The truth didn't hit like thunder. It crept in—quiet, cold, and cruel.
Troy stood at the edge of the faculty corridor, his tall frame pressed against the wall's shadowed side. The light from Professor Lennox's office spilled across the tiled floor like a guilty confession. Inside, the moans had faded, but the heat still clung to the glass.
He hadn't meant to see it. He was just walking by—on his way to turn in a late assignment—and the door was slightly ajar. Just enough.
Her voice stopped him.
Serra.
Sabrina's best friend.
The one who always looked at him too long. The one who bit her lip when he passed by. The one who hugged him too tight whenever Sabrina wasn't looking.
Now, she was on Lennox's desk—half-naked, legs still curled at the edge, blouse hanging loose, her lipstick smudged and mouth curved into a dangerous smile. Lennox stood across from her, straightening his tie like he hadn't just broken every rule in the university's code of conduct.
"Think I earned that A now?" she teased, voice husky, shameless.
Lennox chuckled. "You earned more than that, Serra."
Troy stepped back, the air in his lungs suddenly heavier. He shouldn't care. Serra wasn't his problem.
But what she said next cracked something inside him.
"She told me you were amazing," Serra giggled. "Sabrina said she couldn't walk for a day after you took her to that hotel downtown."
Troy's heartbeat went silent.
She?
Sabrina.
His girlfriend. His everything. The same girl who told him she had "a headache" that night, who left his texts on read, who swore she was home watching Grey's Anatomy with her sister.
She lied.
She cheated.
She told her best friend about it.
Troy turned and walked away slowly, jaw clenched, vision burning.
Back at his dorm, the world spun. Memories clawed their way out: Sabrina's laugh when she stole his hoodie. Her voice whispering "Promise me you'll never hurt me". Her eyes when she told him he was different—the one.
Lies. Every damn word.
He opened her Instagram. There she was, smiling at brunch with Serra, as if nothing mattered. As if she hadn't just crushed him like some temporary thing.
Then it hit him. A slow, venomous thought.
If she could play with fire, so could he.
He scrolled through her followers.
Serra.
The sister—Tasha.
The mother—glamorous, flirtatious, always too curious about him.
And the aunt—Sharice, only 32, a wine-drunk flirt at every family function.
Revenge didn't need to be loud. It just needed to taste sweet.
And he was done being sweet.
The next morning, campus looked the same, but Troy wasn't the same.
He spotted Serra near the library steps, dressed in a tiny beige crop top, jeans that clung to her like a secret, sunglasses pushed up into her curls. She laughed with her friends, but her eyes tracked him the second he walked by.
He paused, giving her a nod, just enough to say: I saw you.
She raised a brow, intrigued. "Hey… Troy."
He smiled, slow and wicked. "Good morning, Serra. Sleep well?"
She hesitated for a moment, eyes narrowing as if searching for hidden meaning in his tone. "Eventually," she said with a smirk. "Had a late… meeting."
"I heard." He leaned in, lowering his voice. "Hope it was worth the grade."
Serra's lips parted in a brief, surprised laugh—then she stepped closer, her perfume catching the breeze between them. "Are you… mad about it?" she asked softly.
"No," Troy said, holding her gaze. "But I'm curious what else you'd do for an A."
Serra's cheeks flushed. She tilted her head. "You always this bold?"
"Only when I see something I want."
A beat passed. Electricity thickened in the air. For a second, she looked like she might kiss him right there on the steps—but instead, she ran her fingers down his arm and whispered, "Careful, Troy. You might get burned."
He watched her walk away, hips swaying with a confidence she didn't have yesterday.
Perfect.
Later that evening, he found Sabrina alone on the quad, sitting under the tree where they first kissed. She looked up at him, uncertain, her eyes glimmering with guilt she tried to hide.
"Troy," she said. "Can we talk?"
He sat beside her, calm, unreadable. "Talk about what?"
"I… I messed up. It wasn't supposed to mean anything. It was just…" She trailed off, blinking rapidly.
He tilted his head. "Just fun?"
She nodded slowly. "It didn't change how I feel about you."
That line—how I feel about you—sounded so rehearsed now. So hollow.
"Serra thinks he's amazing too," he said, watching her expression freeze.
She blinked. "What?"
"Oh yeah," Troy said, standing. "I watched her finish thanking him for an A yesterday. Thought you should know your bestie takes after you."
Sabrina's mouth opened, but no words came.
Troy stepped away, not waiting for a response. He wasn't done yet. Not even close.
That night, his phone buzzed.
Serra:
So… dinner? Or are you just going to keep teasing me on the steps like a bad boy with a plan?
Troy smirked at the screen.
Troy:
Tomorrow. Wear red. And don't be late. I'm a very demanding teacher.
Serra:
Is that your version of foreplay?
Troy:
No. That comes later.
She sent back a devil emoji.
He set his phone down, eyes gleaming in the dark.
Tomorrow, he'd begin.
One by one.
Piece by piece.
If love was a game to Sabrina, he'd show her just how dangerous a player he could be.