Chapter 1: The Seduction Trap Turns Deadly

To break up with my girlfriend, I got my buddy Travis Owens to seduce her.

Even now, I can’t believe how far I was willing to go just to dodge an awkward conversation. Some guys just ghost, some send a text. Me? I went for the nuclear option—I don’t know, call it cowardice, call it creative, whatever—you get the idea. Looking back, it’s the kind of move you only pull if you think you’re untouchable.

When the two of them checked into a hotel room, I hid in the closet, ready to catch her in the act—get proof she was cheating.

I remember my heart hammering in my chest, the smell of hotel carpet and old wood in the closet, my phone slick in my palm. I could see my breath in the dark. I’d done this before, but the thrill never got old. Not until tonight.

But then my girlfriend pulled out a hammer and caved Travis’s head in…

The sound—sharp, wet, final—made my stomach drop. The kind of noise that makes your insides turn, even if you’ve never heard it before. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even blink. In that instant, every dumb scheme I’d ever pulled felt like child’s play compared to what I was seeing now.

Let me back up.

It was one of those neon-soaked Friday nights at The Hideout, the kind of place where everyone’s pretending to be someone else, at least for a few hours. The air was thick with laughter, spilled beer, and the low thump of a cover band. I was halfway through a whiskey sour when she walked in, and honestly, it was like the whole bar shifted when she walked in.

Anyone who’s ever been to a bar knows people go there to cut loose, to chase that wild, reckless thrill. Some folks dance till they drop, some sing until their voices are shot.

The regulars were already deep into their routines—karaoke queens, pool sharks, the guy at the end of the bar who always claimed he used to play for the Cubs. But Lillian didn’t fit in with any of them. She moved through the crowd like she was untouchable, like she didn’t even feel the heat in the room.

And then there’s guys like me. I’m not here to dance or sing—I’m here for the game. Guys chasing girls, girls chasing guys, all just to scratch that itch.

It’s a hunt, really. I’d long ago perfected the art of the casual approach, the friendly banter, the slow escalation. You learn to read the room, spot the ones looking for trouble and the ones just looking to forget.

I’m a seasoned bar veteran. This is my turf.

I could tell you what drink someone would order before they even made it to the counter. I knew when to lean in, when to back off, and when to disappear altogether. The bar was my natural habitat, and I wore it like a second skin.

Of course, I’m not one of those creeps lurking by the entrance, waiting to pounce on drunk girls. A real hunter goes for both the body and the heart.

I prided myself on subtlety. No cheesy pickup lines. No desperate moves. Just a slow burn, a little mystery, a lot of patience. It’s not about the chase—it’s about the dance.

The moment Lillian walked in, she caught my eye. She was gorgeous, sure, but it was her vibe that hooked me.

There was something about the way she held herself—shoulders back, eyes scanning the room but never lingering. She looked like she belonged somewhere else, like this was all just a pit stop on her way to something bigger.

Cool and distant, with this untouched, almost angelic aura.

Not the type to laugh too loud or flirt for attention. She had a quiet confidence that drew people in without even trying. It was like she was lit from within, a little out of reach, and that made her all the more magnetic.

A woman like that, you gotta take it slow—come on too strong and she’ll be gone.

So I waited. Ordered another drink, watched her out of the corner of my eye. I let her notice me first—just a glance, just enough. Timing is everything with women like Lillian.

Forty days. I counted. It took me forty days to win Lillian over.

That’s not an exaggeration. I counted every text, every late-night phone call, every carefully planned coincidence. It was a slow burn, but when she finally let her guard down, it felt like winning the lottery.

But to me, women are like mystery boxes—most exciting before you open them. Once you do, the thrill fades.

I know it sounds callous, but that’s how it was. I craved the chase, not the prize. Once the mystery was gone, so was my interest. It’s a flaw, I’ll admit, but it’s honest.

So yeah, none of my relationships ever made it past three months. Lillian was no different.

