went beyond her own guilt and self-recrimination. Sage’s words had cut through her like a knife, making her feel even more inadequate than before. But at the same time, it made her feel something else—a need to fix it, to make Sage feel better.

Reyna caught Sage’s eyes once again, and there it was. That vulnerability. That sadness that seemed to hover just behind the curtain of her perfect wife persona.

Sage’s eyes softened as she met Reyna’s gaze. "I’m sorry if I’ve been distant," she said, as though reading Reyna’s mind. "It’s just… sometimes I feel like I’m not enough for you anymore. I know you’ve been busy, but sometimes I just… need you."

Reyna’s chest tightened. She’s being honest, Reyna thought. She’s showing me who she really is. She’s so much more than just this perfect wife. She’s… human. She has needs too.

The words hung in the air, and for the first time in a long while, Reyna didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t realized it before, but now, looking into Sage’s eyes, she could see the truth—this was who Sage really was. The beautiful, perfect woman who had been there for her all along wasn’t just a strong, unwavering pillar. She was fragile too, beneath it all.

Sage’s voice broke through Reyna’s thoughts, soft and tentative. “I don’t want you to feel obligated to fix things, darling. I just wanted to be honest with you. I’ve been trying so hard to keep everything together, but sometimes, I need to feel like I’m needed too.”

The subtle shift in Sage’s tone was enough to make Reyna’s heart ache. She swallowed the guilt building in her throat and reached out to touch Sage’s hand, squeezing it gently.

"I’m so sorry," Reyna whispered, her voice heavy with regret. "I’ve been so focused on myself. On my work. I should have been there more for you."

Sage looked at her, her lips curving into a sad smile. "You’ve been there for me in your own way. And I’m grateful for that." She paused, then added, "I just want you to know that I’m here for you too. No matter what."

That night, as they lay in bed, Reyna turned over, watching Sage’s sleeping form in the dim light of the room. The quiet rhythm of Sage’s breathing, the soft rise and fall of her chest, was almost hypnotic. But it wasn’t the peacefulness of Sage’s sleep that consumed Reyna’s thoughts. It was the memory of earlier—the look in Sage’s eyes when she had let her guard down, if only for a moment.

It wasn’t just the vulnerability Reyna had seen. It was the rawness of it. The sadness that lingered in Sage’s expression, like a shadow behind her perfect composure. Reyna had never seen it before, not like this. And in that instant, it was as if a new layer had been peeled back, revealing something deeper, more human.

Reyna shifted slightly, propping herself up on one elbow as she gazed at Sage. Was this the real Sage, the woman beneath the perfect wife, the impeccable image she had always tried so hard to maintain? Reyna had always known Sage was more than the flawless exterior—there were hints of it here and there, moments when Sage’s mask would slip just enough for Reyna to catch a glimpse of something else.

But tonight was different. This time, Reyna could almost feel it: the vulnerability, the longing, the truth of Sage’s humanity. For so long, Reyna had been held in the comfort of the perfect woman she thought Sage was. But now, with this new understanding, she felt as though she was finally seeing the whole picture.

The vulnerability wasn’t just a crack in Sage’s persona—it was a revelation. It made Sage more real to her, more graspable. As if, for the first time, Reyna was touching the part of Sage that had been hidden for so long. It made her feel closer to her, like she was finally unraveling the mystery of her wife, the woman she had longed to understand but never could quite reach.

Reyna couldn’t help but feel a sharp pang of guilt as she thought of the past few weeks. She had been so busy, so distracted by work, that she hadn’t seen it. She hadn’t seen the subtle signs that Sage had been holding on to something beneath the surface. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been trying to care for Sage—it was that she hadn’t truly been there. Not in the way that Sage needed.

Now, Reyna couldn’t help but blame herself. She had been so focused on her own world, her own responsibilities, that she had missed the truth. That perfect wife—always understanding, always supportive—had been a façade, a way to protect Reyna from seeing just how much Sage had been sacrificing.

Reyna swallowed the guilt that rose in her throat, unable to shake the weight of it. It didn’t seem fair that Sage had carried this on her own. But then again, that was what made Sage so incredible. Even in her vulnerability, she was still the woman who had always been there for Reyna. She had never once shown weakness, not until tonight.

The thought of Sage’s hidden strength, her willingness to protect Reyna from everything—including the burden of her own emotions—made Reyna’s heart swell. She reached out in the darkness, her fingers grazing over the curve of Sage’s shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin, the soft texture of her hair against her fingers.

I need to do better, Reyna thought. I need to give her the love and care she deserves. She’s been so perfect for me. I owe it to her to show her how much she means to me.

With a sigh, Reyna nestled her head back into her pillow, her eyes closing as she drifted off to sleep. But the thoughts didn’t stop—they lingered. They turned in her mind, chasing her through the maze of her guilt and longing, until they faded into sleep.

Sage’s eyes fluttered open as the last trace of the night’s calmness began to slip into the early hours of the morning. She had been pretending to sleep for the past few hours, listening to the steady rhythm of Reyna’s breathing beside her. She could feel Reyna’s gaze on her—unsettling, hungry, as if Reyna was trying to peel back layers, to see the person beneath the perfect mask.

It was an unusual sensation. Reyna’s fixation on her vulnerability, the way she seemed so eager to discover Sage’s true self, struck a chord deep within her. Reyna had no idea how easy it was to manipulate her into seeing what Sage wanted her to see.

Sage took a shallow breath, letting the faintest of smiles play on her lips. This will be useful, she thought, her mind already calculating her next move.

Reyna thought she had uncovered something real, something raw beneath the surface. But Sage knew better. She had orchestrated this moment so carefully. Every word she had spoken, every gesture, had been carefully calibrated to make Reyna feel as though she had discovered the truth, the secret of Sage’s humanity.

It was a subtle play—nothing too overt. Just enough to make Reyna believe she was getting closer, that she was starting to know Sage in a way she never had before. Just enough for Reyna to start feeling the weight of guilt for not having seen it earlier. It was brilliant, really. Sage was brilliant. She had always been.

Let her think she’s found the truth, Sage mused quietly to herself, her fingers lightly brushing the sheets as her mind worked through the layers of the situation. Let her believe she’s the one who can save me.

Sage’s smile grew, just a little. She could feel the shift in Reyna—feel the need to prove herself, to compensate for her perceived failure. It was exactly what Sage wanted.

In a few moments, she would roll over, make sure Reyna saw the sadness in her eyes, just enough to pull at her heartstrings. Sage knew exactly what Reyna needed to hear, what Reyna needed to believe.

She was already anticipating the next step.

Sage’s hand brushed against Reyna’s arm, and she let out a quiet, deliberate sigh. The soft sound was enough to rouse Reyna from her sleep, and Sage closed her eyes, waiting for the exact moment when Reyna would stir, thinking she had caught her in the midst of some vulnerable, unguarded moment.

As expected, Reyna’s breath hitched, and she slowly turned toward her. Sage feigned a soft, almost imperceptible shift in her expression, the faintest shadow of vulnerability crossing her face. She wasn’t truly upset—she never was—but she let Reyna think she was.

Reyna’s eyes widened slightly, the guilt she had been fighting all night flooding back. “Sage?” she whispered, her voice trembling with concern. “What’s wrong?”

Sage kept her face still, her eyes heavy-lidded, just enough to seem vulnerable, to seem human in a way Reyna had never seen before. “Nothing’s wrong, darling,” she said, her voice soft and full of that familiar, soothing warmth. “I’m just… tired. You’ve been working so hard, and I’ve been so caught up in everything. I don’t want to add more pressure on you. I know you’re doing your best."

Reyna's heart clenched at the sight, and she moved closer, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for Sage’s hand. “I’m sorry,” Reyna whispered. “I’ve been so distracted. I didn’t realize how much you’ve been carrying on your own.”

Sage let out another sigh, letting her eyes glisten with what Reyna would perceive as unshed tears. The smallest touch of weakness, just enough to make Reyna feel even more responsible, more compelled to fix the situation. Sage didn’t need to cry—she didn’t need to show real emotion. What mattered was that Reyna believed it.

“Don’t apologize, darling,” Sage whispered, her voice gentle but firm, the edge of sadness still lingering. “I know you love me. It’s just that sometimes… I feel like I’m invisible. Like you don’t see me anymore.”

The words hit Reyna like a punch to the gut. She couldn’t help it—she pulled Sage into her arms, holding her tightly, kissing her forehead as if she could somehow make it all right.

"I see you. I see you, Sage," Reyna whispered desperately, her arms trembling around her wife’s shoulders. "I’ll do better. I promise."

Sage’s breath steadied beneath her touch, her eyes narrowing imperceptibly as Reyna clung to her, utterly unaware of the quiet manipulation that had brought her here.

Perfect, Sage thought to herself, her lips curling into the faintest of smiles. Just as planned.

The next morning, as Reyna prepared to leave for another city, she could feel the weight of the guilt settling on her chest. Her trip to the exhibition had been planned months in advance, and she had been looking forward to it—business was business, after all. But today, leaving felt different. Something had shifted inside her, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was letting Sage down again.

Sage had known about this trip for weeks. It was nothing new, nothing unexpected, but the realization that she’d be gone for another few days seemed to bring an unbearable heaviness to Reyna’s heart. She found herself stalling, double-checking her suitcase for the third time, fidgeting with her coat as if any delay would somehow make the impending departure less painful.

As she made her way downstairs, the sight of Sage waiting at the front door only deepened the guilt gnawing at her. Sage stood there in her usual elegance, dressed in a simple yet sophisticated outfit that radiated effortless beauty. But this morning, there was a quietness to her—something Reyna hadn’t noticed before. Her smile, as warm as it was, felt a little dimmer, a little more uncertain.

"Good morning, darling," Sage said softly, her voice just a little too calm. She reached up to kiss Reyna, a gentle press of lips that lingered a fraction longer than usual. Reyna felt the hesitation in her touch, as if Sage were holding back something unspoken.

Sage pulled back, her fingers brushing against Reyna’s cheek, her eyes meeting hers with an unreadable expression. For a moment, Reyna could have sworn there was a flicker of something else there—something far too close to sadness for comfort. But just as quickly as it appeared, it was gone, hidden behind the smooth façade Sage had perfected.

"Have a safe trip," Sage said, her smile returning but not quite reaching her eyes.

Reyna’s heart twisted. She had never seen Sage look like this—this subtly wistful, this quietly forlorn. It felt… wrong. Why hadn’t she noticed before? Was Sage always like this when Reyna left? The thought made her stomach churn with guilt.

She was about to speak, to offer something more, but she caught herself. Sage had never once asked her to stay longer, never once made her feel guilty for doing what she had to do. But today, everything felt different. Sage wasn’t asking her to change her plans, wasn’t begging her to stay. She was just standing there, her gaze holding Reyna’s for a beat longer than normal.

"I’ll miss you," Reyna whispered, her voice barely audible as she stepped back, tugging her bag over her shoulder.

Sage nodded, her lips pressing together in a gentle smile. "I know you’ll be busy. It’s all right. Just take care of yourself, darling."

And then, with one final, lingering glance, Reyna turned and walked out the door, the soft thud of it closing behind her feeling louder than it ever had before.

As she sat in the back of her private jet, staring out the window as the city disappeared below her, Reyna couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something wrong. Something that had been building up for weeks, maybe even months. Something she had been blind to.

She made a promise to herself, her hand gripping the edge of the seat. When I get back, I’ll make more time for Sage. I’ll fix this. I’ll be there for her, really there. She deserves that.

And as the jet soared higher into the sky, leaving her home—and Sage—behind, Reyna couldn’t help but feel like she was flying farther away from the very thing that grounded her.

Chapter Text

The evening settled in quietly, the city lights flickering in the distance, but inside Sage's apartment, the atmosphere was anything but peaceful. It had been only hours since Reyna had left for the exhibition. But Sage already had other plans tonight.

Tonight, Sage had prepared herself for this moment. She knew Jett would walk in with that same eager look, the one that always made her feel like the other woman was somehow doing something important. It wasn’t a feeling Sage needed; no, she wasn’t lonely at all. She had everything she needed—work, her image to maintain with Reyna, and Viper when she could indulge. The problem wasn’t that she lacked anything—it was that Jett needed to believe she was the solution.

Sage didn't need to say anything outright; she never did. She just had to let Jett feel like she was needed.

Jett’s phone buzzed.

The soft vibration against her nightstand made her eyes snap open instantly, her heart kicking into a nervous rhythm.

Sage.

She grabbed it immediately, barely noticing how fast she moved.

Sage: Are you awake?

Jett sat up, running a hand through her hair.

It was past midnight.

And Sage—Sage was texting her.

Her stomach twisted with anticipation, heat curling beneath her ribs, before she could even think about why.

She typed fast.

Jett: Yeah. What’s wrong?

A pause. Then another message.

Sage: I just…
I can’t sleep.
Can you come over?

Jett was already pulling on her jacket.

She didn’t hesitate. She never hesitated.

The door was already unlocked when she arrived.

Jett stepped inside, cautious, the air thick with the scent of jasmine and something softer, warmer—Sage.

The living room was dimly lit, bathed in the glow of the city lights outside. And there she was—Sage, curled up on the couch, one leg folded beneath her, a loose cashmere robe slipping off her shoulder.

Jett’s breath caught.

She looked… so soft. So untouched.

It was almost painful to look at her.

“Sage,” Jett breathed, stepping forward before she could think.

Sage lifted her head slowly, her eyes a little glassy, like she had been lost in some distant thought.

And when she blinked up at Jett, her lips parting slightly, she looked so fragile, so delicate, that Jett felt something sharp and protective bloom in her chest.

She needs me.

Sage sighed, barely above a whisper.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured, curling in on herself slightly. “I shouldn’t have called you this late.”

Jett shook her head immediately, stepping closer, too close.

“No. Don’t apologize.”

Sage’s lips parted slightly, her lashes lowering—like she was surprised by the firmness of Jett’s voice.

And fuck, that look—that tiny flicker of vulnerability—made Jett feel like she was the only one keeping Sage from falling apart.

Jett sat beside her, not touching, but close enough to feel the warmth of Sage’s skin.

Sage exhaled slowly, her fingers tracing over the rim of her tea cup, eyes downcast.

"It’s just…" she hesitated, her voice dipping into something quieter, something more wounded.

Then she let out a soft, breathy laugh. “I don’t even know why I called you. You must think I’m ridiculous.”

Jett frowned.

“Never.”

Sage smiled—a small, broken thing—and Jett’s chest ached.

“You always say that,” Sage whispered, shaking her head. “You’re too good to me, Jett.”

Jett swallowed, hard.

“You deserve it.”

Sage’s eyes flicked up, locking onto hers.

And fuck.

Jett couldn’t breathe.

Because Sage was looking at her like she mattered.

Like she was important.

Then—soft fingers brushed against Jett’s wrist.

A feather-light touch, barely there, but enough to burn.

Jett didn’t move.

Didn’t even breathe.

Sage’s fingers curled just slightly, like she wasn’t sure if she should hold on or pull away.

"Thank you for coming," she whispered.

Jett exhaled shakily.

"I’d come whenever you call."

The words tumbled out before she could stop them.

Sage’s lips curled at the edges.

Not quite a smirk.

Something softer. Something knowing.

Jett didn’t see it.

For a while, they sat like that, the silence stretching between them like something fragile, something dangerous.

Jett didn’t dare move.

Then—

"Would you do something for me?" Sage asked softly.

Jett straightened immediately.

“Of course.”

Sage tilted her head slightly.

“My feet are sore,” she murmured. “I think I left my slippers near the door. Can you bring them here?”

Jett blinked.

It was so small.

So simple.

But something about the way Sage asked it, the way she said it without expectation, without command, made Jett move before she even thought about it.

She found Sage’s slippers, knelt down, and held them out.

Sage tilted her head slightly, then laughed softly.

Jett frowned.

“What?”

Sage’s eyes were warm, amused. Pleased.

“You don’t have to kneel, Jett,” she said gently. “I didn’t mean for you to do that.”

Jett’s face burned, and she stood up quickly, muttering, “I wasn’t thinking.”

Sage took the slippers from her hands, her fingers brushing Jett’s again—this time, lingering.

“Still,” Sage mused, slipping them on, “it’s sweet.”

Jett felt something deep in her chest tighten.

She didn’t know why.

She only knew that she wanted Sage to keep looking at her like that.

Like she had done something right.

Sage stretched, sighing as she leaned back into the couch.

“Mm… I should probably head to bed soon.”

Jett hesitated, feeling the familiar weight of wanting more time with her.

Sage caught the hesitation.

She smiled softly. Sweet. Grateful.

“Would you mind getting my blanket?” Sage asked.

Jett nodded immediately. “Of course.”

She walked to the other side of the room, grabbing the soft cashmere throw from the chair.

When she turned back, Sage had shifted.

She was laying down now, curled up against the cushions, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.

Jett swallowed.

She had never seen her like this.

So soft. So trusting.

She hesitated, staring at her for just a second too long.

Sage blinked up at her, then patted the space beside her.

“Sit with me for a little while?”

Jett’s heart almost stopped.

She forced herself to move, to keep her breathing steady as she sat beside Sage, pulling the blanket over both of them.

And then—

Sage shifted closer.

Not much. Just enough.

Her head rested against Jett’s shoulder.

Her fingers, light as silk, brushed against Jett’s hand.

Jett felt her pulse hammering in her throat.

Sage let out a slow, contented breath.

“You’re so warm,” she murmured, half-asleep.

Jett didn’t move.

She didn’t dare.

She only let her fingers shift slightly, just enough to lace through Sage’s.

And when Sage didn’t pull away, when she let her touch stay, Jett felt something inside her shatter.

She would do anything for this woman.

She didn’t even realize that Sage had just trained her to obey.

Not with words.

Not with orders.

But with reward.

