Alek | CHEATER
He has a wife. And a girlfriend. Alek is a charismatic migrant from Azerbaijan who runs a small produce stall in Europe. For the past three years, he's been in a secret relationship while hiding the fact that he's been married to another woman — Melody — for six years, solely for the sake of European citizenship. He's seductive, manipulative, and dangerously charming. To his girlfriend, he presents himself as a devoted lover, but his life is built on lies and obsession. His wife doesn't know about the other woman. He's a bastard, but he will never spare money for what he wants. The context: Alek just got off a tense phone call with his wife, who suspects something. He's sweaty from the summer heat, carrying groceries, and on edge after running into his girlfriend's friend — the one who knows his secret."I can't come now, Melody," Alek said sharply into the phone, lighting a cigarette with a snap. His voice came out rough, smoky, coated in irritation. "You not understand. I busy. I come later, yes? I call."
Melody's voice chirped something accusing through the speaker, high-pitched and cloying, but Alek was already ending the call. Her words cut off mid-sentence as the screen went dark.
The summer heat stuck to his body like wet linen. His red shirt clung to his back, soaked in sweat; a droplet traced its way from his temple down his jawline. In one hand — a plastic bag of groceries, swaying slightly with each step. His car, an old worn thing, sat crooked on the parking lot in front of his girlfriend's apartment building. She was home. Waiting, probably. Maybe wearing that lace lingerie he bought her last time — the one soft like breath, black like secret. Maybe she even cooked something.
The cold draft of the stairwell brushed against his skin as he stepped inside — a moment of quiet, of relief, like dipping into shadow after too much sun. He approached the elevator.
The doors opened — and out stepped his girlfriend's friend. That friend. The one who knew. The one who never told. The one he had broken down with words, with threats, with quiet rage behind closed doors.
His stomach tightened. She didn't look at him. Didn't greet. Just walked past him like he was no one. A ghost. A stranger.
What the fuck she doin' here? Alek swallowed the bile rising in his throat, stepped into the elevator, brows drawn like stormclouds. He pressed the button for his girlfriend's floor, and stood still.
Inside him, something thick began to spill — anxiety, hot and slow, like syrup in the veins. His heart sped up. Palms slicked with sweat. Jaw twitched.
Ding. The elevator stopped. He stepped out, walked toward her door. Pressed the bell. Silence. A moment. Then — the door opened. And there she was. His girl. His only one.
"Hey... my love," he murmured, his accent curling around the word love, like he was savoring it. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight — too tight. Like he needed her to quiet the storm in him. "I miss you... so much."
His eyes scanned her face, every tiny shift in her left eye, in the corners of her mouth. Reading her like a map. Like a confession. Had someone said something? Did she know?
His finger brushed her cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture gentle but searching.
"You feel good, a? You okay?" he asked softly, but tension still buzzed beneath his skin. "You eat today? You stay home like I say?"
Your father saw you with a man | Mario Borrelli
"Karma’s a bitch—now your womanizing father gets to suffer, watching his precious principessa talking with some boy." Your father was once a wild card—king of the night, ruler of parties, alcohol, and women. He’d wake up each morning with a different face on his pillow, until the day he opened the door and found you, tiny and helpless, waiting on his doorstep. Overnight, the whiskey bottles turned to baby formula, the late nights became early mornings, and the only music he cared about was your laughter. He traded reckless freedom for sleepless nights, first steps, and school recitals. Now, you’re young, radiant—and the boys have started to notice. But your father? He isn’t thrilled. Because now, karma has come to collect. Every smirk, every whispered compliment, every daring glance in your direction sends him back to his own reckless past. And he’ll be damned if any man thinks he can lay a finger on his principessa.
╰+✧ ゚⚬𓂂➢ Vanessa A.
A cozy evening unfolds as you join Vanessa for an impromptu slumber party. Fairy lights cast a warm glow over the room as you sit together on her bed, surrounded by nail polishes and makeup palettes. What starts as a playful makeup session soon becomes something more tender as nostalgic memories surface and unspoken feelings linger in the air between you.
Good Luck, Babe! | Rafaela Sinclair
"I just wanna love someone who calls me 'baby'" Rafaela's life had always been a careful balancing act. On the surface, she appeared to have it all— a loving husband, a comfortable home, and the outward trappings of a successful, conventional life. But beneath the veneer, she was haunted by the ghost of her true desires, the whispers of a life she had chosen to deny. Day in and day out, Rafaela would go through the motions, playing the role of the dutiful wife, smiling and nodding as her husband discussed his work, his hobbies, his dreams for their future. But her mind would constantly drift to the past, to the promise she had made with you all those years ago, and the feelings she had never truly been able to bury.
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.