My best friend tagged me under some thirst-trap guy's post.

[Holy crap, he looks exactly like your ex!]

I thought she was joking around, but the more I looked at the half-naked muscle guy, the more familiar he seemed.

[What a coincidence. He IS my ex.]

After Oliver Holden and I broke up, I blocked him on everything.

It turned out he had started posting thirst traps online instead.

He dumped a lot of money into boosting his videos. Eventually, my best friend stumbled across him.

The bad news was that he also stumbled across my response video.

Experts say women should spend more time looking at muscular men.

It was hard to argue with that, especially when it was said by real experts.

And I wasn't even freeloading. I was helping the guy gain traffic, too.

At midnight, my best friend, Bridget Poe, sent me a thirst-trap video from an account named "elaire" and demanded a full review.

I tapped the video open.

The room was dim, lit by a single mood lamp behind him.

The man kneeled on the floor with his hands tied behind his back, chest pushed forward. A black lace blindfold covered most of his face, leaving only the sharp line of his jaw…and lips barely holding onto a loosened tie.

The red silk shirt stretched tight across his chest like the buttons were fighting for their lives.

Lower down, defined abs faded in and out beneath the shadows, his waist tense like a drawn bow.

The whole thing radiated restrained power, like he might snap the ropes at any second.

Damn. No wonder he blew up.

I snorted and started typing.

[I'm not desperate, okay? I'm simply a fan of pretty aesthetics. Any guy willing to make an effort scores points with me. That's just how it works!]

After replaying the video a few times, something started feeling off.

That tiny mole beside his Adam's apple, the mark on his collarbone that looked suspiciously like a bite scar...

Then Bridget's verdict popped up.

[Holy crap, he looks exactly like your ex!]

I exited the video and replied, [What a coincidence. He IS my ex.]

The bite mark on Oliver's collarbone was my final act of resistance after he had absolutely wrecked me in bed.

But I definitely didn't remember biting him that hard…

Wait. That wasn't the point!

Why was I lying awake having a meltdown at midnight while Oliver was online seducing the entire internet?

My phone immediately blew up with a nonstop barrage of question marks and "no ways" from Bridget.

I lazily typed back, [Can't even hate. He's got the face, the body, and the skills to back it up.]

Ten minutes later, Bridget forwarded me another video. That traitor actually screenshotted our chat and posted it on TikTok.

The comments section was a disaster:

[Okay but HOW good are we talking? Elaborate.]

[Waiting for the ex-girlfriend review!]

Then, a familiar username got pushed straight to the top.

[So why did you break up?]

I stared at the comment, fingers trembling as I typed back.

[Because I was afraid I'd wear you out.]

Three seconds later, "elaire" replied.

[Wanna put that theory to the test?]

Oliver and I were college classmates. We broke up five years ago.

To everyone else, I always said the same thing: he talked too little and did too much in bed. I couldn't keep up.

Honestly, that wasn't even a lie.

Oliver was efficient in every possible sense of the word.

He barely spoke, and he always buttoned his shirts all the way to the top, conservative enough to look like he belonged in another century.

At first, I fell for that cold, untouchable image of his.

I pursued him for an entire year.

During sophomore year, our law school held a debate competition, and Oliver led the opposing team. He dismantled our side so thoroughly that we barely had room to breathe.

Something about his calm, deliberate tone and his gold-rimmed glasses completely did me in.

After the match, my teammate glared at me in disgust. "Unbelievable. You saw a handsome guy and lost all critical thinking skills."

I barely heard him.

I was already hovering beside Oliver, asking for his number. After a painfully long silence, he turned me down.

But I was a modern woman. If I wanted something, I went after it.

So I started wooing him shamelessly, cornering him whenever I could and testing his limits at every opportunity.

Oliver was both easy and impossible to pursue.

He had the looks, the family background, the grades, everything. And yet, his entire brain seemed permanently occupied by studying.

To win him over, I practically moved into the library with him.

