Fuckboy mode

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POV: Bible

 "I think... I'm in love..."

Bible blinked at the empty kitchen. "YOU THINK?!" he barked out loud like a madman, shaking his protein shake so violently it started foaming like a damn rabid dog.

"I also 'think' a lot, Jes. I think about what to eat. I think about what shirt hides my hickeys. I think about how stupid you are for dropping that bomb right after rearranging my entire spinal structure."

He opened the blender. It hissed like it agreed with him.

"HOW ABOUT JUST—not—saying 'I love you' after you impaled me repeatedly like a Roman gladiator possessed by the devil himself?! You bastard of a husband! Fake! FAKE!! I AM TELLING YOU!!"

He slammed the lid on his shake.

The sun was barely up, and Bible already needed therapy. His legs were jelly, his ass was crying for justice, and his heart? His heart was doing something weird, and he hated it.

When Jes had casually mumbled "I think I'm in love" and then said "Sorry babe, I gotta head to work" like that wasn't a life-altering sentence, Bible had nearly dragged him to the car himself like, "Go. Please. Leave me alone."

Now he stood there, shaking his drink like it owed him money.

"Great. Now I'm stuck alone with my stupid emotions, a sore ass, and a banana-flavored shake that tastes like betrayal."

Love? He didn't know. Rage? Yes. Confusion? 100%. Regret? ...Maybe just a little. Wanting him back home already? —Shut up, heart. Don't you dare.

He slumped back into the chair like a man defeated by life. The house was too quiet. The kitten yawned in the corner, stretching like it hadn't witnessed absolute sin the night before. Bible stared out the window, jaw slack, eyes glassy, brain buffering.

"...I can't believe I let him do those things to me..." he whimpered, face diving into his folded arms like a tragic little Victorian widow.

Then suddenly, from deep within: "AAAAAAAH!!!" he screamed into the table.

Even the kitten blinked, mildly concerned.

Just thinking about it gave him the shivers. His body still remembered. Every damn inch of it. 

What the hell happened to hating Jes? What happened to standing his ground, to not being horny for a man who made him want to punch drywall every five minutes?

"Am I broken? Is this a kink? Do I need help? Wait—do I like him?"

He peeked over his arms like the answer might be floating outside with the wind.

"...Ugh," he groaned and flopped back against the chair. "I'm not built for emotional confusion." He stared dramatically out the window again.

A few minutes later, Bible straightened up with the resolve of a man rising from the ashes of a very compromising position. He rolled his shoulders, flexed his sore-but-still-sexy arm muscles, and strutted over to his wardrobe.

He needed armor.

Not emotional healing. Not therapy. Not closure.

No—he needed his red leather jacket.

He threw the doors open . His eyes scanned for salvation—flash, fire, attitude. Something that screamed, "I still run this game even after getting emotionally and physically destroyed by my fake-ass husband."

Red leather jacket: found. Black Calvin Klein underwear: secured. Tight black trousers that fit like sin itself: oh yes. He slipped them on like slipping back into power. A bit of gel through his black hair, styled just right.Ear piercings gleaming like tiny middle fingers to vulnerability.

He checked himself in the mirror and smirked. "Damn. You look like you have ten girlfriends from ten different countries," he said, clicking his tongue and winking at his reflection.

Bible grabbed his phone, struck a pose with his best 'I-don't-need-you-I'm-just-hot' energy, and snapped a selfie.

He uploaded it straight to Instagram, slapping on a smooth, moody R&B track. Caption:

"i wish that we were laying in the same sheets girl, but lately you be barely calling, babe coming hoooome... 🎶"

Let Jes see it. Let everyone see it. He felt untouchable. Hot. Dangerous.

Fuckboy mode: Activated.

"Enough is enough," he said to no one, fixing his collar. If he was going down, he was going down looking like the hottest heartbreak in the city.

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"SHIIIIIIA! Bible, where are you going? Did I miss the invite to some underground hot party?!" Mio called out dramatically across their usual chipped plastic table at the noodle dive they always hit after a meltdown.

Bible clicked his tongue and dropped into the seat like a fallen angel returning to earth. "Relax. I just needed to remind the city I still exist," he said, flipping his hair with the kind of energy that screamed don't ask me how last night went unless you want to cry or die.

Mio squinted, leaning closer. "You look different," he said, suspicious. "And I don't mean the outfit."

His brother, casually sipping on bubble tea, gave him a side-eye. "Yeah, why you walkin' like someone shoved a stick up your ass and you forgot to take it out?"

Everyone laughed, except Bible.

"Shut up," Bible hissed, attacking his noodles. But no matter how salty the broth, his mind was louder. Replaying that look Jes had given him—focused, crazed, like Bible was both his last meal and his favorite prayer. It made him shiver... blush... and want to punch a wall.

"I mean, I would be obsessed with me too," he muttered to himself, twirling noodles. "But the man looked like he was planning our third child mid-thrust. That's not love. That's demonic."

"Girl, are you okay?" Mio whispered, nudging his arm gently.

"No," Bible said calmly, chopsticks hovering mid-air, eyes glazed. "I think I'm in danger."

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POV: Jes

"Don't tell me..." Job pointed a finger at Jes as he slid into the seat across from him. "You fucked him." His eyes were wide with disbelief.

Jes blinked, caught off guard. "Wait—how do you know?"

"The afterglow," Job said dryly, motioning at Jes's face like it was obvious. "And the hickey, genius." He jabbed his finger at Jes's neck. Jes calmly tugged up his collar and scribbled something on his notepad, playing it cool.

