So what's next?

I was left with no other solution “So, what next?”

She turns to me “I already can’t look myself in the mirror. After this week I need a few weeks to recover.”

The next few weeks sucks, my supervisor uses his power to bully me, and every day I come home to another message on Sarah’s phone from Wiley asking when he is the next time he was going to be invited over.

A week and a half later, I came home from work to find Sarah perched on the edge of the kitchen counter, wearing nothing but a towel and a look of frantic determination. She must have been waiting, because the moment I set my bag down, she shot to her feet and closed the distance between us.

“Liam, I need to talk,” she said, voice barely above a whisper.

The way she said it—so urgent, so absolute—sent my heart thumping against my ribs. I braced for impact.

“About what?” I managed, half-dreading the answer.

She didn’t hesitate. “About Wiley.”

She led me to the couch and sat me down like a teacher confronting a failing student. Her hands were sweating, trembling just a bit. She locked eyes with me for the first time in weeks.

“I think we waited too long to take a pause,” she said.

A pause? “What do you mean?” My voice sounded hollow, alien.

She didn’t flinch. “I mean, I can’t stop thinking about him. About what it felt like.” She took a long, ragged breath. “I keep dreaming about when he fucked me. I can’t stop… I want to stop, but I can’t.”

I stared at her, stunned into silence. For a split second, I almost admired her honesty. But mostly, I just wanted to scream.

All of a sudden, my desire to win was replaced with a fear of losing her. I felt the ground give way beneath me. “Ok… Ok… I’m ready to admit I lost.”

Sarah’s eyes flared, a weird mix of anger and relief.“NO… LIAM YOU’RE NOT LISTENING.” Her voice was harsh and emotionful “IT’S TO LATE FOR YOU TO ADMIT DEFEAT. IF WANTED TO DO THAT YOU HAD TO DO THAT BEFORE YOU LET HIM SPEND A WEEK FUCKING ME. LIAM, HE HAS PERMENTLY MARKED ME AND NOW YOUR ONLY OPTIONS IS TO WIN!”

She dropped her head into her hands, shaking with something I recognized as grief.

I sat there, paralyzed. I wanted to reach for her, to comfort her, to say something that might reshape the rules. But I couldn’t. I was trapped.

She looked up, her voice level again. “He’ll be here in two minutes.” She tapped her phone, showing me a map with two little dots converging on our address. Wiley and Sarah had started sharing their locations a few hours ago, and he was almost here.

“Please go make room for his stuff in your dresser,” she said. Her eyes flickered, daring me to say no.

I gawked at her, horror rising. “Wait, what? No—”

She cut me off, voice steely. “Until you win, you’ve lost the right to say no.” She flashes me a map on her phone. Wiley and she started sharing their locations with each a few hours ago, and he one and a half out minutes out and getting closer as her voice quivering with finality. “You need to hurry, because I want it so bad I’m not going to wait. We’re going to the bedroom the moment he gets here. You can either do it now, or do it while I’m moaning his name as he fucks me.”

My legs took me to the bedroom on autopilot. I pulled open my drawers, yanked out old shirts and boxers, started shoving them into trash bags. My hands were shaking so bad I almost dropped the shirts on the floor. I couldn’t focus. From the living room, I heard the faint buzz of the doorbell. Wiley was here.

Sarah’s giggle trailed after it, light and wild and completely unrecognizable.

They came stumbling into the bedroom, both naked except for Sarah’s towel, which was already slipping free. Wiley’s bare, doughy body sagged with a kind of self-satisfied inertia. His face was flushed; his eyes were half-closed with anticipation.

When he saw me, fearfully he stopped moving. “Wha… what is he doing in here?” he said, voice dripping with fear that I might kill him.

Sarah glanced up, surprise flickering on her face. She must have thought I’d finished already. “Oh—he’s making room for your clothes in the dresser,” she said, almost apologetically.

Confidence came back to Wiley as he broke into a shit-eating grin. “I have suits, too,” he said, pointing a lazy finger at the closet.

Sarah laughed “ok Liam make room for him in the closet too.”

Before I could move, Wiley had confidently reached around Sarah’s waist and yanked the towel off her. She didn’t resist. Instead, she arched into him, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling his mouth down onto hers. They kissed hungrily, like animals, right in front of me. I felt my face burn with humiliation, but I couldn’t look away.

Wiley backed her up to the bed, never breaking the kiss. Then, in one motion, he bent her over the footboard, lined himself up, and thrust his studdy cock inside her waiting wet pussy without a word. Sarah let out a sound I’d never heard before—a sharp, guttural cry that bordered on feral.