Three months was my limit—always. By then, the spark was gone, replaced by routine. I’d start to feel trapped, restless, itching for the next thrill.

By habit, I’d have my buddy Travis seduce my girlfriend, whatever it took—just as long as they wound up in bed.

It sounds twisted, I know. But Travis was my go-to guy—he never failed, and he never asked questions. He knew the drill: play the part, get the footage, and walk away. It was just what we did.

Once they did the deed, I’d show my girlfriend the video I’d recorded and break up with her, acting all righteous.

I’d play the victim, let her believe she was the one who screwed up. It made the breakup clean, no messy emotions or awkward run-ins afterward. I always came out looking like the good guy.

That way, I’d have the moral high ground, and she wouldn’t try to blow up my phone or get back together afterward.

It was self-preservation, really. I hated drama, hated being the bad guy. This way, I could walk away guilt-free, or at least pretend to.

But I never expected things to go sideways this time.

With Lillian, everything felt different from the start. I should’ve known she wouldn’t play by the usual rules. The air in the closet felt thick, suffocating, like the world had gone still.

What happened next was way beyond anything I could’ve imagined!

I’d seen my share of crazy, but nothing—nothing—prepared me for what came next. My whole body tensed. I waited for the other shoe to drop.

The plan started off perfectly.

I’d mapped out every step, from the fake business trip to the staged argument. It was textbook, the same routine I’d run a dozen times before.

A week earlier, I’d started ignoring Lillian on purpose. After picking a fight with her, I pretended to go on a two-week business trip and completely ghosted her.

I even left my suitcase by the door for effect. Tossed a few shirts in, made it look real. She bought it—at least, I thought she did. I wanted her off-balance, unsure of herself, maybe even a little desperate.

Of course, the trip was fake. The whole point was to disappear so I could set up the next phase.

I spent those days crashing at Travis’s place, playing Xbox and waiting for the right moment. Every text I ignored was another brick in the wall between us.

Lillian’s the type who’s proud and reserved, but once you win her over, she burns hot—like an old house catching fire, impossible to put out.

She was all in, once she let herself be. Every date, every conversation, she gave it her full attention. I could tell she wasn’t used to being left hanging.

She might not have loved me, but she had plenty of pride. My cold shoulder shattered that.

There’s nothing quite like being ignored by someone you care about. It stings, and for someone like Lillian, it probably felt like a slap in the face.

In her disappointment, she started doubting herself.

I could see it in her last few texts—short, hesitant, almost apologetic. It was working. Or so I thought.

That’s when Travis showed up.

He’s got that bad-boy look—buzz cut, deep-set eyes, built like a linebacker. And there’s this subtle air of money about him. The kind of guy girls call a catch.

If you put him in a leather jacket and dropped him in a movie, he’d be the guy who steals the girl and rides off on a Harley. He knew how to turn on the charm, and women ate it up.

Maybe a guy like that gave Lillian the urge to prove herself, to get her confidence back.

I figured she’d want to prove she could still pull a guy like him. That she wasn’t broken by me. It was all psychology—a game of pride and rebound.

The two of them hit it off fast.

Too fast, honestly. Within a day, they were texting late at night. By the second day, she was laughing at his jokes, leaning in a little too close. I watched it all play out from the sidelines, smug and detached.

In less than three days, they were booking a hotel room.

Travis texted me the details—Crestview Hotel, five-star suite, check-in at noon. Everything was falling into place. For a second, I almost felt bad.

The room was reserved that morning—a five-star suite at the Crestview Hotel. After Travis messaged me, I hid in the closet ahead of time.

I’d snuck in early, ducked past the cleaning staff, and wedged myself behind the coats and extra pillows. My nerves were buzzing, but I told myself it was just another job.

As soon as they walked in, they started making out.

No preamble, no awkward small talk. Lillian practically tackled Travis onto the bed, her hands everywhere. It was almost animalistic, like she’d been waiting for this moment.