After one full year of relentless persistence, on the 306th time I sat directly across from him with terrifying accuracy...

He finally looked up and asked, "Do you really like me that much?"

I nodded immediately, swallowing hard while staring at the chest muscles visible beneath his collar.

"I really do."

The good news was that I got him.

And my taste was exactly as excellent as I thought it would be. Oliver looked lean in clothes and unfairly good without them.

The bad news was that once Oliver finally got a taste of sex, he made up for lost time fast.

By the third month of dating, he had already lured me back to his place.

After that, we lived in complete shameless bliss.

I thought we would end up like one of those inspirational stories about genius couples conquering the world together.

Instead, things crashed and burned like some messy soap opera.

On graduation day, Oliver's parents came to see me with a contract in hand. One played the villain, the other played the reasonable one. They took turns wearing me down.

By the end of it, my pride had been ground straight into the dirt.

The next day, I gave them exactly what they wanted and broke up with him.

Oliver stood there in silence for a long time, his jaw tight, his eyes so dark that they felt deep enough to drown in.

Then, he turned and walked away.

I had always been the type who knew when to let go.

That same day, I blocked Oliver on every platform and disappeared to another city.

That [Wanna put that theory to the test?] from Oliver completely ruined my state of mind for the entire night.

In my dream, Oliver dragged me back by the ankle and spent the whole night putting me through every possible variation imaginable.

If I didn't believe so firmly in science, I would've suspected Oliver was a literal incubus, specializing in draining people dry.

I showed up at work with dark circles under my eyes and barely made it to my desk before my boss dragged me into a meeting.

Two hours in, I was fighting for my life, trying to stay awake.

My manager, Alan Noble, rambled on passionately at the front of the room. When he noticed me nodding off every few seconds, he said sarcastically, "Claire, thank you so much for the enthusiastic support."

My brain short-circuited, and I answered automatically, "You're welcome. Keep up the good work."

Alan's face darkened instantly, but thankfully, he finally ended the meeting.

My work bestie, Tracy Parkinson, immediately slid over beside me, eyes sparkling with gossip.

"What insanely hot muscle guy kept you up all night this time? And you didn't even share?"

That video probably wouldn't survive workplace HR policies.

"Don't ask. I got haunted."

I collapsed across my desk, feeling emotionally and spiritually drained.

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed Alan walking in with a group of people. The man leading them looked alarmingly familiar.

Oliver wore a perfectly tailored suit that screamed expensive. Every strand of hair looked carefully styled into place.

His gaze drifted lazily across the office, paused on my face for exactly one second, then moved on as if nothing had happened.

At least, it would've looked casual if not for the almost invisible smile at the corner of his mouth.

Damn it. Speak of the devil.

It was the middle of the day, and there he was.

Everything about Oliver radiated polished elite professionalism. He was courteous, restrained, and flawlessly mannered with everyone he spoke to.

And yet I still felt a terrible sense of danger creeping up my spine, enough to make me instinctively edge closer to Tracy.

After the introductions ended, he spoke, his voice low and smooth, while the words themselves nearly froze my blood solid.

"To improve communication efficiency, I'll need complete documentation for the Brookfield Enterprise acquisition case. I'd also appreciate a dedicated point of contact from your company...

"Claire. Long time no see."

Damn you, Oliver.

Alan's eyes lit up instantly as he waved me over.

"Right, of course! You and Claire went to school together, right? That makes things easy. Claire's more than capable of handling this."

Noticing I still hadn't moved, he pulled out his phone on the spot.

"Come on, Claire. Save Mr. Holden's number. From now on, if he needs anything, it goes straight to the top of your list."

I got shoved toward them and reluctantly opened the QR scanner on my phone.

Beep!

My screen instantly jumped straight into my old chat history with Oliver. My hand jerked violently, and I hurriedly flipped the phone facedown while forcing a polite smile.

Oliver lowered his eyes, catching every second of my reaction. A faint trace of amusement curved at the corner of his mouth.

"Looking forward to working with you again, Claire."