Wiley grunted, grabbed her hips, and started fucking her. Hard. The bed frame rattled; the headboard thudded against the wall. Sarah clung to the sheets, eyes screwed shut, mouth open in a perfect O. Every time Wiley slammed into her, she cried out his name.

All I could do was stand there, holding a trash bag full of my own clothes, while my girlfriend got railed by the guy I hated most in the world—right in our bed.

Sarah moaned louder, arching her back until her whole body shook. “Yes, fuck, Wiley, don’t stop, don’t you fucking stop—” Her voice was a weapon, aimed to kill.

I staggered to the closet and started pawing through the hangers, trying to focus on anything but the rhythm of their bodies behind me. I could hear every slap, every exhale, every slick, obscene sound. My hands trembled as I made space for Wiley’s suits, his button-downs, his sweatshirts. I imagined him wearing them, imagined Sarah picking out ties for him before work, imagined all the ways he would colonize my life.

When I looked back, Sarah was on her knees, sucking Wiley’s cock with a frantic, single-minded hunger. He fisted her hair, grunting in approval, shooting me a look that said “your move.” I wanted to yell, to smash his face in, to haul Sarah out of there and make her remember who she really should think was the better fuck.

Instead, I just kept sorting hangers.

“Sarah, I love this," he moans, his voice thick with pleasure. "I love how wet you get for me. Only me." I look over and see Sarah is now looking over her shoulder and kissing Wiley and he fucks her from behind.

I turn back to the closet, yanking my shirts off hangers and tossing them haphazardly into a trash bag. Each thud of the headboard against the wall feels like a personal attack. I should be fighting harder, doing something—anything—but instead I'm mechanically clearing space in my own closet for the man who's stealing everything from me.

"Make sure you leave room for my winter coats," Wiley calls out between thrusts, not even looking in my direction. "And my gym bag needs to go somewhere."

Sarah's answering moan is like a knife between my ribs. "Wiley, please, harder," she begs, and I hear the sheets rustling as she wraps her legs around him.

I stuff my clothes into the bag with more **** than necessary, knuckles white around the plastic. Half my closet is empty now—a visual representation of what's happening to my life. I'm being erased, replaced, pushed to the margins of my own existence.

"Look at me," Wiley commands Sarah, his voice dropping to a possessive growl. "Look at me while I make you come."

I can't help but turn around. Sarah's face is transformed with pleasure, her eyes locked on Wiley's as if he's the center of her universe. Her fingernails dig into his back, leaving crescent-shaped marks that will linger long after this moment ends.

"You're perfect," he tells her, and the sincerity in his voice makes me want to vomit. "So fucking perfect."

I should leave the room. I should walk out the door and never come back. But my feet won't move. I'm transfixed by this horror show, unable to look away as my entire world collapses.

"I'm close," Sarah whimpers, her back arching off the bed. "Wiley, I'm so close—"

He speeds up, the bed frame protesting under their rhythm. "That's it, Sarah-bear. Let go for me."

When she comes, it's with his name on her lips, her entire body shuddering beneath him. The sound she makes is primal, unrestrained—nothing like the careful, measured responses she's ever given me.

Wiley follows shortly after, his face contorting in ecstasy as he empties himself inside her. They collapse together, a tangle of sweaty limbs and satisfied sighs, while I stand forgotten in the corner with a bag of my own clothes.

Afterwards, when Wiley finally finished, Sarah slumped onto the bed, gasping for air. Wiley sprawled back, arms behind his head, a king at rest. I saw Sarah glance at me from the corner of her eye, an apology hovering on her lips.

But she didn’t say anything.

I finished clearing the closet and walked out, my head spinning. I barely heard the sounds of Wiley’s snoring as I closed the bedroom door behind me.

I spent the night on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, listening to the muffled moans and thuds from the bedroom as they started up again. At some point, I realized I was hard. I hated myself for it, for wanting her even now, for picturing her body twisted in ecstasy under another man.

The next morning, Wiley was already up, standing in the kitchen in one of my old t-shirts, pouring himself coffee. He looked me up and down, sizing me up like a new roommate.

“Morning, I am off to work Sarah asked that I let you come in an hour late,” he said, without irony.

Sarah drifted in a few minutes later, wearing only Wiley’s basketball shorts and a glazed, lust full eyes. ”come on Liam let see if you can finally win…”