"Unbelievable," Job muttered, leaning back with a sigh. "You're really doing this. Still sticking to that damn plan?"

Jes didn't answer right away. His pen paused mid-sentence. His brows tightened.

"I... I don't know anymore." He stared at the page, but his mind was somewhere else. "I actually like him. A lot. He's bratty as hell, sure, but... he makes me feel things I haven't sorted out yet. And that scares me." His voice dropped.

"But then there's my dad. I promised him I'd take over. Both companies. Including Wichapas'."

Job raised a brow. "And you seriously think Bible's just gonna hand it over?"

Jes looked up, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. "He will," he said quietly. Then after a beat: "Either because he loves me blindly... or because he hates me enough to throw it at me just to get me out of his life."

Job shook his head. "That's cold. Even for you."

Jes didn't argue. He tapped the pen against his lip. "At first, it was simple. He was annoying. Hard to get close to. But now... I have him right where I wanted. And I hate that It bothers me. I hate that—" He cut himself off.

"Playing with his feelings?" Job said. Jes nodded, jaw tightening.

"Yeah. But now it's too late. Even if I act like this whole plan never existed... it did. And it was my intention from the start." He looked down again. "That's what makes it so shitty."

He took a breath. "Maybe I should tell him. Tell him why I married him. And then... tell him that it's different now. That I actually care." He glanced at Job. "How would you react if you were him?"

Job didn't miss a beat. "I'd hate you to the core." Jes winced. "No sugarcoating it. That's egoistic as hell. You lied to him about something huge. About why you're with him. That cuts deep."

Then, more gently: "But you still have to tell him. It's the truth." He leaned forward.

"You've got two choices. Either you risk telling him now—maybe he'll run, maybe he'll forgive you and you two can actually start something real. Or you keep pretending, let it blow up later when it's even worse... and lose him anyway. And by then? You'll lose yourself too."

Jes didn't speak. He stared at the notepad again, but the page was still blank.

"But... how do I even begin?" Jes muttered, staring at his coffee like it might offer him a script. "Like—I can't find the right words."

Job scoffed. "You? Mr. Big Words, Mr. Legal Contract Guy, struggling to talk to a boy? Now that's rich." He leaned back, arms crossed. "You draft ten-page mergers like it's breakfast. And you're choking on three words?"

Jes sighed, running a hand through his hair, looking honestly wrecked. "It's not the same, Job. This... this isn't a business pitch. This is me being vulnerable. And if I screw it up—" He stopped himself. "I'll lose him."

Job rolled his eyes but softened. "Okay, then don't talk first. Show him." He leaned forward. "Invite him on the honeymoon trip. Like a proper date. Just the two of you. No business, no contracts, no fake smiles."

Jes raised a brow. "Honeymoon? You serious?"

"Dead serious. You married him, remember? Might as well act like a husband. Flirt with him. Compliment him. Make him feel wanted. Try to win his heart before you break it."

Jes looked like he wanted to argue but couldn't. "You think he likes me back?"

Job hesitated, then shrugged. "Honestly? No clue. That boy's like a locked safe with fake instructions taped on top." Jes chuckled despite himself.

"I mean, yeah, you slept together," Job added, tone more serious now, "but sex isn't love. And Bible, he's unpredictable. He could ghost you tomorrow. Or... he could already be halfway in love with you and just refuses to admit it to himself."

Jes groaned, rubbing his temples. "He's so hard to read. Sometimes he acts like he hates me. Then he clings to me in the middle of the night. And I don't know if he's scared... or if he actually wants to be close."

"Then give him space to want you, not need you," Job said. "No pushing. Just... go on that trip. Let him feel safe. Wanted. Like there's no plan, no scheme. And then, when the moment's right—tell him. Everything. The truth. And hope to hell that it's not too late."

Jes swallowed hard. "What if it already is?"

Job shrugged. "Then at least you'll lose him being honest. Not being a liar."

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After the launch, Jes sat alone in the restaurant, casually scrolling through vacation spots on his phone. He smiled to himself, imagining Bible there with him—loud as ever, sipping cocktails on the beach, getting sunburned, complaining dramatically, and demanding aloe vera every hour. They'd have a nice dinner in the evening... maybe even make love under a ceiling fan that creaked like it belonged in a horror movie.

The thought made him melt. Somehow, all the stress from the morning faded into the background just picturing it.

He considered texting Bible, just to ask what he was up to. It had only been a few hours, and he already missed him.

I should probably see a doctor, he thought, chuckling at how weird he was becoming.

He started typing: "Bible, what are you doing?" Then deleted it. Wait—that sounds controlling.

He tried again: "Honey, how are you doing?" Nope. Too sweet. Bible would 100% laugh in his face.

Third try: "Drama queen, how's your ass doing?" Jesus. No. What is wrong with me?

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face.

Finally, he settled on: "Everything fine?" Short. Safe. Sent.

He shoved the phone aside and picked up the menu again like it might protect him from the chaos he'd just invited into his life. God, he was becoming a romantic idiot. The kind of guy who plans beach trips and worries about whether he sounds too sweet or too distant in text messages.

He looked at his phone again.

Still no reply.

"Yup," he muttered, shaking his head with a half-smile. "Doctor. Definitely need a doctor."

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POV: AuthorHah. Oh no. It's going to get more complicated...But we knew that already, didn't we?