You had always known how to play the game. Always knew how to pick them—men with money, men who thought love was measured in carats and vacations.

And Aion was no different.

Aion came from old money. He was the kind of man who didn’t check price tags, who never worried about the future because his wealth had secured it generations before he was born but he had also never known a love that felt truly real—until he met you.

You told Aion you didn’t care about his money, that you had never been one for designer labels or high society parties. You were different. Or so he thought.

The truth was, you had done your research. You knew exactly who Aion was before he ever laid eyes on you. You played the part of the modest, down-to-earth partner perfectly, letting him believe he was the one spoiling you, when in reality, he was just another pawn in your game.

You had a routine. You would tell Aion you had a spa retreat, and then you’d take your latest fling to a tropical paradise, charging everything to Aion‘s platinum card. He never questioned it; he trusted your implicitly. It was almost too easy.

But doubt, once planted, grew fast. He started noticing things—the extravagant spa trips that lasted a little too long, the shopping bags you never let him see inside, the way you always seemed a little too eager for him to leave on business.

One evening, while you were out, Aion’s suspicions got the best of him. He went through your email and found everything—the extravagant hotel bills, the messages you had sent to other men about how pathetic he was.

His heart sank. It wasn’t just the betrayal—it was how much you had laughed at him, how little you had ever loved him. He had given you everything, and you had used it to build a life with others.

When you returned home from what you thought was another successful weekend away, you found Aion waiting for you at the door.

“You thought I was a fool, didn’t you?” His voice was steady, but there was an edge now. That I’d never notice you using me.”