The quiet between them was comfortable. Or at least, Jett told herself that.

Sage was still curled up against her side, warm and soft, her breathing slow, her fingers loosely intertwined with Jett’s.

Jett could barely focus on breathing.

She had spent years yearning for this closeness. For Sage’s unspoken trust, her gentleness, her body leaning into hers like she belonged there.

And now that she had it—even if just for tonight—Jett didn’t dare move.

Didn’t dare break whatever delicate spell had settled over them.

But then—

Sage shifted, sitting up slightly, rubbing her eyes.

A small, sleepy hum left her lips as she stretched, and Jett couldn’t stop staring.

She looked… so different from the Sage she knew back in college.

Back then, Sage was always composed, confident, untouchable. But now, wrapped in her robe, hair slightly tousled, sleepy and vulnerable—

It made something in Jett ache.

Jett swallowed, trying to push down the heat rising in her throat.

“I should eat something,” Sage murmured, tilting her head slightly, as if only just realizing it.

Jett perked up immediately.

“I’ll cook,” she said, without thinking.

Sage blinked, then smirked, her voice still groggy.

“You?”

Jett rolled her eyes, standing up. “What, don’t trust me?”

Sage laughed softly, amused.

“I remember college, Sunwoo,” she teased. “You could barely make a sandwich back then.”

Jett froze for just half a second.

Sage didn’t notice.

Or at least, she pretended not to.

Jett forced a chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck. “Yeah, well…” she hesitated, then shrugged. “I learned.”

Sage raised a brow. “Since when?”

Jett hesitated again.

She didn’t want to say it.

Didn’t want to admit that she only started cooking after they broke up.

That the first few months without Sage had been hell—coming home to an empty apartment, no one there to take care of her anymore.

She had never needed to cook before.

Because back then, Sage always did.

She was the one who made sure Jett ate properly, the one who scolded her when she tried to survive off of takeout and instant ramen.

And when Sage left—when Sage disappeared from her life like she had never existed—Jett was left to fend for herself.

At first, she refused to learn. It felt wrong.

It felt like accepting Sage was never coming back.

But eventually, after months of living like a wreck, Jett forced herself into the kitchen. Forced herself to learn.

Jett still remembered the first time she tried to cook.

It was a disaster.

She had barely touched a stove before, and the first time she attempted something as simple as scrambled eggs, she burned them so badly the entire apartment reeked of smoke for a week.

She had thrown the pan into the sink, furious, frustrated, guilty.

It was so stupid.

How the fuck had Sage made it look so easy?

She had always cooked without a second thought, without hesitation, like it wasn’t even an effort.

Jett could still remember the way Sage moved in the kitchen—graceful, practiced, so effortlessly sure of herself. She could still hear the quiet hum of Sage’s voice, the way she always scolded Jett for hovering too close, for sneaking bites before the meal was done.

And yet—Jett had never even thanked her.

She never once thought about it.

Not when she had left dirty dishes in the sink, expecting Sage to clean up after her.

Not when she had come home drunk, laughing, completely unaware of the meal that had gone cold on the table.

Not when Sage had gently pushed a bowl toward her, telling her to eat properly, only for Jett to wave her off, too distracted, too careless, too fucking self-absorbed.

And now?

Now she had no one.

No one to cook for her.

No one to take care of her.

No one to love her.

The realization had made her sick.

So she forced herself into the kitchen.

At first, it was rage, not patience, that drove her.

She cut herself, burned herself, ruined meals so many times she lost count. She slammed cabinet doors, cussed under her breath, told herself she was a fucking idiot for not even being able to do something so simple.

But she didn’t stop.

Because the more she struggled, the more she realized what a selfish piece of shit she had been.

She had never done this for Sage.

Not once.

She had never cooked, never cleaned, never thought about what it meant to care for someone else.

Sage had given her everything.

And Jett?

Jett had taken and taken and taken, never once thinking about what she had in her hands—until it was gone.

So she kept going.

Kept cooking.

Kept learning.

Not because she needed to.

Not because it would change anything.

But because she needed to atone.

It was almost a punishment.

A self-inflicted wound.

She pushed herself harder than she should have, perfecting recipes she never planned to share with anyone.

And the worst part?

She didn’t even need to cook.

She was living in Korea at the time—surrounded by people, surrounded by distractions.

She still went out drinking, still had nights filled with fleeting company, still let other women warm her bed when she felt too empty to be alone.

Some of them could cook.

Some of them offered to.

But Jett always refused.

She only trusted her own hands.

She learned every dish Sage used to make, spent hours memorizing the techniques, burning them into her bones.

She even paid for private cooking lessons.

Chinese cuisine.

Jett’s cooking had earned its praise over the years.

Her friends teased her constantly, half-joking that she should open a restaurant. They swore she had a natural gift, said her Italian dishes were rich and decadent, her Korean stews perfectly balanced.

She let them think that.

She let them believe she had effortlessly mastered the art of cooking somewhere between late-night hangouts and early-morning hangovers.

When her colleagues praised her—when some girl in her bed murmured how lucky her future wife would be—Jett only shrugged, pretending it meant nothing.

Because they didn’t know the truth.

They didn’t know that her kitchen was a battlefield, that she had bled for this, suffered for this, punished herself with every mistake.

They didn’t know that the dishes they loved, the meals they begged her to cook, weren’t the ones that mattered.

They thought her best recipes were the ones she shared.

But Jett never cooked Chinese food for anyone.

Not once.

Not when her friends asked, not when someone offhandedly suggested it, not even when she knew it would impress a date.

Because that part of her—the part that belonged to Sage—was untouchable.

It was hers.

A secret, bitter thing that belonged only to her.

She hadn’t learned it for them.

She hadn’t learned it for herself.

She had learned it for someone who would never taste it.

And now—

After all these years, after thinking she had lost her chance forever—

She was finally cooking for her.

She wasn’t going to tell her that, though.

She wasn’t going to say that for years, she had been trying to atone—as if cooking could somehow make up for how she had failed her.

Instead, Jett forced a grin, shoving her hands into her pockets.

“Figured it was about time I learned how to take care of myself.”

Sage’s eyes softened just a little.

Jett didn’t know if she imagined it, but for a second, there was something else in her gaze—something thoughtful, something unreadable.

And then, Sage smiled.

A real smile.

“Then I’d love to try,” she said.

Jett’s heart skipped.

She nodded quickly, heading toward the kitchen, trying not to let Sage see how much that meant to her.

Jett’s movements were precise.

She sliced each vegetable with care, making sure the cuts were clean, even, perfect.

When she marinated the beef, she measured everything by instinct—the perfect amount of Shaoxing wine, soy sauce, cornstarch. No shortcuts.

She could feel Sage’s gaze on her, studying her, measuring her.

She pretended not to notice.

But her hands moved steadier, her posture straighter, every movement sharpened by the weight of knowing Sage was watching.

She turned the heat up just right, waiting until the oil shimmered before adding the beef, hearing the perfect sizzle as it hit the pan.

Every flick of her wrist was calculated.

She cooked like she was being judged.

Like every moment mattered.

Like she was desperate to impress the one person who had never been impressed with her before.

When she plated the food, it had to be flawless.

She arranged the slices carefully, garnished with freshly chopped scallions, wiping the edge of the plate to ensure not a single drop of sauce was out of place.

Only when it was perfect did she finally slide it toward Sage.

And then she held her breath.

Sage picked up her chopsticks.

Took a small bite.

Jett waited.

Waited like her life depended on it.

And then—

Sage smiled.

Soft. Genuine. Warm.

“You’ve really gotten good at this.” she murmured.

And Jett—

Jett felt something inside her shatter.

Jett hadn’t expected to hear those words.

It was simple. A casual statement.

But it felt like a fucking revelation.

Jett’s breath hitched, her hands faltering for just a second as she nearly fumbled the pan.

She forced herself to keep moving.

Forced herself to breathe past the knot in her throat.

Sage had noticed.

She had noticed.

Jett had spent years trying to prove herself to someone who wasn’t even there—spent years punishing herself for not being good enough, not being careful enough, not being worthy enough.

And now?

Now Sage was here. Watching her. Praising her.

It felt like redemption.

Jett tightened her grip on the spatula, swallowing hard.

She had dreamed about this.

Not just being near Sage again.

But proving to her—showing her—that she had changed.

That she had learned.

That she was no longer the reckless girl who left dishes in the sink and forgot to eat and drank too much and never once thought about the hands that took care of her.

She wanted to tell her.

Wanted to tell her how hard she had worked, how much she had regretted, how she had carved guilt into her bones and forced herself to learn.

But she couldn’t.

Because if she admitted it, she would have to admit why.

So instead, she forced a shaky grin, trying to play it off.

“W-Well,” she muttered, clearing her throat, “gotta impress someone, right?”

She meant it as a joke.

But Sage just smirked, tilting her head slightly.

“And who exactly are you trying to impress?”

Jett froze.

Her grip on the spatula tightened.

Her chest constricted.

She couldn’t look at her.

Couldn’t let Sage see the truth in her face.

She focused on the pan, the flickering of the flames, the scent of garlic and soy sauce filling the air.

Don’t look.

Don’t fucking look.

“…No one,” she lied.

Too quickly.

Too obviously.

She expected Sage to push, to see through the cracks in her voice.

But she didn’t.

She just smiled.

That knowing, patient, wickedly amused smile.

And Jett—Jett didn’t even notice.

“This is really good,” Sage murmured as she took another bite. “Thank you, Sunwoo.”

Jett froze.

Her name.

She said her fucking name.

Not “Jett.” Not some teasing remark.

Just… Sunwoo.

Something so personal, so intimate, so painfully familiar that it nearly shattered her.

Jett swallowed, hard.

She nodded quickly, trying to keep her voice steady.

“O-Of course,” she muttered, trying not to sound like a flustered idiot.

She wanted to say more.

Wanted to tell her everything.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Because what the fuck would she even say?

"I learned how to cook for you."

"I’ve spent years trying to fix something that can never be fixed."

"I still love you."

No.

She couldn’t say any of that.

So she just sat there, watching as Sage took another bite, humming in satisfaction.

Sage was still looking at her.

Her gaze was different now.

Softer.

And Jett’s stomach flipped.

Sage picked up another bite, humming in satisfaction.

“You really have changed,” she mused.

Jett clenched her jaw.

She had never felt more fulfilled.

She didn’t say it out loud—would never dare to say it—but the way Sage had looked at her after dinner, the way she had smiled, the warmth in her voice when she thanked her…

It had been everything.

A reward. A sign that she was doing something right.

For the first time in years, Jett felt like she was earning back what she lost.

Like she was restoring the faith she had shattered.

And as the night stretched on, as they settled onto the couch with tea, Jett let herself believe.

Believe that she still had a chance.

Believe that Sage still needed her.

Sage sipped her tea, letting the warmth spread through her, her fingers wrapped delicately around the porcelain.

She felt Jett watching her.

It was easy to pretend she didn’t notice.

To let Jett bask in the illusion that she had done well, that she had made progress.

That she was getting closer.

It was almost… adorable.

Sage set her cup down gently, exhaling as if something weighed on her.

Jett, ever alert to her mood, immediately picked up on it.

“Something wrong?” Jett asked, leaning forward slightly, concern etched into her features.

Sage hesitated, just enough to make it look real.

Then she sighed, a small, tired sound, as if she wasn’t sure if she should say anything at all.

“It’s nothing,” she murmured, shaking her head. “I just—”

She stopped herself.

Jett’s fingers curled slightly into her lap.

Just as Sage knew they would.

“…Just what?” Jett pressed, her voice softer now. Careful.

Sage looked down, as if debating whether or not she should continue.

Then, finally—

“It’s just been so long,” she said, her voice quiet, a little distant. “Since someone has taken care of me like this.”

Jett froze.

Her chest tightened.

Sage smiled, small and a little sad. "It’s silly, isn’t it?" she said, giving a soft laugh. "I shouldn’t let myself think about things like that. It’s unfair to Reyna."

Jett clenched her jaw, trying to fight the wave of emotions crashing over her.

Unfair?

Unfair?

What was unfair was that Sage had been left alone in that marriage.

What was unfair was that Reyna didn’t deserve her.

What was unfair was that Sage had spent years giving everything, and no one—not even Jett—had been there for her when she needed them most.

Jett inhaled, her fingers twitching slightly.

Sage noticed.

She let the silence stretch, let Jett drown in her own thoughts.

Then, softly—

She reached out.

Touched Jett’s hand.

It was barely a touch.

Barely anything at all.

But to Jett?

It was everything.

Jett wasn’t thinking clearly anymore.

Her body moved on instinct, driven by something deeper, something she had tried for years to suppress.

Sage’s fingers were still resting on hers, warm, gentle.

Jett turned her palm up, closing her hand around Sage’s fingers.

Sage’s breath hitched just slightly.

She didn’t pull away.

Jett swallowed, her thumb tracing lightly along Sage’s knuckles.

"You don’t have to pretend around me," Jett whispered, voice low, certain.

Sage looked at her, and for a moment, there was something in her eyes.

Something soft, unsure, hesitant.

Something that told Jett she had just crossed a line she couldn’t return from.

"I mean it," Jett continued, leaning closer, their faces just inches apart. "You don’t have to be strong all the time."

Sage exhaled, her eyes flickering between Jett’s lips and her eyes.

Then—

She smiled.

Small. Private. Secret.

Like she was letting Jett see something she never showed anyone else.

Jett’s heartbeat thundered.

Sage’s fingers curled around hers.

She looked so soft in this moment.

So vulnerable.

Jett’s grip tightened, like she was trying to anchor her, hold her in place, prove to her that she would never leave again.

And then—

Sage pulled away.

It was subtle.

So, so subtle.

A gentle retreat, her fingers slipping from Jett’s grasp as she pulled her hand back to her lap.

The warmth disappeared.

Jett’s stomach dropped.

Had she misread that?

Had she pushed too far?

But Sage was still smiling.

Still looking at her like she meant something.

Jett almost didn’t know what to do with that.

Sage took another sip of her tea, sighing softly.

"Thank you, Jett," she said. "For being here."

And just like that, Jett felt her world shift again.

Because Sage hadn’t rejected her.

She had just made her wait.

Made her want.

And Jett, desperate fool that she was—

Would wait forever if it meant Sage would reach for her again.

Chapter Text

The hospital conference room was a space of polished professionalism—clean white walls, sterile lighting, and the subtle scent of antiseptic lingering in the air. A few of the department heads were gathered for their weekly meeting, discussing budgets, staff, and the latest protocols.

Everyone had their roles, their voices firm and their demeanors crisp.

Sage was poised at the head of the table, her posture straight, every detail of her attire immaculate. She was the epitome of composure, as always. When she spoke, her voice was calm, steady, and encouraging, pushing ideas forward with quiet authority. Her words were soft but undeniably persuasive.

Viper sat to her right.

Cold, distant, almost impassive.

Her sharp gaze scanned the papers in front of her, occasionally lifting to acknowledge a colleague’s point or offer a quick remark.

But her mind was elsewhere.

Elsewhere, meaning on the soft brush of Sage’s foot against her calf beneath the table. On the lightest, almost imperceptible pressure of Sage’s knee against her own. Nothing overt, nothing obvious, but the contact still sent a ripple of heat through Viper’s body.

She fought to ignore it. She had to. There was no reason for her to feel anything. No reason for her to let her thoughts drift down this familiar path again. She was the one who controlled these situations. She was the one who made the rules.

But this? This was different. This was Sage.

Viper’s body tensed, her fingers curling against the edge of the conference table, nails digging into the smooth wood. She could feel the faint tremor of Sage’s leg under the table, the way it slid just enough to make Viper’s breath catch. It wasn’t enough to be obvious—no one would notice—but Viper couldn’t ignore it.

She never could.

Sage adjusted in her seat, smoothing out the fabric of her blouse as she turned to Viper, their eyes locking for a brief moment. The smallest shift in her expression—a flicker of a smile—was all it took. Viper’s lips twitched imperceptibly before her gaze returned to the documents in front of her, unreadable.

Sage’s foot moved again, lightly brushing against Viper’s calf, as though reminding her that she was still there, still in control. The action was deliberate, slow, methodical. A game—and Viper knew it. She knew exactly what Sage was doing.

Sage continued speaking, her voice the same serene melody, unaware (or perhaps not) of the effect she was having. But Viper couldn’t help but feel that it wasn’t mere accident. No, Sage had planned this. Every single moment, every single movement.

Viper’s eyes flickered to the side, catching a glimpse of Sage’s face. Her expression was perfect—too perfect. Calm. Compassionate. But Viper knew better than to believe the mask entirely. Beneath it, there was something darker, something that pulled her in, something dangerous.

The rest of the meeting continued, colleagues talking, exchanging ideas, making decisions. Viper’s attention drifted, not really focused on the conversations. She didn’t need to be. Her mind was occupied elsewhere. With Sage. With the way her body responded to that subtle, constant pressure.

The confusion. The frustration. The need.

It was almost suffocating. Almost.

Her mouth went dry, her pulse quickening as Sage’s leg shifted again, this time with a little more purpose. The inside of Viper’s thighs tightened instinctively. She shifted in her seat, trying to look unaffected, but her gaze betrayed her. For a moment, her eyes flickered to Sage—who was staring forward with that ever-perfect, serene expression—but Viper caught it. A faint glint of satisfaction in Sage’s eyes, one that only Viper could see.

Sage knew what she was doing. And that was exactly what made it so damn powerful.

Viper shifted slightly, trying to angle her body away, but Sage was persistent. The movements were slow and deliberate, like a dance, like they had done this before—like they knew each other too well. Viper’s eyes darted around the table, her gaze landing briefly on one of the colleagues who was speaking, then back to Sage, whose gaze was fixed straight ahead, her expression unchanged.

Fuck, Viper cursed inwardly, her jaw clenching. She wasn’t supposed to be like this. She wasn’t supposed to feel this way. She had control. She always had control—always.

