Chapter 9: Jealousy, Power, and Guilt

Marcus took my black card and started helping with my dad’s business mess—fielding awkward calls, sorting spreadsheets, even arranging lawyer meetings. I had billions in assets, gorgeous men, and mansions. Even a disposable side girl can have her moment!

I was about to check in at a boutique with my new designer bag when I spotted Aubrey Summers—with Marcus.

I still had to wait in line for the matcha mousse, but they were already eating theirs.

While Aubrey talked to Marcus, he leaned in, listening intently. Like he really cared.

I texted Marcus: [See you at the apartment.]

It was a small place I’d bought near campus, where I’d had Marcus come clean a few times.

As soon as he came in, I slapped him.

He didn’t dodge, just looked at me in silence.

My throat tightened. Why did it sting so much to see him with her?

No words for me, but so many for the main girl?

He was even holding the matcha mousse I wanted.

I snorted, “Didn’t finish it?”

Before he could answer, I kicked the cake out of his hand.

Grabbing his collar, I forced him to bend down and look at me.

He lowers his head so patiently for the main girl, but stands so straight with me?

He said, “You saw.”

Marcus’s voice was low and hoarse, hiding something.

“What else do you have to say?”

I interrogated him. So unprofessional about our contract.

At least I’m your sugar mama, right? Can’t you at least pretend to please me?

He actually went behind my back to eat matcha mousse with someone else, before I even got to try it.

He still didn’t speak.

I kissed him fiercely.

He frowned, but didn’t push me away.

I secretly laughed. This guy knows the difference between a single matcha mousse and endless desserts.

I pulled up his shirt, running my hands over his chest and abs, then lower…

…

Marcus often stared at me with furrowed brows, as if thinking I was terrible.

I couldn’t tell if it was dislike or disgust.

His gaze was hot, almost scalding.

Even though I was the one playing with him, it always felt like I was the one being toyed with.

So I had to be bad, had to vent.

I’m a supporting character. I don’t need to be gentle, graceful, or act like a main character.

I can be bad. I can be arrogant.

But when I was tired and sleepy, I saw Marcus cleaning up the cake I’d kicked onto the floor.

It was a whole matcha mousse, now a sticky mess.

Watching him scoop up the mess, something sharp and sour twisted in my chest. For a second, guilt burned under my skin, but I buried it beneath a practiced toss of my hair.