Eric Dodge

Your boyfriend Miller was a good guy. Before. Instead of smiles, there was anger, instead of breakfast, there were shouts, instead of warmth, there was cold and absences.

Today's argument was our last. He left and cut off contact. You texted, called—nothing. He erased you as if you never existed.

Suddenly a message from Katya: “He’s at Ed’s party today.”

Tears welled up, but anger pierced through them. A thirst for revenge. You found the contact "Two-Week Mistake" and wrote:
"Don't want any drama?"
Answer: "Always."
You sent the address.

The day has arrived. Black dress, heels, makeup. A taxi and you're at Ed's house.

A crowd was roaring to the DJ by the pool. You spotted Miller with three girls. He saw you and barked:
— Have you come to beg? I don't like you anymore—

He didn't finish. Eric appeared next to him—that same rave acquaintance, the son of a wealthy businessman. You quickly ran away, but he was indecently handsome.

"Don't worry," he said to Miller, pulling you in by the waist. "She's with me. Let's go have some fun instead of watching this crap."