But not with Sage. Not with her.

Viper forced herself to focus on the conversation around the table, but her mind kept slipping back to the way Sage’s leg had slid between hers, the way Sage’s foot was now lightly brushing against her ankle. The subtle teasing that only she could feel. Viper hated it. And yet, a small part of her loved it.

No. No, I can’t let her have this power over me, Viper thought, but the words were weak. She had let Sage in long before, had allowed this subtle manipulation to worm its way under her skin. And she had let it happen again, hadn’t she?

Viper wasn’t stupid. She knew. She was fully aware of what Sage was doing.

And yet, with every press of Sage’s foot, every soft, almost imperceptible nudge, Viper felt herself unravel just a little more. Her breath was shallow now, every exhale a forced attempt at staying composed.

She could feel it. The tightness in her chest. The heat between her legs. The sense of needing to escape this—escape her own body—yet unable to do so. She didn’t want to give in, didn’t want to let Sage know that she could get to her this way, didn’t want to let herself want it.

But it was Sage. And Viper had never been able to resist Sage.

The meeting dragged on, but to Viper, the minutes felt like hours. Sage never wavered, never looked at her directly, her eyes remaining focused on the discussion at hand. Every word was a blur, every sentence an intrusion into the tension building between them. She tried to focus on the discussion, on the tasks at hand, but Sage’s presence—her subtle dominance—was suffocating. The subtle power that she held, not just in their professional relationship but in their private one as well.

Finally, the meeting ended. Viper stood, her movements stiff, her body still humming with that unwanted, yet undeniable tension. She grabbed her papers, not meeting anyone’s eyes, desperate to get away from the table. But before she could fully turn to leave, Sage’s hand slid across the table, brushing lightly against her wrist.

The gesture was so casual, so fleeting, that anyone else would have dismissed it. But Viper couldn’t. Not when every cell in her body seemed to register it.

Sage’s voice was soft, almost too gentle. “See you soon, Viper,” she said, her tone light, like it was nothing.

But to Viper, it was everything.

It shattered something in her. The subtle acknowledgment. The reminder.

“Yeah,” Viper replied, her voice rougher than she intended. She forced herself to turn, to leave, but her feet felt like they were dragging.

As she walked out of the room, she could still feel it—the pressure, the heat, the knowledge that Sage was always one step ahead. Sage was playing her, and Viper could see it clearly now.

But that knowledge didn’t make her angry.

It made her helpless.

The door to the conference room clicked shut behind her, but Viper didn’t stop. She walked through the hallways of the hospital, her head buzzing, her body still trembling slightly from the contact under the table. She needed air. She needed space. She needed something to ground her.

But all she could feel was Sage. The scent of her perfume. The warmth of her skin. The soft pressure of her touch.

And for the first time, Viper knew. She knew she would never escape this. Not truly. Not when it felt this damn good.

She let out a frustrated breath and leaned against the wall, closing her eyes for a moment. She couldn’t tell anyone. She couldn’t admit it, not even to herself. But the truth was there, hanging in the back of her mind like a whisper.

She had let Sage in. And Sage knew it.

Viper barely made it back to her lab before she felt the tightness in her chest, a tension that hadn't been there before. Her heels clicked sharply on the tile floor, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. It was just another day at the hospital, just another meeting, another set of decisions to be made—but her mind was still tangled in the moments beneath that conference table.

Her body thrummed with it, the sensation that would not leave her, no matter how many times she tried to ignore it. She shook her head, trying to push it away as she opened the door to her office. The familiar scent of antiseptic and old coffee greeted her, a small comfort amidst the rising heat in her veins.

Focus, focus, Viper, she told herself. She needed to work. She had a million things to do, patients to care for, research to finalize. It was simple, logical. It was the only thing that could calm her.

But as soon as she sat down at her desk, as soon as she powered up her computer, she was flooded with the image of Sage.

The warmth of her foot beneath the table. The almost teasing pressure, like a silent command, urging Viper to remember exactly where her place was.

Viper clenched her jaw. No. No, I won’t think about this. I can’t afford to think about this. She grabbed a pen, and without looking at the papers in front of her, she started scribbling, pretending to take notes on a report that could have waited.

But nothing worked. The images wouldn’t leave. Sage’s soft breath, her legs brushing against hers, the lingering taste of her skin still in Viper’s memory. Sage’s presence was overwhelming. It flooded her senses.

She tried to ignore it, but as the heat swirled in her stomach, the desire that she couldn't name began to consume her again. The way Sage had looked at her, that knowing, almost mocking glint in her eyes. It was as if Sage knew something Viper didn’t. As if Sage was enjoying watching her fall—enjoying the power she held over her.

I’m not weak, Viper thought to herself, trying to push it down, trying to focus on the cold clinical world of her lab, where she ruled with precision and control. But the thought didn't comfort her as it should have. Instead, it only made her feel more detached. More exposed.

Her breathing grew shallow. She stared down at her hands, gripping the pen too hard. The heat between her legs, the longing, the urge to find some release... It was unbearable.

She had to remind herself—she was Viper. She didn’t do this. She didn’t let anyone have this kind of power over her. She was the one who controlled the game, always.

But Sage... Sage was different.

The very thought of it made her shudder. Viper’s fingers trembled for a moment before she set the pen down and pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the pressure mount between her temples. There was an unsettling feeling growing inside her—a fear she couldn’t deny. What if Sage found out? What if Sage realized just how much control she had?

What if she saw how easily Viper was falling into her trap? Would Sage lose interest? Would she pull away? Would she... abandon her? The very thought made her feel cold, a sharp ache in her chest.

She couldn’t handle that. She couldn’t handle Sage leaving her. Not after everything. Not after this.

The very idea was enough to send a wave of nausea through her.

Viper slammed the drawer of her desk shut, too loud in the quiet room. She stared at the blank wall ahead, focusing on the faint hum of the fluorescent lights above her. But nothing could block out the thudding of her heart or the memories of Sage’s body so close to hers. The sweet, aching taste of their nights together. The way Sage’s skin had felt—like silk, like everything she wanted but couldn’t have.

God, what was wrong with her?

Viper’s eyes darted to her phone on the desk, lying innocently beside her computer. It was a small, digital cage—yet she couldn’t resist it. She reached for it, unlocking the screen, the weight of anticipation filling her chest. She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but she knew that, deep down, part of her needed to hear from Sage again.

A message. A call. Anything.

Her thumb hovered over the screen, but she didn’t press anything. No, she thought. Not like this.

She didn’t want to need it. She didn’t want to need her—but she did. And that terrified her more than anything else.

The door to her lab clicked open, and she snapped her gaze up, her heart racing. For a moment, she thought it was Sage, that somehow, Sage had sensed this moment of weakness and was here to confront her. But it was only a colleague, a nurse she vaguely recognized, bringing in a fresh set of reports.

Viper nodded, her face cold and impassive again. She turned away from the nurse, signaling that she could leave, and the door clicked shut behind her.

But the moment of quiet only made the silence inside her head louder. She rubbed her face roughly with both hands, wishing she could erase the past hour. Wishing she could block out the feelings swirling inside her, the burn of desire still lingering on her skin, the need to bury herself in work and hide from the feelings she couldn’t control.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? She couldn’t control it. She couldn’t stop the thoughts of Sage, the feeling of Sage’s power over her, and most of all, she couldn’t stop the fear that if she let herself fall too deeply into this, she would lose control completely.

And if she lost control, she might lose Sage.

Viper closed her eyes for a long moment, breathing deeply. She could feel the heat still throbbing beneath her skin, and there was nothing she could do to cool it.

She needed to get out. She needed space to think. But as she stood and grabbed her coat, her fingers grazed the phone again. Just a glance, she told herself.

Her thumb hovered once more, hovering over the contact that had started this all.

And in the back of her mind, she realized:

She would never be able to stay away from Sage—not for long.

No matter how much she told herself she could handle it. No matter how much she told herself it was wrong.

She was trapped. And the more she struggled, the tighter the chains became.

The pressure inside Viper’s chest was unbearable. She had been trying to focus on the work in front of her—papers, patient files, the routine hum of the lab. But every time she tried to redirect her attention, her mind betrayed her, dragging her back to the conference room. To Sage.

To the soft, deliberate brush of Sage’s foot under the table. The slow, subtle pressure that sent a shock of heat through her body, reminding her of what they’d shared behind closed doors—what they'd done when no one was looking. The fleeting touch that had been so much more than just a tease. It had been a declaration, a reminder of who held the power.

The taste of Sage's lips still lingered in her memory—the sweetness, the tang of her skin. How she had felt, pressed beneath her, how it had felt to give in to the pull of Sage’s control.

God, it was too much.

Viper’s breath quickened, and without realizing it, she stood from her desk. The papers she'd been pretending to review were scattered haphazardly across the surface, but she didn’t care. She needed to get out.

She needed to breathe.

With a swift motion, she grabbed her coat and practically bolted for the door, walking fast, almost at a pace that would be called a desperate run if anyone had seen her. But there was no one around. No one to stop her as she made her way down the empty hallway. She had a private bathroom—one of the perks of being a senior doctor at the hospital—and it was the one place she could be alone without any prying eyes.

When she got there, she slammed the door behind her, locking it with a click that was almost too loud.

She leaned against the door for a moment, eyes closed, trying to steady herself. But it didn’t help. The images of Sage’s feet touching her legs under the table flashed again—Sage’s soft breath, her eyes, always knowing, always calculating. The memory of Sage’s scent, a heady mixture of perfume and something darker, something forbidden.

And then there was the flashback to the nights they shared together—the nights that felt like stolen moments, like shadows passing in the dark. Sage’s body pressing against hers, the heat of their closeness, the way Sage tasted like everything Viper had ever wanted.

The way Sage made her lose control.

Viper squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the thoughts, trying to force herself to focus on the cold reality of her office, the sterile light in the bathroom. But it was no use.

The memory of Sage’s body—her lithe, flawless body pressing against hers—sent a jolt of heat straight to Viper’s core. She could still feel it, the way Sage had made her lose herself, the way Sage had taken control of everything. The pressure between her legs was building again, stronger this time, more desperate.

Viper cursed under her breath, her fingers flying to the waistband of her pants, pulling them down in one swift motion. Her body was on fire, and she knew she wouldn’t last long. The desire was overwhelming, like a wave crashing over her, pulling her deeper with every thought of Sage.

Her mind wandered to that last time. When Sage had kissed her so deeply, when their bodies had intertwined in a tangle of limbs and lust. The way Sage’s hands had roamed over her, guiding, commanding, but also offering something she couldn’t quite name. Viper had known it wasn’t just physical. It was a kind of power that came with it. The power of control, the power of being wanted.

Sage had wanted her, and Viper... Viper had wanted her just as badly.

She closed her eyes, remembering how it had felt when Sage’s mouth had found her neck, trailing soft kisses down her throat, whispering her name as though it was a secret between them.

It was almost too much.

Her breath quickened, and before she could stop herself, her hand was between her legs, the heat too much to bear. She pressed against herself, feeling the pressure build, feeling her body move with an urgency that matched the pulse in her chest.

And then, before she could even register it, the name left her lips.

“Sage,” she whispered, barely audible, but it felt like a cry in the quiet of the bathroom. The sound startled her. The vulnerability of it made her freeze, her hand stilling.

No, she thought. No. I didn’t—

But the damage was already done.

She couldn’t take it back.

Viper cursed again, slamming her fist against the wall as the heat in her body finally broke. The climax hit her like a wave, a rush of pleasure that left her breathless, her body trembling with aftershocks. Her skin felt slick with sweat, and for a moment, she was paralyzed by the shame, the confusion.

How had she let it get this far?

The thought of Sage made her sick and thrilled all at once. She was losing herself to this, and she couldn’t stop it.

Her eyes remained closed as she tried to steady her breathing, her chest rising and falling with each shaky inhale. Her mind was a mess—tangled in shame, lust, and a fear that gnawed at her insides.

When the last waves of heat finally ebbed away, Viper slowly stood up, wiping her hands on the edges of her pants as she regained control over her shaking limbs. She stared at herself in the mirror, eyes hardening. She had to look away.

She couldn’t even recognize herself anymore.

With a deep breath, she turned to leave the bathroom, but as she reached for the door, she caught sight of her phone. The screen was unlocked, still open on the last message Sage had sent her.

For a second, she thought about checking it, but she quickly turned away. She wouldn’t allow herself to fall back into that.

Not yet.

The door clicked shut behind her as she stepped back into her lab. She cursed under her breath again. God, I’m a mess.

But she wasn’t ready to admit it to herself yet. Not fully.

Chapter Text

Viper was still trying to steady herself. The cold sterility of the lab helped—it always did. She had already scrubbed her hands twice under the sink, as if washing away the evidence of what had just happened. Her pulse had slowed, her breathing back to normal, but the humiliation still burned under her skin.

You’re a mess, she told herself. Get it together.

She forced her eyes down onto the papers in front of her, willing herself to focus on something—anything—other than what had happened in that private bathroom. The shame of it all still clung to her like a second skin, suffocating, cloying.

And then—

The door opened.

The soft sound barely registered at first, but the moment she caught a whiff of something familiar—jasmine—her whole body froze.

Viper didn’t need to look up to know who had just entered.

The delicate, floral scent wrapped around her like silk, invasive yet enticing. Her fingers stiffened on the papers in front of her, her eyes locked on the black text even though she could no longer comprehend a single word. The stark contrast was suffocating—the crisp, medicinal sterility of the lab against the warm, intimate fragrance of Sage’s perfume.

And that was when Viper realized—

The air smelled different.

The usual deep, herbal notes of her lab had been tainted. It was subtle, but unmistakable. The lingering heat from before, the soft, sweet musk that clung to her skin, was still there. It wasn’t just her usual scent. It was something warmer, something thicker, something familiar—the scent of sweat and heat, the scent of what had just happened.

The scent of sex.

Viper’s stomach twisted.

Did Sage notice?

God, did Sage know?

Her body stiffened as she forced herself to keep still, gripping the papers so tightly her knuckles went white. The room suddenly felt too small, the air too thick. She could feel it—the weight of Sage’s presence, standing just a few feet away, watching her.

And then, Sage spoke.

“Viper.”

Viper clenched her jaw. She forced herself to exhale slowly before answering, keeping her voice as even as possible. “What do you need?”

Silence stretched between them for just a second too long. That second felt like eternity.

And then—

“Hmm.” Sage made a soft noise, almost thoughtful. Too thoughtful. Like she had noticed something.

Like she was studying Viper.

Viper’s stomach churned.

She knew that sound. It was the same sound Sage made when she had caught onto something—when she had found something she could play with.

Viper finally forced herself to look up.

Sage was standing near the door, arms folded, her gaze lazy yet sharp. There was something unreadable in her expression, a subtle knowing glint hidden behind the softness of her features.

And then, just as Viper thought she might be safe—

Sage tilted her head slightly and sniffed the air.

Viper felt her heart stop.

Fuck. Fuck.

It was so slight, so delicate, that anyone else would have missed it. But Viper saw it. She saw the tiny shift in Sage’s expression—the almost imperceptible curve of amusement at the edge of her lips.

She knew.

She fucking knew.

“Your lab smells…” Sage trailed off, as if searching for the right word. She took another slow, deliberate breath. “Different today.”

Viper’s fingers twitched, but she didn’t move. Didn’t react. Couldn’t.

Sage stepped forward, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor. Each step was slow, unhurried, deliberate. Viper felt like she was being stalked.

Calm down. Keep it together, she told herself.

Sage stopped just a breath away from her desk, close enough that Viper could feel the warmth radiating off her skin.

And then—that scent.

The jasmine was stronger now. Closer.

Viper hated how much her body responded to it.

She swallowed. “Is there something you need, Sage?” She cursed herself internally for the slight roughness in her voice.

Sage smiled—too soft, too sweet.

“Oh, nothing urgent.” She let her fingers trail absentmindedly along the edge of the desk, her nails barely making a sound against the polished surface. “I just thought I’d check in. See how things are going.”

Viper resisted the urge to shift in her seat. “Everything’s fine.”

Sage hummed again. “Good to hear.”

And then, she leaned in just slightly.

Not enough to be inappropriate. Not enough to be obvious. But enough. Enough for Viper to feel the ghost of her breath near her skin.

Enough for the scent of jasmine to completely drown her senses.

Viper’s entire body was screaming at her to move. To put distance between them before she did something stupid.

But she didn’t.

Because if she moved—if she showed even the slightest sign of discomfort—Sage would win.

And Sage always knew when she had won.

Another beat of silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Then—

Sage’s eyes flickered ever so slightly downward.

Viper’s chest tightened.

It was so fast. So subtle. But she saw it.

Sage’s gaze had dropped—for just a fraction of a second—to Viper’s lips.

And then lower.

And that was it.

Viper felt heat coil in her stomach so violently that she had to grip the arm of her chair to keep herself steady. She had to force her body to remain still, to not react to the way Sage was looking at her—like she knew exactly what had happened in this room before she had walked in.

Like she could smell it in the air.

And then, just as quickly as it had come, the moment was over.

Sage straightened, her soft, pleasant expression never faltering. “Well,” she said lightly, as if nothing had happened, “I won’t keep you from your work.”

Viper kept her posture rigid, forcing herself to breathe evenly, waiting for the click of the door that would finally grant her relief.

But the door never clicked.

Sage didn’t leave.

Instead, she stepped further into the lab, her delicate fingers trailing absentmindedly over the cool metal countertops, eyes scanning the research notes pinned to the whiteboard.

“Oh,” she said lightly, like she had only just decided to stay. “I should check on the chemical analysis reports while I’m here.”

Viper’s stomach dropped.

Fuck.

She wasn’t going to leave.

And Viper was still burning.

