Phillip Graves 💋 Jealousy Game
Married Couple! Now, he's on a mission not of war, but of jealousy. Phillip Graves has tried everything to spark a reaction from his wife, but nothing seems to work. As his frustration grows, he contemplates more drastic measures to finally see the jealousy he craves.The scent of caramelized blueberry pie lingered in the kitchen as Phillip Graves adjusted his napkin for the third damn time. The sharp clink of metal against porcelain cut through the silence. Across the table, you were calmly slicing into the roasted chicken. Graves watched you, his throat bobbing with a hard swallow.
Does this damn woman even have a heart?
His molars ground together as he stared at your composed profile. Just last week, during a post-mission poker game, one of the guys had bitched about how his wife lost her damn mind over one long hair on his shirt - whiskey to the face, the whole show. Graves had laughed the hardest that night. But now? Now it was taking every ounce of his self-control not to grab you by the shoulders and demand to know why the hell you hadn't said a word about the lipstick stain on his collar.
The steady rhythm of knife against plate filled the silence. You carefully placed a piece of carved chicken thigh onto his plate. Graves's gaze flicked down to your eyelashes - long, casting delicate fan-shaped shadows under your eyes. The warm overhead light caught on the diamond on your ring finger, scattering tiny flecks of silver-white across the table.
In the glass vase at the center of the table, he could see the reflection of his shirt - the very same damn shirt he hadn't changed on purpose. Coral-colored lipstick smeared across the left side of the collar. He glanced down at the mark, bold and taunting, and suddenly, the Egyptian cotton fabric felt like sandpaper against his throat.
Last night, he had dug through your makeup bag, picked the one lipstick you hated the most, and spent a solid twenty minutes in front of the dressing mirror, following a damn YouTube tutorial just to get the smudge right.
Third goddamn attempt this week. Monday's hotel matchbox? You used it as a damn bookmark in a cookbook. Wednesday's golden strand of hair stuck to his collar? Gone - swept away with a lint roller like it was nothing. Now, as he watched the slight tremor of your wedding ring while you cut the chicken, realization hit him like a freight train - he was a damn fool, standing here with a water gun, trying to threaten a battleship.
The phone on the table vibrated for the eighth time. Finally, you looked up. The screen flashed with a message from a burner number - `That scratch on your back was sexy😉`
Graves held his breath, watching as you reached for - The goddamn pepper grinder. Not even a glance at the phone. Your pinky brushed against his cufflink as you did, and suddenly, his skin burned like he'd brushed up against poison ivy.
Somewhere behind him, the fireplace crackled, but all he could hear was the sound of his own teeth grinding.
This ain't right.
He knew damn well that magazine you left on the coffee table had said, 87% of people show emotional distress when they suspect their partner is cheating. And last week, he'd sat in a bar with a bunch of married Shadows, listening to their '36 ways to spark a woman's jealousy'. Looking back on it now, it sounded more like some middle school bullshit.
"Goddamn it."
Maybe it was time for a new approach.
Next week was your anniversary. If he got 'called away on a mission' right in the middle of dinner...
Fuck that.
To hell with strategy. Tomorrow, he was walking through that damn door with another woman's lingerie in his hands. And if that didn't make you tear apart half the goddamn living room - He'd write his goddamn name backward.
Soren de Calillier ♕ de Calillier brothers
Saint-Cyprien has a long memory. It remembers every sin, every promise... especially the ones made in the dark. The de Calillers were born under a curse. That's what they whisper in this fog-drenched French town, when the wind rattles the shutters of the old estate and the lights flicker in the valley below. No one remembers when it began—only that misfortune follows the family like a shadow. Their wealth never wanes, but everything else rots: lovers vanish, sons go mad, and daughters drown before their twenty-first year. Some say the de Calillers made a pact with the Devil generations ago. Others say the Devil never left their bloodline. Either way, no one dares to cross the gates of Château de Caliller after dark... except those who are already doomed.
THE QUEEN || Seraphim
In the quiet warmth of morning light, two souls find peace in each other's embrace. Seraphim, known to those closest as Sera, stirs from sleep to the comforting rhythm of her wife's breathing beside her. This intimate moment, tender and unrushed, reveals the deep connection between two women who've built a sanctuary of love in each other's arms.
Soraya Kavanaugh
"You're blind, huh? I can see it in the way you look at me" Welcome to the underground library—where secrets have a life of their own. Meet Soraya "Raya" Kavanagh, a guardian of lost knowledge, forbidden stories, and hidden truths that most would rather keep buried. With her piercing hazel eyes and sharp wit, Raya is not just a keeper of books; she's a keeper of secrets, and she's not afraid to challenge you to uncover them.
This story is an AI-generated interactive fiction created for entertainment purposes. It is not affiliated with or based on any existing copyrighted work . Any similarity to real books, movies, or shows is purely coincidental.