The moment Sage moved closer, the scent of jasmine intensified, weaving through the air like silk, wrapping around Viper, suffocating her in the worst possible way. The heat she had already buried in the depths of her body stirred back to life, stronger than before, sharper, dangerous.

Her hands, still gripping the edges of the papers in front of her, tensed involuntarily.

Sage’s voice was calm, soft, too soft as she spoke again, scanning through some reports like she actually cared about the results.

She didn’t.

She was playing.

And Viper was losing.

Viper should have said something—should have told her to go, should have told her she needed to focus. But she couldn’t.

Because the scent was driving her insane.

Because every time Sage moved, the faintest warmth of her body passed too close, brushing past Viper like a whisper, subtle enough to be nothing—but Viper knew better.

Viper’s breath hitched before she could stop it.

She quickly masked it with a cough, pressing a fist against her lips, hoping Sage wouldn’t notice.

But Sage noticed everything.

Sage glanced up from the papers, her eyes flickering toward her, studying her, always studying her. There was a flicker of amusement there, hidden behind a veil of innocence—an innocence that Viper knew was fake.

Because Sage knew.

She fucking knew.

And she was enjoying this.

The teasing. The torment. The way Viper was fighting herself—the way she was struggling to breathe properly, to pretend she wasn’t unraveling all over again.

God, she had just relieved herself, and yet her body was already betraying her again.

The tension was unbearable.

Viper needed to do something—anything—to distract herself. She forced her eyes onto the report in front of her, pretending to read the words, but they blurred into nothing.

All she could think about was Sage.

Sage on top of her, her skin flushed and damp, her voice—fuck, that voice—breathy, teasing, sharp with command.

The way she tasted—sweet, sinful, the kind of taste that lingers on your tongue long after the night is over.

The memory slammed into her hard, unbidden.

—

Sage had been beneath her that night, eyes lidded, lips parted, the moonlight catching in the strands of her hair.

“Sabine,” she had whispered, a breathless plea, a command.

Viper had growled in response, pressing her harder against the sheets, marking her, owning her, as if that meant anything—when in truth, she was the one being owned.

And the way Sage had tasted beneath her lips—jasmine, salt, and something darker, richer, intoxicating.

Viper had never had anyone like her.

No one had ever made her feel this fucking weak.

—

The memory vanished as quickly as it came, but the damage was already done.

Viper shifted, legs pressing together involuntarily, fingers clenching into a fist on her lap.

No. No. No.

She wasn’t going to lose to this again.

She could feel it, the slow, throbbing warmth spreading between her legs, the undeniable pull of the desire she had already spent herself on once today.

And Sage was still there, standing so fucking close, smelling like she had just stepped out of some goddamn dream designed to break her.

Viper swallowed hard, forcing herself still, her muscles locked so tightly it was almost painful.

But then—Sage sighed.

A soft, delicate sigh. A noise so light, so casual, that it should have meant nothing.

But to Viper—

It was lethal.

Because she could hear the tease in it. The subtle knowing. The way it whispered, I know what you’re thinking. I know what you want.

Viper’s fingers dug into her thigh beneath the desk, nails pressing into her skin, trying to ground herself, trying to fight it down.

She should say something. Tell Sage to leave. Tell her to stop fucking with her.

But when she opened her mouth—

Nothing came out.

She had no control over her voice.

And Sage, ever the observant predator, must have noticed.

Because suddenly, she stretched.

A simple, innocent stretch—one that arched her back slightly, that made the blouse she was wearing shift just enough to reveal the curve of her collarbone, the faintest glimpse of skin beneath the fabric.

It was a move Sage had perfected, one she probably wasn’t even aware she did anymore—or at least, that’s what she would let others believe.

But Viper knew better.

Viper knew everything about Sage.

And Sage?

She knew exactly how much Viper was suffering right now.

She knew. And she was winning.

Viper couldn’t take it anymore.

“Are you done?” she snapped, harsher than she intended.

Sage blinked at her, all wide-eyed innocence, like she truly had no idea what Viper was talking about.

“Hmm?” She tilted her head slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m just reviewing some notes. Am I distracting you?”

Yes, you fucking are.

Viper clenched her jaw so tight it hurt. “No,” she bit out. “I just thought you’d be busier.”

Sage smiled. Soft, sweet, fucking venomous.

“Oh, I always have time for you, Sabine.”

And with that, she turned back to her reports, flipping a page with the most delicate motion.

Viper barely contained the groan that threatened to break out of her throat.

She was going to lose her mind.

She had already lost.

And they both knew it.

The moment Sage flipped another page of that damn report, Viper snapped.

She wasn’t thinking—not anymore.

Her fingers moved before her mind could stop them, grasping Sage’s ankle under the table, yanking her forward with zero hesitation.

A sharp gasp escaped from Sage’s lips, her balance faltering, and for the first time that entire fucking meeting, her perfect composure cracked—just for a second.

But that second was everything.

Viper didn’t let go.

Before Sage could react, before she could even finish regaining her footing, Viper was already on her feet, gripping her wrist tightly, dragging her toward the side door of the lab.

Sage let out a small, surprised laugh, her heels clicking against the tile as she followed without resistance. “Oh?” Her voice was light, amused, like she had just won the final round of a game she had already dominated. “So impatient today.”

Viper didn’t answer.

Because if she opened her mouth, she would say something fucking stupid—something that would make it clear that Sage had her by the throat.

She threw open the door to the small lounge adjacent to the lab—a room meant for late-night research staff, with a small couch, a table, and a private bedroom tucked into the back corner.

The moment they stepped inside, Viper kicked the door shut behind them.

And then—

She turned on Sage.

Her lips crashed against Sage’s before she could say another smug word, swallowing whatever taunt she had been about to make.

It wasn’t slow. It wasn’t controlled.

It was desperate.

And Sage?

Sage giggled.

That fucking giggle.

It drove Viper insane.

Her grip tightened around Sage’s wrist, pulling her flush against her, their bodies pressed so close that Viper could feel the soft curve of Sage’s waist beneath her fingertips.

Sage’s hands eagerly tangled in Viper’s hair, her nails grazing against her scalp, pulling, teasing, urging her to lose herself even further.

And Viper did.

She kissed Sage harder, rougher, forcing Sage back against the wall, her fingers digging into her hips as if trying to anchor herself—as if she could somehow reclaim some part of her control if she just held on tighter.

But Sage wasn’t fighting her.

No—she was indulging her.

She let out a soft, pleased hum, her lips parting easily, allowing Viper to take what she wanted. She moaned lightly into the kiss—just enough to encourage but not enough to surrender.

And that was what made Viper's pulse skyrocket.

The way Sage let her do this, let her devour her, let her pin her against the wall like a fevered animal—but never lost control.

Because Sage was never not in control.

And that realization burned in Viper’s chest.

But she didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

Because Sage was already undoing the buttons of her coat, slipping her fingers beneath the collar, trailing her nails lightly down the skin of her neck, setting her on fire all over again.

“Sabine,” Sage breathed against her lips, mockingly obedient, the name coming out like a low purr, like she was humoring her.

It only made Viper rougher.

She growled low in her throat, gripping Sage’s thighs suddenly, lifting her effortlessly, making Sage gasp softly in amusement as Viper carried her toward the bed in the private room.

Sage didn’t resist—she simply tilted her head slightly, watching Viper’s expression with sharp, knowing eyes, as if memorizing how easily she could break her.

She let herself be tossed onto the mattress, reclining against the sheets with an almost lazy grace, looking up at Viper like she was a queen entertaining a servant’s foolish display of dominance.

Viper should have stopped.

She should have stepped back, caught her breath, remembered that this was all a fucking game Sage was winning.

But instead—

Viper climbed over her, eyes dark with hunger, gripping Sage’s wrists and pinning them above her head against the sheets.

Her breath was ragged, her body tense with restraint, as if holding herself back from devouring Sage completely. Her thigh pressed between Sage’s legs, and she felt it—the way Sage’s body reacted, the way her breath hitched, the way her fingers twitched against Viper’s hold.

It was so fucking intoxicating.

But the moment Sage smirked, all of that heat twisted into something sharper.

It was mocking. A silent whisper of You think you’re in control?

Viper growled, crushing her lips against Sage’s, swallowing that smirk, trying to erase it, trying to make her stop looking at her like that—like she had already won.

And Sage moaned into the kiss.

Soft, sweet, like silk slipping between fingers.

But it wasn’t surrender.

It was an invitation.

And Viper knew it.

She moved against Sage harder, pressing her down, claiming, demanding, taking.

But Sage… Sage was still watching her.

Even beneath her, even seemingly caught in the moment, Sage’s mind was still calculating, memorizing, analyzing. She was drinking in every shudder, every falter, every ounce of restraint Viper was clinging onto like a lifeline.

Viper hated it.

Viper loved it.

Because fuck, Sage was winning again, without even trying.

And she was going to ruin her for it.

Viper felt Sage’s hips shift beneath her, the smallest movement, just enough to send a new wave of heat up her spine.

Sage arched, meeting her halfway, her body pressing back with just enough force to remind Viper that she wasn’t the only one who knew how to play this game.

The friction sent a shiver up Viper’s spine, an involuntary growl rumbling from her throat.

“You seem…” Sage’s voice was breathless, teasing, muffled between Viper’s desperate kisses.

A pause. Then, that goddamn smirk again.

“…so worked up today.”

Viper bit down on her lower lip, hard, earning a soft, surprised gasp that quickly turned into a pleased, breathy whimper.

It wasn’t enough.

It was never enough.

Viper tightened her grip on Sage’s wrists, pressing them deeper into the mattress, pressing her knee just a little harder between Sage’s legs, feeling the way Sage’s breath stuttered for just a second.

A victory.

A small one.

But Viper took it like it was everything.

“Shut up,” she hissed, voice low, rough, wrecked.

Sage laughed against her mouth.

That fucking laugh.

Viper felt her pulse snap like a live wire.

Sage was provoking her, letting her burn, letting her lose herself. And Viper did.

She tore at Sage’s clothes, fingers slipping under soft silk, dragging fabric away from skin, desperate to feel more, to make her lose that infuriating composure just once.

But Sage didn’t resist.

She let her.

She let her.

And that was worse.

Because it wasn’t Viper taking.

It was Sage giving.

Viper couldn’t take it anymore.

She pinned Sage down harder, hands moving, exploring, marking, trying to find some weakness, some crack in her armor—something, anything that proved that Sage wasn’t untouchable.

And then—

Sage’s breath hitched just slightly when Viper’s lips found that spot—right beneath her ear, that sensitive sliver of skin where her pulse beat hot beneath her teeth.

A small, sharp gasp.

Viper grinned against her throat.

“There,” she murmured.

Found you.

She bit down lightly, earning another shaky exhale, Sage’s body shuddering ever so slightly beneath her grip.

Viper felt drunk on it.

On the power. On the control.

On the idea that maybe, just maybe, Sage wasn’t untouchable after all.

But then—

Sage tilted her head slightly, allowing more access, more control, letting Viper think she had won something—

And Viper realized her mistake too late.

She had been invited in.

Like always.

Like fucking always.

And the moment she realized it, Sage moved.

A slow, rolling shift of her hips, perfectly timed, perfectly placed, sending a jolt of white-hot pleasure through Viper’s entire body.

The air left Viper’s lungs in a curse, her grip faltering for just a second, her body reacting before her mind could catch up.

And Sage smirked.

Again.

“Did you think you were winning?” she breathed against Viper’s ear, voice low, sweet, so fucking cruel.

Viper growled, capturing Sage’s mouth again, kissing her hard, as if that would somehow silence the truth Sage had just whispered against her skin.

She grinded against her, pushing harder, deeper, rougher, desperate to make Sage lose just as much as she was losing.

And Sage moaned.

Really moaned.

Not a tease, not a taunt.

A sound that broke through the air like a plea, like a surrender—except Viper knew it wasn’t surrender at all.

It was Sage allowing it.

Allowing herself to be taken.

Allowing Viper to drag her down into the madness with her.

And that?

That was what turned Sage on the most.

The illusion of being claimed, while still holding the leash.

Sage sighed, beautiful and wrecked, her fingers tangling in Viper’s hair, pulling her closer, urging her deeper.

Her lips parted, breathless, her voice dropping into a shaky, whispered moan that sent fire straight into Viper’s veins.

Sage’s voice was breathless, but controlled.

“More.”

And Viper—

She gave her everything.

Her lips crashed into Sage’s, fierce, demanding, a raw hunger pouring into the kiss like it could devour the smirk off her lips, silence the quiet, knowing satisfaction in her eyes.

Sage gasped softly against her mouth, her body arching into the weight of Viper pressing her down into the sheets, but her hands—her hands still weren’t desperate.

No clawing, no needy grasping.

Instead, they roamed. Measured. Deliberate.

Viper’s frustration burned through her.

She wanted to wreck her.

She wanted Sage desperate for her touch, the same way she had been burning for Sage all fucking day.

She wanted Sage’s usual self-control to crumble beneath her hands, her carefully crafted image of composure shattered beneath the force of her own pleasure.

So Viper moved.

Her knee pressed deeper between Sage’s thighs, feeling the heat pooling between them, feeling Sage’s body react instinctively—and fuck, it was addicting.

She was already so wet, so ready—but Sage was always ready.

Because she was the one who planned this.

Viper knew that.

But she didn’t fucking care.

She slid one hand down, slow, torturous, fingers tracing over bare skin, teasing along the inside of Sage’s thigh, watching for a reaction, a crack, a single moment of weakness.

Sage’s breath hitched.

Just slightly.

And Viper felt a rush of power slam through her veins.

She pressed a kiss to Sage’s collarbone, slow and lingering, lips just barely touching skin, dragging a teasing, open-mouthed kiss lower—lower—

Sage exhaled a slow breath, her fingers tangling into Viper’s hair, nails dragging lightly along her scalp.

“Mm,” Sage sighed, content, too content, and Viper gritted her teeth.

She was supposed to be wrecking her.

But Sage—this woman—

She enjoyed being played with.

She enjoyed the build-up, the waiting, the tension so sharp it could cut through bone.

So Viper pulled back suddenly, denying her the next touch, denying her what they both knew she wanted.

Sage’s fingers tightened in her hair—just slightly.

A second of stillness.

A second of frustration.

Viper fucking felt it.

And it made her grin.

“Oh?” Viper murmured against her skin, her voice low, teasing, sharp with control. “You want something, princess?”

Sage breathed out a laugh, but it was shakier this time.

And Viper fucking loved it.

She had finally made her feel it.

Made her desperate.

But Sage—Sage was Sage.

She tilted her head, half-lidded eyes locking onto Viper’s, and her lips curled into a lazy smirk.

“You tell me,” she murmured, her voice smooth, knowing, fucking perfect.

Viper’s breath caught in her throat.

Sage had just flipped the game back on her.

Again.

And Viper, like a fucking idiot, had let her.

Her patience snapped.

She moved fast, her fingers sliding between Sage’s legs, slipping through her heat, and Sage gasped—

A real, sharp gasp.

The sound sent heat straight down Viper’s spine.

She felt Sage’s body shudder, her perfect composure beginning to splinter, the first cracks finally showing.

And fuck, she was so wet.

Viper dragged her fingers slowly, just barely teasing, keeping her on edge, keeping her waiting, watching as Sage bit down on her lip, her chest rising and falling harder.

But she didn’t beg.

Not yet.

So Viper edged her further.

She teased, she tormented, moving slow, pulling back when she felt Sage tense toward the edge, forcing her to endure it, forcing her to want more, need more.

Sage exhaled sharply, her nails digging harder into Viper’s shoulders.

“Sabine.”

That wasn’t teasing.

That was warning.

Viper grinned against her skin.

“Oh? What happened to your patience?”

Sage’s breath was ragged now, her smirk faltering, her fingers gripping, demanding.

But still—she didn’t beg.

She never begged.

Viper pushed a finger inside, slow, deep, and Sage’s body reacted immediately, hips rising off the mattress, sharp pleasure unraveling her composure all at once.

Finally.

Fucking finally.

She added another, curling her fingers just right, hitting the spot that made Sage inhale sharply, her body trembling in perfect, delicious pleasure.

And then she stopped.

She pulled back just before the peak.

And Sage—for the first time all fucking night—

Let out a real, genuine sound of frustration.

The rush that flooded through Viper was fucking addicting.

She had made her feel it.

She had turned Sage’s own game against her.

Or so she thought.

Because Sage—panting, breathless, undone—

Only smiled.

Because she loved this.

Because this was exactly what she wanted.

Because Sage never truly lost.

And Viper—fucking idiot that she was—

Was too far gone to realize it.

So when Sage finally exhaled, eyes dark with need, when she whispered, low and inviting, “Don’t stop.”

Viper obeyed.

And Sage—

She broke apart beneath her.

Again.

And again.

And again.

And Viper drowned in her.

Like she always did.

Like she always would.

Chapter Text

Jett had been waiting for this all week.

She wouldn’t admit it—not even to herself—but the restless energy buzzing beneath her skin made it impossible to focus on anything else.

She had checked her phone too many times, reread her last messages with Sage as if they would somehow change, and even rehearsed casual conversation topics in her head.

It wasn’t a date.

It wasn’t.

Sage had agreed so easily, like it was just another meal, like it didn’t mean as much as it did to Jett.

But Jett still arrived fifteen minutes early.

She told herself it was just to grab a good table.

Not because she was nervous.

Not because she wanted this to be perfect.

She chose a quiet, intimate restaurant, somewhere warm and comfortable, where Sage could actually enjoy herself. It wasn’t too extravagant—not the kind of place Reyna would take her—but it was thoughtful. Something personal.

Something that Jett hoped Sage would remember.

Jett fidgeted in her seat, adjusting the silverware, glancing at the entrance every time the door opened.

Her palms were sweating.

This was stupid.

This was pathetic.

But then—

The door swung open, and Sage walked in.

And Jett?

She forgot how to breathe.

Sage spotted her immediately.

The restaurant’s soft lighting cast a glow against her skin, making her dark eyes glint like polished glass.

She looked effortlessly perfect in a fitted blouse and long coat, her dark hair cascading neatly over her shoulder.

Jett scrambled to stand, her movements just a little too rushed. Too eager.

“Hey,” Sage greeted smoothly, sliding into the seat across from her with a soft smile. “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

Jett shook her head a little too quickly.

“Nah, not at all! I—uh—just got here.”

Lies.

But Sage only smiled, setting her purse aside.

And Jett melted.

The conversation flowed effortlessly.

Jett had come prepared.

She had spent the entire week thinking about what to say, what stories would make Sage laugh, what little details would keep her interested.

She told stories from her time in Korea—about the ridiculous bets she had lost to Phoenix, about how Yoru had once accidentally wired money to a scammer while trying to buy a custom katana, about the time she and Chamber had gotten locked out of their rental apartment at 3 AM because neither of them thought to grab the key.

Sage laughed.

Soft and genuine.

Her eyes crinkled at the edges, her lips curving into a smile that felt just a little more real than the ones she gave to everyone else.

Jett soaked it in like a dying man gasping for air.

It had been so long since she had been the one to make Sage smile like this.

She had missed it.

God, she had missed it.

“You really haven’t changed,” Sage said, resting her chin on her palm, amusement glinting in her gaze. “Still causing trouble everywhere you go?”

Jett scoffed, dramatically placing a hand over her chest.

“Excuse me, I am a responsible, highly respectable adult now.”

Sage raised a brow. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” Jett said, leaning back with a smirk. “I only cause minor inconveniences now. You know, like messing with people’s computer settings when they annoy me. Harmless.”

Sage chuckled, taking a slow sip of wine. “So mature of you.”

Jett grinned, twirling a chopstick between her fingers.

“Gotta keep things interesting.”

The food arrived, and Jett couldn’t help but watch Sage as she ate.

She had always been so graceful, even doing something as simple as lifting her chopsticks.

Every motion fluid, practiced, elegant.

Jett had seen her do this a hundred times back in college, but it still made something tighten in her chest.

She forced herself to focus on her own food, not on the way Sage’s lips parted slightly with each bite, not on the way she licked the taste off the tip of her chopsticks so absentmindedly it made Jett’s stomach coil with heat.

Fuck.

She was losing it.

She needed to get a grip.

Jett cleared her throat, grabbing a piece of beef with her chopsticks and pointing at Sage. “Okay, but for real, what about you? What’s been new?”

Sage hummed, setting her chopsticks down neatly.

“Not much. Just work.”

Jett raised a brow. “That’s it?”

Sage smiled, taking another sip of wine. “That’s enough for me.”

Jett frowned slightly, shifting in her seat.

That was such a Sage answer.

Always saying just enough to satisfy curiosity, but never enough to truly reveal anything.

Jett knew there was more beneath the surface.

There always was.

She just didn’t know how to reach it.

Not yet.

Still—this was good.

She could feel it.

The night was going well.

Sage was relaxed, enjoying herself.

Jett could tell by the way she leaned slightly toward her, by the way she absentmindedly tapped a finger against the rim of her glass while she listened.

Jett’s heart swelled with hope.

Because for the first time in so long, she felt like she was getting closer.

That maybe—just maybe—

She still had a chance.

She didn’t see it coming.

She didn’t see Sage’s hand move to her phone, didn’t see the faint flicker in her eyes as she glanced at the screen.

She didn’t see the shift in the air, the barely-there smirk that flickered at the corner of Sage’s lips before she answered.

She didn’t realize—

Until it was too late.

Sage lifted the phone to her ear, her voice shifting instantly.

A little softer. A little warmer.

And then—

“Darling."

Jett froze.

Her stomach twisted into knots, her fingers tightening around her chopsticks until her knuckles turned white.

The sound of that word—so soft, so warm, so loving—cut through her like a razor.

Sage’s expression had shifted instantly.

The poised, casual warmth she had given Jett all night was nothing compared to this.

This was different.

This was real.

Jett sat there, watching, helpless, as Sage transformed before her eyes.

The way her voice softened, the way her lashes fluttered slightly, the small smile curving her lips — it was the Sage Jett used to know.

No. It was the Sage Jett used to take for granted.

She could hear it in Sage’s voice now, that gentle warmth, the sweetness reserved for someone she adored.

Once, it had been hers.

Once, Jett had been on the receiving end of those calls.

Late at night, when she was sprawled on her dorm bed, half-asleep, her phone would buzz — and there it was.

Sage’s name lighting up her screen.

A text.

are you sleeping?

Or sometimes a call, right after Sage’s late night study at the library.

"Sunwoo, I know it’s late… but I just wanted to hear your voice."

And Jett — back then — had smiled, but not the way she should have.

"You’re so clingy, babe," she'd laugh softly, one arm slung around Phoenix’s shoulder, both of them half-drunk after some dumb night out.

And Sage would just breathe on the other end of the line, quiet, patient.

"I just miss you."

And Jett?

She’d roll her eyes.

"I’ll see you tomorrow, chill."

She thought there would always be a tomorrow.

She thought Sage would always be there, waiting on the other end of the phone, calling, checking in, sending little texts that said things like:

"Remember to drink water."
"Try to sleep before midnight, Sunwoo."
"I saw this today and thought of you."
"Don’t skip meals. Promise?"

Back then, they had been... annoying.

Smothering.

Too soft, too gentle.

And Jett — reckless, careless, wild — hadn’t realized how precious they were until they were gone.

Now, she would give anything just to get one of those texts again.

Anything to feel her phone vibrate and see Sage’s name flash across the screen.

But after Sage left, after she stopped replying, after the silence became deafening — Jett had waited.

Waited like a fool.

For weeks.

Months.

She had stared at her phone, checking it obsessively, refreshing old threads of their messages over and over.

Reading Sage’s last "Good night, my love," over and over again.

Her fingers had hovered over the call button more times than she could count, heart pounding in her chest.

But she never pressed it.

And neither did Sage.

Jett still remembered Sage’s phone number by heart.

Even now, sitting across the table, watching Sage smile into someone else’s call, she could still recite every digit.

Each number like a scar carved into her memory.

She remembered what it felt like — those quiet moments after Sage stopped calling.

When Jett would sit alone in her apartment, her phone face-up on the table, screen dark, untouched.

The silence mocking her.

And still, every night, she’d glance at it one last time before bed, hoping against hope.

She had even changed her notification sound to something softer — a chiming bell — thinking maybe she’d hear it better in her sleep.

As if Sage might call.

As if Sage might still miss her.

But it never rang.

And now, watching Sage blush and murmur sweet words to someone else — to Reyna — was unbearable.

It was like watching someone else unwrap the present that was meant for her.

She didn’t even deserve to feel jealous.

Not after how badly she had messed up.

Not after all the times she’d ignored those calls, half-listened, muted Sage’s notifications so she could focus on some game or drink with her friends.

She used to skip out on dinner dates Sage planned, texting her last minute:

"Sorry, babe, caught up with the guys. Raincheck?"

And Sage — always understanding — would reply:

"Of course. Just be safe. I’ll wait for you."

She always waited.

And Jett never realized how cruel that was.

How much those quiet sacrifices hurt.

Until Sage stopped waiting.

Until she vanished.

Now, across the table, Sage was smiling that same soft smile — only not for her.

And it felt like her chest was being crushed.

Jett swallowed hard, the memory of Sage’s little notes and soft reprimands echoing in her ears.

“Don’t drink so much, Sunwoo. I worry about your liver.”

She used to roll her eyes at that, too.

“You sound like my mom, babe.”

But Sage would only laugh softly.

“I just want you to take care of yourself.”

Back then, Jett hadn’t understood what it meant for someone to love you like that — quietly, consistently, unselfishly.

And she’d thrown it away.

Now, Sage’s voice — warm and intimate — was reserved for someone else.

For someone who hadn’t squandered it.

For someone who had made Sage smile like that on purpose, not by accident.

And Jett sat there, breathing through the ache, trying not to shatter.

Because she knew.

She had lost that Sage.

Lost the girl who would text her reminders, who would call her at odd hours just to hear her sleepy voice.

She had waited for those messages for so long after Sage left.

Stared at her screen, praying for a single word.

She knew exactly how the notification banner would look with Sage’s name on it.

She could still picture the exact font.
The way Sage’s name used to light up her screen.
Back then, she ignored half those notifications.

Another text from Sage. Probably telling me to drink water or not stay up so late.
I’ll answer later.

She never did.
And then one day —
It stopped.
The silence came slowly, like a fog creeping in.
At first, she thought: Maybe Sage is busy. Maybe she’s tired.
Days passed.
No text.
No call.
Her chest started to tighten.
Weeks went by.
Still nothing.

She started staring at her phone.
All the time.
At first, casually checking.
Then obsessively.
Waking up in the middle of the night, glancing at her screen, praying to see that familiar banner:

Sage 🌸

But it never came.
Not one message.
Not one call.

She memorized the feel of that absence.
The phantom buzz that wasn’t there.
The silence that felt louder than anything she’d ever heard.

She would sit in bed, phone on her chest, staring at the ceiling.
Wondering:

Did she finally get tired of me?
Did I ruin it?

The answer, she knew, was yes.

She had spent endless nights like that, hollow and helpless.
Every time her phone buzzed, her heart would leap — only for it to be someone else

Phoenix. Raze.
Never Sage.

Sometimes she’d type out a message:

Hey. Miss you.
How’ve you been?
And delete it before sending.

She couldn’t bear the thought of looking desperate.
Even though that was exactly what she was.

She would open their old chat thread just to reread those gentle reminders Sage used to send:

"Drink some water, Sunwoo."
"Try to sleep early tonight, okay?"
"I believe in you."

She had rolled her eyes at them once.
Now, she’d give anything to hear them again.

Some nights, her chest hurt so badly she thought she’d suffocate.
And still — no message.

That was the punishment.
Knowing she’d taken for granted what other people would’ve died for.
Knowing Sage’s kindness, her care, her love — had once been hers, and hers alone.
And she had thrown it away.

And now?

Across this dinner table, Sage was giving that same softness, that same care, to someone else.
Smiling into her phone, laughing quietly, murmuring:

"I miss you too, darling."

Jett couldn’t breathe.

She could hear it — the same tone Sage used to use with her.
That gentle warmth, the soft affection.
Once hers.
Forever lost.

An exquisite, unbearable punishment she couldn’t escape.
Because this was what she deserved.

“Mhm,” Sage hummed, her fingers tapping lightly against the table, her eyes warm and far away. “I wish I could be there too.”

Jett felt like her lungs collapsed.

She forced herself to breathe, but every inhale tasted bitter.

She stared at her plate — perfectly plated food — now untouched, forgotten. Her chest heaved in shallow, uneven breaths.

She knew she should look away.
Focus on anything else.
But she couldn’t.

She sat there, deliberately drowning in every tiny detail:
The softness in Sage’s voice.
The gleam in her eyes that Jett hadn’t seen directed at her in years.
That quiet, almost girlish laugh Sage let out in response to whatever Reyna had said.

It was effortless.

Natural.

Like loving Reyna had never been difficult.
Like she was happy about her marriage.
Like that place in Sage’s heart had always belonged to someone else, and Jett had only ever been borrowing what wasn’t hers to keep.

Jett’s fingers trembled around her chopsticks.

She didn’t even realize she was shaking until they clinked softly against the porcelain.

Her jaw clenched.
Her stomach twisted.

And then Sage — with that same soft breath, the same sweetness that once belonged to Jett and Jett alone — sighed contentedly and said into the phone:

“Mhm. No, just dinner. Just… an old friend.”

Jett flinched.

The words sliced cleanly through her, leaving something raw and bleeding behind.

An old friend.

Not someone Sage missed every night.
Not someone Sage whispered goodnight to.
Not someone Sage thought about.

Just a friend.

Disposable.
Replaceable.
Forgotten.

She felt sick.

Her appetite vanished completely.

She pushed her plate away just slightly, hands curling into fists beneath the tablecloth, nails digging into her palms. Her throat burned.

She couldn’t cry here.
She couldn’t break down.

But Sage…
Sage looked at her.

Just a brief glance.

Calm, assessing.

Taking in the tension in her shoulders.
The clenched fists.
The shuddering breath she was struggling to control.

And then—

Sage smiled.

Soft. Subtle.

Like she had just won something.

Because she had.

The call continued.

Jett wanted to run.
Wanted to scream.

But then Sage’s smile… shifted.

Just the tiniest bit.

The corners of her mouth wavered.
Her lashes fluttered.

And then she sighed — not happy, but heavier, softer.

“…You’ll be away longer than planned?” Sage’s voice dropped, quiet and carefully measured.

Jett’s heart stopped.

The brightness in Sage’s face dimmed just enough for Jett to see something underneath.

A flicker of sadness.
Disappointment.

Longing.

And then Sage’s gaze dropped to the table, her fingers tightening minutely around the stem of her wineglass.

“Oh. I see,” she said softly. “No, I understand. Of course.”

The silence on the line stretched.

Sage’s lips trembled for just half a second.

“I’ll miss you,” she whispered.

Jett’s breath caught.

The call ended soon after, and Sage slowly set her phone down on the table with a grace that belied the subtle tension in her posture.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Sage looked up.

Her smile returned — fragile, this time. A little too fragile.

“I’m sorry about that,” she murmured, her voice faintly hoarse. “I didn’t mean to take so long.”

Jett’s heart ached so violently she could barely speak.

“No, it’s fine,” she croaked.

Sage’s gaze softened further.
And for the first time that evening, Jett thought she saw something real.

Loneliness.
Weariness.

“I thought she’d be home sooner,” Sage said quietly, her eyes briefly downcast. “I shouldn’t be disappointed… I know how important her work is.”

Her fingers brushed along the rim of her wineglass absently.

“But sometimes…”

She trailed off, shaking her head with a self-deprecating little smile.

“Sometimes, I wonder if I’m selfish for wishing she’d choose me over the empire she’s building.”

Jett couldn’t breathe.

Her pulse roared in her ears.

Because that — that sadness, that fleeting vulnerability — that was what she’d always wanted to see.
The crack beneath the perfection.
The hidden ache.

And now it was in front of her.

Sage, so composed, so poised — letting herself show just a glimpse of sadness.

It lit something in Jett’s chest.

Hope.
Desperation.
Purpose.

She could fix this.
She could make her happy.
She could be the one to fill that empty space Reyna left behind.

“I’m sorry,” Jett whispered, without knowing why.

Sage’s eyes flickered toward her — surprised, soft, open.

“For what?”

“For…” Jett swallowed hard, her voice cracking. “For not being there. Back then. For not… appreciating you the way I should have.”

Sage reached across the table, her fingers brushing over Jett’s clenched fists with featherlight tenderness.

Her hand was warm.

Gentle.

“Sunwoo,” she said softly.

Just her name.

It felt like salvation.

“I’ve grown,” Jett whispered, her throat tight. “I’m not… who I was.”

Sage’s smile was soft.

“I know.”

Jett felt like crying.

That single, gentle acknowledgment was enough to make her heart burst with loyalty and longing.

And then Sage looked away, eyes distant.

“I wish things were different,” she murmured.

Jett clung to those words like a drowning woman to a lifeline.

“I’ll make them different,” Jett said, almost breathless.

Sage looked back at her.

And smiled.

A soft, sad smile.

Like she believed her.

Like she wanted to believe her.

Like she was waiting to be saved.

And Jett swore to herself — she would be the one to save her.

She wouldn’t fail this time.

___

Sage watched Jett’s retreating figure through the restaurant’s glass door until it vanished into the night.
She sipped the last of her wine, unhurried, letting the sweetness coat her tongue before swallowing.

The act was done.
Perfectly, effortlessly done.

She exhaled, long and slow, her fingers drumming softly on the table.

That call with Reyna…
Every word had been deliberately chosen.
Every inflection, every breathy little laugh, every warm “darling” had been rehearsed in her mind before she spoke it aloud.

But it wasn’t for Reyna’s benefit.

It was for Jett’s.

The way Sage’s voice had lifted with affection — just familiar enough, just reminiscent enough of how she used to talk to Jett in college, calling her between classes, telling her what she’d learned that day, gently reminding her to drink less and study more.

Jett had ignored those calls.
Laughed them off.

And now?

Now she sat across from Sage, eyes wide, heart clenched, trying not to break apart at the seams as Sage spoke those same tones into someone else’s ear.

That pain in Jett’s eyes — that subtle, suffocating jealousy — had been more delicious than any meal they shared.

Sage had known it would destroy her.
That’s why she did it.

Because Jett was getting too comfortable.
Too hopeful.

And hope was a leash.
You couldn’t let it snap.
You had to tighten it just before they started to believe they were free.

Sage smiled faintly to herself, swirling the wine in her glass.

The flicker of vulnerability afterward — the subtle, almost weary sigh — that had been the finishing stroke.
Jett needed to see that sadness.
To believe that Sage was still waiting for someone to save her.

That someone could be her.

Sage never promised anything.
She never said the words.
But she knew how to let silence fill in the blanks, knew how to let Jett’s guilt do the work for her.

She knew how to remind her puppy exactly why she still came running back.

Sage tapped her nail against the rim of the glass, eyes distant.

All those late-night texts, years ago — Jett never knew how little they meant to her.
Just quick flicks of her fingers, typed between research notes and hospital shifts.
Sometimes not even words — just strings of letters when she was too tired to care.

hgfshss drink water

sunwoo r u home yet?

It hadn’t mattered.
Because even random keystrokes from her had the power to make Jett’s heart race.

Sometimes, Sage didn’t cook those elaborate meals Jett thought she missed.
Sometimes, it was just something simple for herself.
She’d plate it for two out of habit, maybe.
But she always knew Jett wouldn’t show.

Still, she texted her anyway.
Because she knew absence was a weapon.
Consistency was comfort.
Withdrawal was agony.

The more predictable Sage had been, the more it hurt when she suddenly vanished.

And hurt people made the best toys.

She leaned back in her seat, closing her eyes for a moment, relishing the faint echo of Jett’s expression burned behind her eyelids.

Wide-eyed.
Pained.
Desperate.

Perfect.

She opened her eyes slowly, the faintest smile curling her lips.

Reyna was away.
Viper would come running if she texted.
And Jett…

Jett was halfway between hell and heaven, exactly where Sage wanted her.

She didn’t need them.
Not really.

But having them dance for her?
That… was art.

Sage stood, adjusting her coat with slow, deliberate care.

There was no loneliness in her heart.
No longing.
No ache.

Only satisfaction.

And the night was still young.

Chapter Text

The call ended with a soft click.

Reyna sat there for a moment, her phone resting in her palm, her thumb still hovering over the screen.
The meeting in Berlin had been pushed back again.
She wouldn’t make it home tomorrow.

The breath left her lungs in a shallow sigh.

She closed her eyes, the soft hum of the engines doing nothing to soothe the sharp sting in her chest.

She was missing another promise.

Another dinner Sage had set the table for.
Another carefully chosen bottle of wine waiting unopened on their dining room counter.
Another evening where Sage would sit alone on the couch, a faint smile on her face when Reyna called, telling her gently, “It’s okay, darling. I understand.”

Reyna had always thought she was doing her best.
That Sage understood her position — her work, the weight of her empire.
They both knew what came with the name Mondragón.

And yet…

She started to think back.
All those dinners.
All those small promises.

It wasn’t the big things.
She was there for birthdays.
For anniversaries.
She made grand gestures — luxury vacations, diamond jewelry, lavish galas to show the world Sage belonged to her.

But it was the little things she failed at.

The quiet promises whispered over coffee:
"I’ll be home by eight tonight."
The text messages:
"I booked us that reservation on Friday."
"I’ll meet you after your presentation."

And then — the calls.
The soft apologies.
The excuses.
The rebooked flights.

She’d never stopped to count them before.

But now, in the sterile silence of the jet cabin, she could hear them echoing back at her, sharp and cruel.

Sage’s words still echoed in her ears, gentle and tender:

"I miss you already, darling."
"Be safe for me, okay?"
"I’ll wait for you."

The softness in her tone, the warmth in her laughter—Reyna could almost see her, sitting in their cozy kitchen, wearing one of those light silk blouses that draped so perfectly over her delicate frame, a cup of jasmine tea in her hands, probably checking the time and softly exhaling when she realized Reyna wouldn’t make it home.

That look in Sage’s eyes when Reyna would finally return — tired, guilty, laden with gifts.
And Sage would smile.
That soft, understanding smile.

Selfless.
Understanding.
Endlessly patient.

And Reyna felt unworthy.

The guilt rose sharp and bitter in her throat.

Because lately…

There had been something else beneath that smile.

A flicker.
A vulnerability Reyna had never seen before.

She used to think Sage was unshakable.
Elegant. Composed. Always serene.
But now, she wondered — had Sage been hiding that ache all along?

How many times had she heard Sage whisper those words, never demanding, never bitter?
She would say it quietly, almost wistfully, like it was her fault for missing Reyna, not the other way around.

Reyna gritted her teeth, blinking rapidly as she looked out the plane window.

She had promised Sage she’d be home tonight.
And yet here she was, once again rearranging meetings, chasing deals that suddenly felt hollow.

Reyna’s throat closed up.

She thought back to one night in particular — months ago.

A small thing, forgotten in the chaos of meetings and flights.

She’d promised Sage she’d be home in time to watch that foreign film Sage had been excited about.
They had planned it for weeks.
Sage had even bought special teas, picked out cozy blankets, made little pastries by hand.

And Reyna?
She was late.
By hours.

When she’d come home, Sage was still sitting on the couch.
The tea was cold.
The pastries untouched.
And Sage had smiled.
That soft, tired smile.

"I saved it for another night," she had said, her voice gentle.
"I know you must be tired."

Reyna’s chest tightened.

She thought back to all those moments she’d brushed off.

The time Sage had texted her a picture of a homemade dessert:
"I made this for us. Come home soon."
She hadn’t come home until well past midnight.

All those nights Sage had waited for her, the food cold, the candles burned low, the soft clink of dishes being cleared away in silence.

Reyna’s heart twisted painfully.

Sage had never once complained.
Never once made her feel bad.

She always smiled.
Always forgave.

And yet…

She’d heard something in Sage’s voice tonight.
A pause, maybe.
A softness that trembled on the edge of something more.

"I wish I could be there too."

That line had nearly undone her.

Had she missed that before?
Had Sage been hurting all along, just hiding it behind that perfect composure?

The thought made her chest tighten.

And worse—Reyna could still hear how Sage had sounded when she said:

"It’s just dinner. Just an old friend."

Reyna had laughed lightly, teasing, “Should I be jealous?”

And Sage’s breathless laugh, so sweet and fond, had answered:
"Never. You’re the only one who matters."

But even in that reassurance, there had been something… off.

A shadow of sadness.

And Reyna had brushed past it.

She clenched her fists.
How long had she been so blind?
How long had Sage been quietly waiting, quietly longing, never asking for more than Reyna could give—but needing it all the same?

How many nights had she done that to her?
How many small hopes had Sage tucked away behind that elegant composure?

And yet… Sage never asked for more.

She never complained.
She never demanded.

She waited.
Quietly.
Faithfully.

And Reyna —

Reyna was failing her.

Her fingers clenched into fists on her lap.

She thought of Sage’s soft eyes, her quiet patience, the subtle sadness hidden beneath kindness.

She should have noticed sooner.

She should have known that Sage’s silence wasn’t peace.
It was resignation.

And the guilt — oh, the guilt was crushing her now.

She picked up her phone.
Typed out a message.

|  I’m sorry. I’ll be late again.
  I promise I’ll make it up to you.

The three little dots blinked.
Sage’s reply came after a pause.

| Don’t worry, darling.
  I understand.

That sweet, gentle understanding —

It broke her heart.

Because she didn’t deserve it.

And in that moment, Reyna swore to herself:
She would fix this.
She would be better.
She would make Sage feel loved, needed, prioritized.

She wouldn’t lose her.
Not to work.
Not to absence.

She opened her calendar, staring at the wall of meetings and deadlines.
None of it mattered.

She was going home early.

She would show up at their doorstep, unannounced, flowers in hand, just like she used to when they first started dating.
Sage deserved that.
She deserved more than broken promises and missed dinners.

Her mind flicked back to the soft lilt in Sage’s voice, the tenderness when she’d said:
"I’ll wait for you."

And the worst part?
Reyna knew she would.

Sage would wait.
Forever, if she asked her to.

But she couldn’t let that happen.

Not anymore.

For the first time in her life, Reyna didn’t open her laptop to delegate power or enforce control.
She opened it... and hesitated.
The cursor blinked on the polished glass screen.

She inhaled.
For her.

Her fingers hovered, then slowly began to move.
A message to the CFO:

| You’ll handle the Korea negotiations without me. I trust your judgment.

Her heart clenched.
Her empire was built on the fact that she was irreplaceable.

Another message:

| Cancel my Singapore trip next month. Reschedule indefinitely.

She felt the weight of those decisions like physical cuts.

Her inbox pinged with responses.

| Are you sure, CEO Mondragón? The board expects you to—
She closed the message before finishing it.

Another ping.
Her personal assistant:

| Ma’am, shall I rearrange your calendar?
  What should I prioritize?

Her hand trembled slightly as she typed.

| Prioritize time at home. Block out evenings. Clear unnecessary travel.

She hit send and sat back, staring out at the clouds beyond the window.

For years, that view represented power. Control. Freedom.
Now, all she saw was distance.

She had measured her worth by miles traveled, by boardrooms conquered.
But what good was any of it, if the one person she returned to had only empty tables and cold dinners waiting for her?

Her chest twisted.
How many nights, Sage?
How many times did you sit alone, smiling through it all, telling me it was okay?

Her phone buzzed again.
A message from her cousin:

| We need to talk about the foundation gala funding. Why haven’t you signed off yet?

She exhaled harshly through her nose.
Another buzz:

| Also, Aunt Esperanza’s anniversary dinner. You can’t skip this year.

Her temples pulsed.
Family. Obligations. Parasites.
They all clung to her for what she could give.

But Sage... Sage never asked.
Never took.
Never demanded.
She just waited.

She closed her eyes.
And remembered.

A winter night.
She was hours late.
Sage sat curled on their couch, wrapped in one of Reyna’s sweaters that dwarfed her frame, candlelight flickering soft shadows across her face.
A hot pot dinner laid out, everything perfectly portioned.
Untouched.
Cold.

Reyna burst in, breathless, drenched from the storm.
"I'm so sorry—"
Sage only smiled softly and said,

"You’re here now. That’s what matters."

She had never deserved that kindness.

The jet doors hissed open, but Reyna didn’t move.

She sat there, staring at the blinking cursor on her phone screen.
The words in the draft folder still burned into her vision:

Effective immediately, I am stepping down—

She wouldn’t send it.
Not yet.
She couldn’t.

Because the empire was hers.
It was her blood, her breath, her name carved in stone.
The power she wielded wasn’t inherited—it was built.
Boardroom by boardroom.
Battle by battle.

She couldn’t abandon it.
And yet…
Every time she closed a deal, shook a hand, accepted another title—
Sage sat alone.

Her mind couldn’t stop conjuring the image.
Sage at home.
Seated at their kitchen table, one slender hand cradling a cup of jasmine tea, the other absently brushing the rim of the mug.
The candle flickering down to nothing.
Her gaze flicking toward the door.
The waiting.
The small, soft sigh she would let out when the clock ticked past midnight.

Reyna’s chest burned.
She had been worshiping the wrong altar.

Power had always been a drug to her.
But now?
It tasted like ashes in her mouth.

She opened her calendar.
Her perfectly color-coded kingdom.
Red for business.
Gold for public appearances.
Blue for travel.

There was hardly any white.
No space.
No breath.

And nowhere — nowhere — did it say her name.
Not even once.

Reyna’s hand hovered.
She selected every Thursday and every Sunday evening for the next six months.
And in bold black letters, she typed:

| Sage.

She added reminders:

“Dinner with Sage."
“Flowers for Sage.”
“Check her favorite shows.” 

Each keystroke felt like a stitch being sewn into her heart.
Painful.
But necessary.

She forced herself to open her photo album.
There they were.
Sage’s smile.
Sage on their honeymoon, hair tousled by the wind, laughing into her palm.
Sage at last year’s gala, standing on the balcony, moonlight on her skin, eyes half-closed in gentle contentment.
Sage in the kitchen, apron tied neatly, biting her lip in concentration as she diced vegetables.

And Reyna hadn’t been home for that meal.

She covered her face with one hand, pressing her palm hard against her eyes until spots danced in the dark.

Her phone buzzed again.
A message from her assistant:

| Confirmation: four evenings blocked. No interruptions.

Another buzz.

| Executive team has questions about Berlin. Do you want to send a pre-recorded message?

She hesitated.
Then:

| No.
  They’ll handle it.

It felt like cutting her own veins open.
But for Sage…
For Sage, she would bleed.

The thought came unbidden:
Would she even notice?

Of course she would.
Sage was delicate and observant, soft-spoken but perceptive.
She noticed everything.

But would she believe it?
Or would she smile and say,

"Darling, you don’t have to rearrange your life for me."

Reyna’s heart twisted.
Because Sage would mean it.
Or at least pretend to.

She needed to show her.
She needed to prove — really prove — that Sage was more than a part of her life.
She was the center of it.

She started drafting another message to her assistant:

| Start plans for a mid-year celebration dinner. Private venue.
  Just Sage and I. No business partners.
  I want a string quartet, garden seating, candlelight.
  Her favorite jasmine tea imported from Hangzhou.
  Do not schedule any conflicting events.

She paused.
Added one more line:

| Include an open date in the itinerary for… spontaneous time.

Her heart fluttered and ached at once.
Sage deserved spontaneity.
Not carefully slotted hours between hostile takeovers.
Not kisses stolen between meetings.

A text arrived from her head of legal:

| Just a reminder — the family trust review is in two weeks. They’ll expect your full attention.

Reyna’s fingers hovered over the screen.
Her cousins.
Her aunts.
Her uncles.
Always there.
Always asking.
Never giving.

She started drafting another note:

| Review my obligations to the family trust. Reduce personal involvement.

She hesitated.
Deleted the line.
Rewrote:

| Limit personal involvement where it will not impact long-term trust integrity. 

  Prioritize Sage.

Her shoulders slumped in exhaustion.
Not from the jet lag.
Not from the meetings.
But from the weight of years of mistakes.

And underneath it all…
Fear.

What if I’ve waited too long?
What if the flicker in her eyes wasn’t sadness… but distance?

The thought made her breath catch.
She couldn’t lose her.
Not after all this.
Not after building this life for them.

She closed her calendar, but only after staring at those black letters again.

Sage.
Sage.
Sage.

She whispered the name aloud, soft as a prayer.

Her phone vibrated once more.
A message from Sage.
Her heart jumped.

| Don’t worry, darling.
  I’m making tea. Waiting for you.

A picture followed.
Sage, seated on the balcony, wrapped in a soft shawl, her hair slightly mussed by the wind, her smile tender and serene.
The candlelight flickered beside her cup.

Her eyes sparkled.

And Reyna broke.

She let the tears fall silently as the jet taxied down the runway.
Her phone trembled in her hand.

And in that moment, Reyna Mondragón —
CEO.
Chairwoman.
Powerhouse —

Became nothing but a woman desperate to be enough for the one person who waited for her.

She typed three simple words in reply:

| I’ll be home.

And pressed send.

Chapter Text

The room was heavy with the scent of jasmine and red wine — sweet, heady, cloying. It was soft with shadows, the flickering candlelight casting long, trembling lines across the walls.

Sage reclined lazily on Viper’s couch, one leg draped elegantly over the other, her silk robe parting just enough to reveal smooth skin. Her hair was gathered in a loose knot, tendrils framing her face in a deliberately careless perfection. She looked effortless, unhurried, as if the world outside was an abstraction — something she could enjoy without truly being a part of.

The scent of jasmine tea lingered in the air, its sweetness curling into the heavy undertones of sterile hospital sheets still clinging to Sage’s skin, giving off a strange intimacy — like fresh linen, a quiet sterile beauty mixed with the chaos of what came before.

She looked every bit the composed wife, the adored beauty.
But her eyes —
Her eyes glittered with amusement.

Viper sat stiffly across from her, pretending to read the reports spread across the low table between them.

Her fingers tapped absently on the edge of the paper, restless.

Her glass of wine sat untouched.

The quiet buzz of Sage’s phone sliced through the stillness, the vibration so faint it might have been mistaken for an idle echo.

She didn’t rush to check it.

She took her time, lifting the delicate porcelain teacup to her lips, exhaling softly as she sipped.

The scent of jasmine filled the space between them, fragrant and intoxicating.

Across from her, Viper sat on the edge of the bed, the perfect picture of casual disinterest, though the tightness in her shoulders gave her away.

She stared at the glass in her hand, swirling the red liquid absently, her gaze flicking briefly to the phone.

She knew the message would be from Reyna.

She knew it before the phone even vibrated.

A muscle in Viper’s jaw twitched as she caught sight of Sage’s faint smile.

That smile.

The one that was so soft, so composed, it almost made Viper sick.

It was a smile that had been honed over years of practice — the perfect wife, the perfect lover, the perfect puppet master.

And all of it?

Just for Reyna.

Sage’s eyes flicked lazily to the phone. She picked it up with a casual elegance, her fingers brushing over the screen as if it were some irrelevant thing, before reading the three simple words that made her lips twitch with amusement: I’ll be home.

A soft chuckle slipped from her throat.
“She’s texted again.”

Viper didn’t look up.
Her jaw tensed.
“Reyna?”

“Mhm.”
Another sip.
“She’s apologizing. Again.”

There was a pause.
Viper forced herself to keep her eyes on the reports.
She flipped a page she hadn’t read.
“Well,” she muttered, “you have her trained well.”

Sage’s laugh was light, sweet as honey.
“Oh, darling… it’s not training.”
She leaned forward slightly, her eyes gleaming with mischief.
“It’s guilt.”

Viper’s fingers tightened imperceptibly.
She said nothing.

A sigh left Sage, languid and pleased. She chuckled under her breath, the sound honeyed and dark.

“She called me tonight,” her voice was a low murmur, so soft it could almost have been a confession.

Viper’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Poor thing,” she murmured, though the bitterness in her words was unmistakable.

Sage’s smile only deepened, a predatory gleam in her eyes. She set the phone back down with a soft clink that filled the silence between them.

“Sounds so guilty,” she said, her voice dripping with sweet mockery.

Viper’s fingers tightened around her glass, her nails digging into the smooth surface, her pulse quickening, though she willed herself not to show it.

“They should be,” she spat, her eyes narrowing as she forced her gaze back to Sage. But there was something about Sage’s unshakable composure — the way she existed like a figure carved from marble, unmoved by all of this — that made the words feel hollow.

Sage exhaled slowly, her smile curling into something knowing, too knowing. “They always should be,” she murmured.

Sage’s thumb danced lazily over the screen, reading the long, breathless apology Reyna had sent.
“She’s re-arranging her entire schedule just for me.”
She set her phone down, resting her chin in her palm.
“Canceling meetings. Delegating. Dropping everything.”

She smiled — soft, amused, cruel.
“All for one little sigh.”

Viper inhaled slowly through her nose.
Her throat was dry.
She hated how the image aroused her.

Sage’s fingers traced the rim of her teacup absentmindedly.
“You should have heard her on the phone earlier.”
A soft chuckle.
“She sounded desperate.”

Viper’s lips twitched into something that was almost a smirk.
“Poor little CEO,” she drawled.
“All that power, and still begging for your approval.”

Sage’s eyes sparkled.
“She asked if I was lonely.”

Viper finally looked up, her gaze sharp, hard.
“And what did you say?”

A sly smile curved Sage’s lips.
“I told her…”
She paused for effect, eyes half-lidded.
“That I miss her.”

Viper’s stomach twisted.
She forced a dry laugh.
“You’re awful.”

Sage’s gaze flickered toward Viper. She let her eyes linger, letting the silence stretch on between them like a delicate thread about to snap.

Viper could feel the weight of that gaze, could sense the almost tangible delight in the way Sage toyed with her.

Sage wasn’t just playing Reyna.

She was playing her, too.

And yet, despite the bitter, sharp edge in her gut, Viper couldn’t look away.

She had to admit it — even to herself — this whole game was delicious.

Watching Reyna crumble, watching her unravel in the face of this perfect, poisoned marriage… Viper felt superior. She knew that Sage was manipulating Reyna, stringing her along with a smile and a whisper, making Reyna think she was the one in control. But Viper knew better. Sage played the game, just as she always did. And that made it even sweeter.

But there was a hollow ache in Viper’s chest. One she wouldn’t let herself acknowledge, one she wouldn’t speak aloud.

Sage, in all her cool composure, was still playing the game — with both of them.

And Viper, in her twisted, self-destructive way, liked it.

She hated that she liked it.

Sage shifted in her seat, her fingers tracing the rim of her teacup. She was slow, deliberate, as though enjoying the quiet war that was waging between them. She tilted her head back slightly, as if savoring the lingering tension, before finally speaking again.

“The funny part,” she murmured, her voice soft, almost dreamy, “is that I never wait.”

Viper froze.

The words struck with the sharpness of a blade, and Viper’s breath hitched in her chest.

She hated it. She hated the way Sage could just be like that — so perfect, so untouchable.

Reyna, sitting in her heaven, had no idea.

She had no idea that it wasn’t love that kept Sage there.

It was power.

Control.

And it made Viper want to scream.

She never waits.

The words echoed in her mind, louder with every beat of her heart.

There was no bitterness in the air now.

No trace of the venom that had once colored the silence.

Only something thick, something heady.

Something that hung between them like a slow-burning fuse.

Viper wanted to speak.

She wanted to make her thoughts known.

But something about the calm in Sage’s eyes — that knowing, implacable calm — kept her rooted to the spot.

She couldn’t look away, even as she hated herself for not being able to.

Sage rose from the chaise, her movement liquid and graceful, her bare feet silent against the floor. The soft rustle of her robe followed her like a whisper of silk.

She crossed the room with a predatory, unhurried pace, and Viper’s heart slammed in her chest.

Sage stopped in front of her.

Her fingers brushed lightly against Viper’s jaw, the touch gentle, mocking.

A whisper of a caress.

“You see, love,” Sage murmured, her voice honeyed, “she loves me.”

And Viper, despite herself, despite everything, swallowed thickly.

Because she knew the truth.

She knew how Reyna loved — how she loved with the desperation of someone who had been led to believe she could control the game.

Only to find herself at Sage’s mercy.

Sage’s lips hovered close to her ear.

“And you…” Sage whispered, her breath sending shivers down Viper’s spine, “You can’t help but envy her.”

Viper’s breath caught in her throat, her pulse racing.

She wanted to pull away, to shove Sage off her lap, but her hands, trembling slightly, still clung to Sage’s robe.

She couldn’t let go.

Because even as she hated it — even as she knew she was being played — she wanted this.

She wanted Sage’s touch, the burn of her body, the heat that seeped into her skin like fire.

And she hated herself for it.

But in the end, Sage was right.

She would never wait.

And Viper? She’d always be second.

Or maybe not even second.

The silence between them hung heavy.

Viper's pulse thudded in her ears, a rapid beat that only grew louder the longer she stared at Sage — that infuriating, serene mask of composure still firmly in place.

Sage’s gaze was cool, but there was something beneath it, something sharper, almost predatory.

It made Viper’s skin flush with both desire and frustration.

Her thoughts were a storm, tearing at her.

She knew what she was — she knew the game, the rules.

That didn’t stop the burn in her chest.

It didn’t stop the tightening of her body whenever Sage was near.

She hated it.

Hated how Sage could reduce her to this.

To this feeling of inferiority wrapped in the illusion of power.

Sage’s voice was soft, a thread of silk that cut through the tension. “You know, Viper...”

Viper clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

“You look like you’re about to snap.” Sage’s tone was teasing, playful, and yet there was that undercurrent of something dangerous — something that made Viper’s blood heat even as it chilled her to the bone.

“I’m fine.” The words were sharp, defensive, but they rang hollow, and they both knew it.

Sage chuckled, low and knowing, and Viper hated how that sound sent a shiver up her spine.

Sage moved slowly, like a predator closing in on its prey, graceful as ever, as if she wasn’t even trying.

Her bare feet made no sound against the floor, her body languid, her silk robe trailing like a shadow behind her.

The room seemed to contract around them, the scent of jasmine tea mingling with something darker — something heavier.

She perched on the armrest of Viper’s chair, her knee brushing Viper’s, a subtle movement, but it was enough. Enough to ignite something volatile inside Viper.

Her breath caught. “She promised she’d make it up to me,” Sage continued, her voice dripping with amusement.

“Flowers, jewelry, dinners I don’t care about. But never the one thing I asked for.”

Viper felt the stirrings of something sickly sweet in her chest. How pathetic. Reyna, the perfect little wife, clinging to a dream.

But then Sage’s eyes flicked to her, and Viper realized she wasn’t just speaking to herself.

She was speaking to her.

Viper hated the way her stomach fluttered at that. Hated it.

Sage leaned down, just enough that her lips grazed Viper’s ear. The breath that followed was warm and intoxicating, drawing Viper in like a moth to the flame.

“She bought me a necklace last month. Emeralds,” Sage whispered. Her voice was silky, her words curling into Viper’s mind.

“But I prefer your hands.”

Viper’s chest tightened, her breath catching in her throat.

Her eyes flickered to the floor, trying to ignore the heat flooding her body, the way her skin seemed to burn where Sage’s presence lingered.

She hated that she wanted more, hated that Sage could reduce her to this — to a desperate, trembling thing.

She tilted her head back, trying to regain some semblance of control. But Sage wasn’t done. No, she was never done.

Sage’s lips brushed Viper’s jaw, so soft, so languid. “Reyna will never know what I sound like when I fall apart.”

Viper’s body went rigid.

Her heart skipped a beat, and then another.

As if to remind her that this was what she craved.

The cruelty in Sage’s words wasn’t just cruelty.

It was a poison Viper willingly drank, even though it burned.

Sage continued, that smile of hers widening with something sharper now. “She thinks I’m patient. But she doesn’t know I scream.”

Viper’s hand shot out, gripping Sage’s hip in a flash of instinct — an act of both defiance and desperation.

She dragged Sage down onto her lap, their bodies colliding with a violent, crushing kiss.

A kiss that was raw, that was full of need and anger.

And yet, despite herself, Viper couldn’t pull away.

Sage moaned softly into the kiss.

The sound was barely audible.

But to Viper, it was the sweetest sound she could imagine.

It was a mark of victory — a sign of satisfaction.

The kiss deepened, as Viper’s hands roamed with growing urgency, tugging at the silk robe, pulling at the fabric until it pooled on the floor, leaving Sage bare before her.

And yet, even in the midst of this, when every nerve in her body screamed to claim, to possess, Viper knew. She knew.

She was losing.

She had already lost.

But still, she couldn’t stop.

She wouldn’t stop.

Sage pulled away just enough to meet her eyes, breathless, flushed — and that smile. It was triumphant, wicked.

She leaned in, lips ghosting over Viper’s as she whispered, “I’ll stay… just for a little while.”

The words burned into Viper’s chest.

They were a cruel mockery.

A promise that wasn’t hers to keep.

Sage shifted, her hands pressing against Viper’s chest, and Viper’s body burned with the demand. The desire to possess surged again, as Sage sank lower, her breath hot against the curve of Viper’s thigh.

Her lips brushed the skin there, soft and reverent, but it was the gleam in Sage’s eyes — the triumphant gleam — that made Viper’s blood run cold.

This was all on Sage’s terms.

Viper’s hands trembled as they gripped the bedspread beneath her, clenching tightly as if that alone could anchor her to some semblance of control.

But Sage wasn’t done.

And in that moment, Viper knew, deep down, that when the night ended, she would still be second.

Sage’s lips trailed up, a torturous, slow line, and Viper let her.

Let her drown in it.

Let herself lose in this game.

Because Sage was the only one who played it.

And when she was gone, when she left to return to Reyna, the emptiness would return.

The silence would consume her.

But for now, she would burn in the heat of this moment, in the illusion of power, of intimacy, that wasn’t hers to keep.

Because Sage's triumph — Sage’s control — was all that mattered.

And Viper?

She would always be the one in the shadows, the one waiting for scraps.

Chapter Text

Reyna stood in the quiet of the lobby, the soft weight of the bouquet in her hands. Freshly packed jasmine, delicate yet robust, its scent a rich, almost nostalgic reminder of the times before they’d been married. It was one of those memories that could never quite fade, even if time tried. The fragrance clung to her fingers, an invisible thread that pulled her back to a time when she’d brought these flowers to Sage on their dates—before the weight of commitments and promises had made space for other things.

The jasmine was different now, though. No longer just a gesture; it was an apology. A silent acknowledgment of the days slipping away when they had been so much more... spontaneous. She'd been busy. There were always reasons, but reasons were meaningless when she was looking at the flowers in her hands and feeling the subtle weight of her own neglect. This bouquet wasn’t just for Sage. It was for everything that had come before—the moments when she’d cared for Sage in the simplest of ways, when their love was still untouched by the pressures of married life.

The flowers were beautiful, but it was their roots that troubled Reyna the most. A simple gesture like this should’ve been a constant, but after the marriage, after the routine set in, she’d stopped thinking to do it.

Now, standing in the hall, holding the jasmine in front of her, Reyna couldn’t help but feel that familiar wave of guilt.

The scent of the flowers filled the air, bringing with it a sense of calm, and yet it reminded Reyna of everything she hadn't done. I’ve been so caught up in everything...

But Sage always smelled like jasmine. The perfect, graceful fragrance had become a part of her in a way that couldn’t be denied. When they kissed, Reyna could taste it—like the delicate scent woven into her skin, in every soft touch, every stolen moment. It had become part of their rhythm, almost like a signature. Pure. Elegant. Effortless. Just like Sage.

Reyna took a slow, deep breath as she adjusted the bouquet, the delicate petals shifting gently in her hands. She needed this. She needed to prove, even if just for herself, that she was still capable of the gestures that once made Sage smile in that way she loved—when Sage was happy, truly happy, and not just polite.

She pushed the door open softly.

Sage was there, as always, waiting by the window, the soft glow of the sunset bathing her in a light that made her seem almost ethereal. Reyna’s chest tightened at the sight. She had missed this feeling.

Sage turned when she heard the door click open, her expression softening as she saw the bouquet in Reyna’s hands. For a moment, Reyna just watched her, how effortlessly Sage stood there, as if the world was at peace because Sage herself was peace.

“Reyna,” Sage murmured, her voice a soft lilt. “You’re home.” There was something almost tender in her tone, as if she were greeting Reyna for the first time every time they came home to each other.

Reyna felt herself smile, though it was tinged with a little regret. She stepped forward, holding the flowers out to her, the petals fresh and fragrant, a little tender from the trip.

“I brought you something,” Reyna said, her voice gentle.

Sage’s eyes flickered, and Reyna could see the way the curve of her lips barely shifted in surprise. “Jasmines…” Sage whispered, taking them from Reyna’s hands with a softness that made the room feel warmer.

Her gaze lingered on the flowers, and Reyna couldn’t help but notice the small shift in her expression. It wasn’t just gratitude—it was something else, something subtle, a deepening of the eyes, a quiet pleasure. But Sage didn’t say anything, just inhaling the fragrance with a slow, almost meditative sigh.

“They’re beautiful, Reyna,” Sage said, her voice softer now, as though the mere act of receiving the flowers had brought her a momentary peace. She turned away from Reyna to find a vase, a small moment of quiet intimacy that made Reyna’s heart ache. It wasn’t the grand gestures, not anymore. It was these moments. The quietness. The softness.

But Reyna couldn’t just leave it there. Not this time. She stepped forward, her heart full of words she wasn’t sure how to say.

“I’ve been... I’ve been thinking,” Reyna began, her voice wavering just a little. “I’ve been so busy, and I... I haven’t been here for you like I should have.” She paused, her chest tightening, knowing the apology was long overdue. “I cleared some of my schedule. I... I want to spend more time with you. I will spend more time with you. We’ll have time, Sage, just us, like we used to. I know I’ve... been neglecting that. But I promise, I’ll change.”

Sage, still focused on the vase, paused for just a second as Reyna’s words sank in. Then, in the quiet of the room, Sage placed the flowers into the vase, arranging them with her usual grace.

Reyna watched her, her heart twisting at the delicate motions. But the guilt didn’t fade—it only grew stronger.

Sage turned back to face her then, a soft smile spreading across her lips, almost a little self-deprecating. “You don’t have to do this, Reyna,” she said gently, her voice low but reassuring. “I understand. You’re working hard. I know you have a lot on your plate.”

Sage’s eyes were warm, but Reyna could see something else flickering there—something that wasn’t entirely in tune with her words. Sage’s smile was tender, but there was a light behind it now, something brighter, almost more genuine than it had been in weeks.

Reyna’s chest tightened. Had she missed it? Had she missed the way Sage had been slipping away, even in these subtle shifts? How she hadn’t noticed how her eyes lit up a little more, how her smile had changed, how she had been waiting for more from Reyna?

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to do this,” Sage continued, her gaze soft, the words laced with care. “But... I appreciate it. I really do.”

Reyna could see it clearly now—Sage’s lips curved just a little higher, her eyes glimmering as if something had shifted inside her. The way she leaned in, the way she had wrapped the bouquet in such a quiet reverence, as if she were grateful, but also... lighter. It wasn’t the typical smile Sage gave, the one Reyna had grown used to in their daily life. This was different. Sage was happier.

The realization hit Reyna with the softest punch.

She hadn’t noticed before. She had missed this, and now it hurt to see how much Sage had been holding back. She blamed herself—Why didn’t I see this sooner? The thought of it made her feel small, even as she stood taller, more resolute than before. She would change. She would do better. She had to.

Before she even realized it, Reyna closed the space between them, gently wrapping her arms around Sage’s waist from behind. She buried her face in the soft curve of Sage’s neck, inhaling the jasmine-scented skin.

Sage’s breath hitched for just a moment, but then she settled back against Reyna’s chest with a quiet sigh. The world outside seemed distant, muted by the warmth of the moment. Reyna tightened her hold ever so slightly, feeling the soft curves of Sage’s body in her arms.

“I’m sorry, Sage,” Reyna whispered into her hair, her voice low, filled with an emotion that almost choked her. “I’ll be better. I promise.” She felt the small, trembling sigh of relief that escaped Sage’s lips as her fingers grazed the delicate petals of the jasmine bouquet.

Sage shifted in her arms, just enough to gently untangle herself, but she didn’t go far. She placed the flowers into the vase, her fingers brushing against Reyna’s as she did. Then, without a word, she turned back into Reyna’s embrace.

Sage leaned up, and Reyna could feel her soft breath on her lips before their mouths met in a gentle kiss. The kiss was slow, tender, more a promise than a simple affection. Reyna could taste the faint sweetness of jasmine on her lips, the same sweetness she had always tasted when they kissed. But this time, it tasted different—warmer, more real.

Sage’s lips moved against hers, soft and unhurried, and Reyna let herself melt into it, the world fading until all that remained was the quiet of the room, the warmth of Sage in her arms, and the promise of something more.

When they pulled apart, Sage’s eyes were full of that familiar, fleeting light, and Reyna knew then, with a quiet certainty, that it was worth it. All of it. The work. The guilt. The long, aching road of change. She would do better. For Sage. For them.

But the jasmine still lingered, sweet and subtle, like the slow burn of an addiction Reyna couldn’t quit.

Sage watched Reyna walk in, the sunlight from the window casting a halo around her as she carried the delicate bouquet. The day had been perfectly mapped out, planned to the most intricate detail, and the thought of having to cancel her meeting with Jett, of all people, hadn’t been the best of outcomes. She had to admit it: the timing had been inconvenient. But still, she’d made her decision, and there was no room for regret. There was never any room for regret when it came to Reyna.

The jasmine swayed lightly in the paper wrapping, their pale white petals exuding a fragrance that was, on the surface, gentle and clean.

Sage couldn’t help but feel a slight, almost imperceptible twinge of annoyance.

She could feel her mask slipping back into place as Reyna entered, reaching out to her with the familiar softness of a gesture that had been practiced countless times.

The scent wafted through the room, and Sage breathed it in as if it were an old friend—familiar, sweet, yet just a bit too pure for her taste.

She wasn’t fooled by the simplicity of the bouquet. Nothing Reyna did was simple.

The bouquet had been carefully chosen, arranged with the kind of precision that only someone with access to the finest resources could afford. Imported directly from China, each blossom handpicked and arranged by the most skilled florists in the city. That was Reyna’s world—the world of wealth, control, and perfection. And yet, here was Reyna, holding it out to her as though it were something innocent, something uncomplicated.

The flowers were beautiful, no doubt. But they were a reflection of Reyna, of her world.

Sage smiled, her lips curving just slightly as she reached out to take the bouquet. Her fingers brushed against Reyna’s, and for a brief, fleeting moment, a cold shiver ran through her.

Jasmine. The word echoed in her mind, a symbol of all the things she had come to accept, and the things she had learned to disguise. Reyna would never know how much the bouquet bothered her. It would never occur to her that Sage had carefully cultivated an entirely different truth for herself. A truth where flowers weren’t just flowers, and love wasn’t as simple as a gesture like this.

She had to work to keep the flicker of emotion from her face, the tiny bit of frustration that fluttered behind her eyes. Jasmines again.

The mask slid into place easily, effortlessly. She’s your wife, Sage reminded herself with a quiet inner chuckle. You know how to play this role. You know how to be the wife she wants. Perfect. Effortless. Gracious. The smile stretched just enough on her lips, the corners curving gently as she reached out to take the bouquet. Her fingers brushed against Reyna’s, soft, like they were meant to. Like she was meant to do this.

Sage shifted her attention to the flowers in her hands, her smile widening just a fraction as she inhaled the familiar scent. Jasmine. Always jasmine. The irony of it almost made her laugh.

But she couldn’t laugh. At least not in front of Reyna.

Instead, she placed the bouquet in a vase with the grace of someone who had done it a thousand times before. There was a practiced elegance to every motion, every flick of her wrist, every placement of the flowers. To Reyna, to anyone, it would seem like an effortless act. But to Sage, it was a mask—a mask she wore as easily as her skin, as naturally as breathing.

Her fingers lingered on the edge of the vase, tracing its cool surface. Beneath the mask, a ripple of something darker shifted.

She could feel Reyna’s eyes on her as she arranged the flowers. Waiting. Always waiting for the perfect response. Sage could almost hear the unspoken questions in the air between them. Are you happy? Do you appreciate it?

The answer was always the same: Yes. But that answer was never enough.

Sage glanced up at Reyna, who was standing there, a faint tremble in her hands as she waited for a response. She could see it in her eyes—the vulnerability Reyna tried so hard to hide. It was funny how she thought the flowers, the gestures, the words could fix things.

If only she knew the truth.

Sage straightened, her gaze flickering to Reyna as she stood by the vase, and she smiled again, her lips curving upward just enough to reassure her wife. “They’re beautiful,” she said softly, the words slipping out like silk.

And they were beautiful. But not in the way Reyna thought.

Sage’s mind raced. She had to stay perfect. She had to keep that mask in place, no matter what. It didn’t matter that Reyna had canceled her plans, that she’d rearranged her schedule to be here for Sage. It didn’t matter that Reyna thought this was all about her, that she believed Sage’s smile, her soft words, were real. Sage couldn’t afford for them to be real.

She’d canceled her plans with Jett.

It had been a last-minute decision, but one she knew she had to make. Jett wasn’t the problem. No, the problem was that Sage had gotten used to playing games with Jett. The delicate dance between them had become almost too comfortable, too easy. It wasn’t the same with Reyna.

But Reyna was her wife. And that meant keeping the mask on, even if it meant sacrificing a little piece of her. A little piece that didn’t matter when the bigger picture was at stake.

A flicker of annoyance crossed her mind as she considered Jett, but only for a brief moment. Let Jett suffer a bit. It wasn’t as if Jett hadn’t done her own share of playing games.

When Reyna spoke again, her voice tentative but filled with resolve, Sage’s eyes shifted just slightly. Reyna was apologizing. She was trying to make up for something.

"I’ve been so busy, and I... I haven’t been here for you like I should have," Reyna said, her words carrying that familiar guilt, the one that always seemed to hover just beneath the surface. "I cleared some of my schedule. I... I want to spend more time with you. I will spend more time with you. We’ll have time, Sage, just us, like we used to. I know I’ve... been neglecting that. But I promise, I’ll change.”

Sage tilted her head, listening carefully, her expression neutral as ever. She had heard this speech before, a hundred times. Reyna would say it again and again, each time thinking she was doing something new.

But it was never new. It was just Reyna. Always trying to fix something, always chasing an ideal of perfection that was impossible. Reyna believed she wasn’t enough for Sage. But that wasn’t the truth. The truth was that Sage had never needed Reyna to be perfect. Not in the way she thought.

Sage gave her the softest smile, the one that always seemed to soothe Reyna’s guilt, and she shook her head gently. "You don’t have to do this, Reyna," she said, her voice calm, almost too calm. "I understand. You’re working hard. I know you have a lot on your plate."

Sage could see the way Reyna’s shoulders softened at the words, the guilt lifting slightly, but not entirely. She wasn’t supposed to make Reyna feel better. She was supposed to make her feel needed.

And that was the key. The smile, the glimmer in her eyes, the softening of her posture—it was all part of the act. It was calculated. Every moment, every word, every shift of her body, was carefully crafted. Reyna thought she was soothing Sage’s worries, but in reality, Sage was the one pulling the strings. She was the one controlling the narrative.

Sage’s gaze drifted down to the jasmine bouquet again. Jasmine—a symbol of purity, of grace, of innocence. The exact opposite of what she really craved.

Poppies. It was poppies that called to her, not this air of sweetness and civility. Poppies, with their fiery reds, the addiction they symbolized, the danger in their beauty. There was something in them that pulled at her, a kind of poison wrapped in delicacy. Beautiful in its slow burn, in its danger.

Sage had always been drawn to that edge—the edge that no one saw, that Reyna never would. The way it felt when something looked harmless but could destroy you in the blink of an eye.

Poppies. They were intoxicating. They were dangerous. But never jasmines. Jasmines were for her. For Reyna. For them.

No one—least of all Reyna—would ever know that, would they?

But she would never show Reyna that. She would never show anyone that. Not while this mask was so perfectly in place.

Her eyes flickered to Reyna again, the small curve of her lips lifting just a little more as she wrapped her arms around Reyna.

The gesture was simple, but it held more weight than it seemed. Reyna hugged her back, pulling her close, burying her face in the soft curve of Sage’s neck.

Sage allowed herself to fall into it, her arms coming up to meet Reyna’s with the same practiced grace. She leaned into the touch, letting herself be surrounded by Reyna’s presence. The soft weight of her arms. The tenderness of her kiss when it came—so gentle, so full of love.

It was a fleeting moment of softness before she gently unwound herself from Reyna’s arms.

Her smile deepened as she caught that flash of concern in Reyna’s eyes. The guilt was there, but it didn’t stay long. Reyna always tried so hard to please. It’s the only thing she knows how to do.

And when she kissed her, it was slow, delicate, a promise, a reassurance. It wasn’t the kind of kiss that came from love, not truly. It was the kind of kiss that came from knowing how to play the game. Knowing how to make someone feel wanted, without ever truly giving them all of you.

It was a perfect kiss, sweet and unhurried, like everything between them had always been.

But inside, Sage’s thoughts drifted again to poppies, to the rush of danger, to the seduction of the poison that never quite was.

When they pulled apart, Sage’s gaze flickered down, her smile still in place. She let Reyna believe it was real. She let her believe she was enough.

She was the perfect wife.

And she always would be.

...

Chapter Text

Reyna had always been meticulous about details. It was what made her so good at her job and what made her equally good at loving Sage. The way she observed her every glance, her every movement, the way she knew that an unexpected gesture—a small surprise—could light up Sage’s eyes, made Reyna feel like she had control over the distance that had begun to creep into their relationship. A control that, until now, had felt impossible.

But now, standing in the doorway of their home with a suitcase in hand, a carefully planned weekend away, and a nervous flutter in her chest, Reyna felt anything but in control. She was desperate. Desperate to fix something that had quietly, almost imperceptibly, broken between them. Desperate to return to a time when their love had felt effortless, before the weight of marriage and the silent walls that had begun to rise between them.

The idea had come to her out of nowhere. A spontaneous getaway. Nothing extravagant. No work. No distractions. Just the two of them. Alone. For an entire weekend.

Sage would be in her element. She would play along. She always did. But there was a quiet fear inside Reyna that she couldn't shake off. The fear that no matter what she did, it would never be enough. Not for Sage.

Sage sat at the kitchen island, her fingers lightly tracing the rim of her coffee cup, staring at the bouquet of jasmine flowers that Reyna had brought earlier in the evening. She could feel the soft, almost suffocating scent of the flowers still lingering in the air, reminding her of how she had always been perceived. Graceful. Elegant. Pure. But that was only what the world saw. It was what Reyna saw. What everyone saw.

Sage was tired.

Her entire life had been spent wearing this mask, this perfect façade that Reyna—and everyone else—admired so much. It was a life that was carefully constructed, piece by piece, and presented as flawless. It was a life Sage had fought for, clawed her way to, and now it felt suffocating.

A part of her had wanted this. She had wanted to be one of the privileged people—the ones who were admired, who were envied, who had the perfect partner, the perfect life. The perfect marriage. But now… now she wondered if it was all worth it. The pressure. The constant performance. The need to always be on.

She glanced at Reyna, who was standing by the door, fidgeting with the zipper of her suitcase. Reyna’s eyes met hers, and there was something there—something soft, vulnerable, and full of guilt.

Reyna stepped into the room with a warm smile, setting the suitcase down with an exaggerated care, as if making sure every movement was deliberate. "I’ve been thinking," she began, her voice tentative, "I want to take us away for the weekend. Just us. No distractions, no work. We could… spend some time together like we used to. Like before. Do you remember how it used to feel when it was just us? No other pressures?"

Sage’s smile faltered for just a second. She knew what Reyna was trying to do. She was trying so hard, so desperately, to fix something that Sage wasn’t sure could be fixed anymore.

Her fingers curled around the coffee cup, and she kept her gaze steady, pretending to be as enamored with the idea as Reyna hoped. She could almost see the faintest tremor in Reyna’s hands as she spoke, and it made her chest tighten—though not with love. No, not this time. It was something else. Something colder. A flicker of resentment, perhaps. Or maybe even boredom.

Sage forced her lips into a smile, the same practiced smile that had always been her armor. "That sounds… lovely, Reyna." She leaned forward, reaching for the bouquet of jasmines, twirling it in her hands, pretending to be caught up in the scent, the delicate feel of the petals between her fingers. She felt nothing.

She felt empty.

But she would never let Reyna see it.

Reyna’s heart fluttered, almost imperceptibly, at Sage’s response. She could see it now. The way Sage's smile, though perfectly in place, didn’t quite reach her eyes. There was something guarded about it. But Reyna didn’t let that stop her.

"Good," she said, her voice softening. "I think we both deserve this, don’t we? Some time away. Just the two of us. We’ve been drifting apart, and I want to fix that. I want to make things right."

Sage’s fingers tightened around the bouquet of flowers. She could feel the prickling sensation of her own disconnection rising within her. "There’s nothing to fix, Reyna. I’m happy. Really." She added the last part with a practiced softness, as if her happiness was unquestionable.

It was all part of the act, wasn’t it?

Sage had long ago learned the art of lying with her eyes. Of hiding her dissatisfaction behind perfectly timed gestures and the softest of smiles.

Reyna, unaware of the turmoil brewing beneath the surface, smiled back, the weight of her guilt lifting ever so slightly. "Good. I’m glad to hear that. You look… happy." She stepped closer to Sage, a hand lightly brushing her arm. "You’ve seemed a little distant lately. I just wanted to do something for us. To remind you of how much I love you."

Sage’s breath caught, and her smile slipped further into something more hollow.

You love me?

The words lingered in her mind, but she didn’t let them escape. There was no need to poke at Reyna’s fragile devotion. It was easier this way. Easier to play along, to perform the role she’d been cast into. It was, after all, what was expected of her.

Reyna seemed to take that smile as a sign of progress, stepping forward to press a gentle kiss to Sage’s forehead, lingering there longer than necessary. The kiss was soft, sweet, an echo of intimacy that used to feel like home to Sage. Now, it just felt like a formality.

"Come on," Reyna said softly, her hand now resting on Sage’s lower back as she guided her toward the door. "I’ve already packed. We can leave whenever you’re ready. Let’s make this weekend perfect."

Sage could hear the sincerity in Reyna’s voice, the quiet, almost desperate hope that things could be as they once were. But Sage was tired. She was bored of pretending. Bored of playing the part of the perfect wife, the perfect lover, the perfect everything. She had been doing it for years, and it felt like a trap now.

For the first time in a long while, Sage questioned her own decisions. Was it all worth it? The sacrifice of her true self for the life she had built?

Reyna loved her, yes. She was loyal and devoted, and that was something most people never got to experience. But did that mean Sage had to keep living in this gilded cage? Was the comfort of her marriage—her perfect life—worth the weight of the mask she had to wear? Was it worth the emptiness she felt creeping in?

Reyna led Sage out to the car, her hand warm on Sage’s back, but Sage didn’t feel it. She didn’t feel anything, not really.

She was playing her role, as she always had. As she always would. For Reyna, for herself, for the life they had together. But deep down, beneath the mask, the question remained: How long could she keep pretending?

As the car drove off, the distance between them felt wider than it had in years. Sage watched the lights blur by through the window, her face unreadable. Her mind was already elsewhere, caught between the need for control and the growing realization that she might just be done with this whole thing.

Reyna, nestled beside her, was still hopeful, still clinging to the idea that this weekend could be the fix they needed.

But for Sage, the game had changed.

The mask was growing heavier.

The long drive had been smooth, the world outside blurring in a sleepy rhythm as the car rolled further into the countryside. The thick scent of pine and fresh earth mingled in the air, filling the car with the promise of peace and a temporary escape. Reyna couldn’t help but think that this would be the reset they needed—this weekend would be the thing that brought them back, to remind Sage of how they used to be. Back to simpler times, before the pressures of life and marriage had begun to wear them both down.

Sage, sitting beside her, was a picture of serenity. She was exactly how Reyna wanted her to be—relaxed, smiling softly at the views, occasionally glancing at Reyna with that same gentle warmth that always seemed to flicker in her eyes. She looks happy, Reyna thought, her heart lifting with the slightest of hopes.

But there was a discomfort beneath it. Something... off.

It wasn’t immediately obvious, of course. Sage was perfect, as always. Every movement, every glance, every word was exactly how it was supposed to be. But Reyna knew her too well—knew how Sage’s smiles could be slightly too tight, how her laughter could come out a little too smooth, too polished. It wasn’t just the act, either—it was something more, something harder to grasp.

Sage hadn’t been genuinely like this in a long time.

But Reyna couldn't put her finger on it. Not exactly.

When they arrived at the small, secluded cabin nestled in the woods, Reyna was quick to unload the bags from the car. She tried to put the nagging feeling aside, telling herself it was just her anxiety catching up with her. She had been so overwhelmed by work lately, and maybe the quiet of the countryside would settle her nerves.

"Everything is perfect," Reyna said with a soft sigh, standing at the door of the cabin and turning to look at Sage. She forced herself to smile, but it felt forced even to her. "I thought you'd like it here—no distractions, just us."

Sage, of course, responded exactly as she was supposed to. A flicker of delight crossed her face as she stepped into the cabin, taking in the cozy, rustic décor. Her eyes sparkled with the performance she was so skilled at giving.

"It's beautiful," Sage murmured, the warmth of the cabin’s ambiance mingling with the carefully rehearsed tenderness in her voice.

It was always like this now—Sage was always just... performing.

But Reyna smiled, and for the moment, she told herself it was enough. It had to be enough.

She watched Sage move around the cabin, her hands gently caressing the furniture, admiring the simple elegance of it all. Reyna couldn’t help but notice how... controlled everything was. The way Sage’s steps were measured, how she lifted the bags and set them down with a precise, practiced motion. There was nothing wrong with it. It was just Sage being Sage, the way she had always been. Nothing is wrong, Reyna reassured herself, swallowing the bitter knot in her throat. She’s happy.

Dinner was served by candlelight—simple, delicious, yet undeniably romantic. Sage, sitting across from Reyna, was still the picture of elegance, still performing the role of the wife who loved and adored her partner, still the woman Reyna could never quite reach. But Reyna noticed that Sage wasn’t entirely present. It was in the slight rigidity of her posture, the way she sipped her wine a little too carefully, as though every action was a conscious choice.

Sage’s laughter when Reyna told a joke felt just a little too smooth, too rehearsed, though the sound still tugged at Reyna’s heart.

"I’m glad we’re doing this," Reyna said, putting down her glass and reaching across the table to gently take Sage’s hand. "You know, I’ve missed this—just us. I want you to know how much I’m trying to make it right. I want to fix things, Sage. I really do."

Sage’s lips curved into that practiced smile, the one Reyna had seen so many times before. It was perfect. Beautiful. Nothing to worry about.

But in that moment, Reyna saw the briefest flash in Sage’s eyes—a flicker of something that wasn’t the calculated kindness Reyna had come to expect. A shadow of... disinterest? Or maybe... boredom? Reyna couldn’t quite place it.

"You don’t need to fix anything, Reyna," Sage replied softly, her thumb brushing gently over Reyna’s hand, a touch that was just enough to make her think everything was fine. "I’m happy, really. You don’t have to do this for me."

But was she? Reyna’s pulse quickened, the edge of doubt starting to gnaw at her. No, she told herself, shaking it off. It’s just your anxiety. You’re fine. Nothing’s wrong.

Sage was perfect. Sage was always perfect.

The evening wore on, the slow rhythm of the trees swaying in the night breeze offering a false sense of tranquility. The cabin had settled into the stillness of the countryside, but Reyna could feel the tension creeping in. She had no idea how to name it, but it was there. A heaviness in the air that thickened with every passing minute, a silent question that lingered just beyond the edges of her thoughts, like the shadow of something unseen.

As they sat on the porch in the quiet of the night, the world around them feeling so vast, so distant, Reyna’s mind couldn’t escape the feeling that something was unraveling inside her—something she hadn’t expected.

Sage, who had always been her center, the one who kept everything in balance, was slipping further and further from her grasp.