Saraphina couldn't take her eyes off the message.
Her thumb hovered over the screen, frozen, as if touching it too hard would make the words vanish.
Room 105.
Come if you want to make this work.
Her lips trembled.
How could he say this?
How could he treat her like this?
The cold, careless tone of the message hurt more than she expected. No apology. No explanation. Just a room number—as if she were one of them. Like the girls he flirted with on the side. Like the one in his bed that night.
Her stomach twisted.
The image came back like a slap.
That woman… bare-skinned and confident, tangled in his sheets like she belonged there. Like Saraphina never existed. Like she was just some burden Christian carried on his finger.
Saraphina bit her lower lip until it almost bled.
No.
That woman must have bewitched him.
Christian wasn't like this before.
He used to hold her like she was treasure.
Used to call her his peace. Used to whisper "I'll never leave you."
She couldn't believe he would change on his own.
Someone turned him against her.
She had to fight.
She stared at her reflection in the wardrobe mirror across the room. Her eyes were puffy. Her lips dry. Her face swollen from all the crying. She looked… tired.
She looked like someone who had given up.
But she whispered to herself, voice shaking but steady:
"Saraphina… you can't give up now."
There was no room for surrender.
She had built her life around him like a house built on one pillar. If he left… everything would fall.
No.
She clenched her fists at her sides.
Another woman must not take the credit for her hard work.
She had loved him. Nurtured him. Fed him when he couldn't feed himself. Paid his fees. Held him through sickness.
No random woman from nowhere would swoop in now and enjoy the man she suffered to build.
Saraphina swallowed.
And deep down, she truly believed… that Christian would be happy to see her.
That maybe, just maybe, he still wanted her.
After all, she was still a virgin.
Still pure.
Not like that woman—bold, almost naked, crawling all over him.
That kind of girl couldn't love him the way Saraphina did.
She would draw Christian's eyes back to her. Back to where they belonged.
Back to home.
But once she found out who the woman was—who dared to put her hands on her man—she wouldn't let her go easily.
No.
She'd make her regret it.
Her fists clenched tighter.
But then… her eyes flicked back to the mirror.
And her breath caught.
There she was. All of her.
The roundness of her arms. The soft rolls on her stomach. The stretch marks. The bloated cheeks. The clothes that clung in all the wrong places.
She tried to straighten her shoulders.
Tried to look confident.
But Christian's words echoed in her head.
"Do you even try?"
"You look like you're wearing a tent."
"Fat and ugly."
Her throat closed.
Was she really that bad?
Her fingers tugged at her shirt.
Was this what made him go to other women?
Was she the problem?
She took a step back from the mirror and sat on the edge of the bed, heart pounding.
She wanted to be happy about the message. She was happy, at first. Hope had rushed into her like sunlight.
But now…
Now, fear crept in.
What if he looked at her again and felt disgusted?
What if he changed his mind the moment she walked through the door?
Should I ask him to turn off the light?
The thought made her stomach turn.
She stared down at her phone again.
Maybe he had been waiting… maybe he needed someone to show him love again. Maybe he cheated because she hadn't shown him enough. Maybe she'd pushed him away without realizing it.
Maybe she made it too hard for him.
Maybe he was just lonely.
Her heart whispered a lie, soft and sweet:
"This is your chance to fix everything."
Saraphina stood up, slowly. Her legs were shaky, but her mind had made a decision.
She would go.
But not as the weak girl.
She would go as the woman who wanted her man back.
Whatever it took.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Saraphina spent money on herself.
Not on groceries.
Not on Christian, his sister or mother.
Not on fixing something in the house.
But herself.
She started with the spa.
A full body massage..
The touch of warm oil and slow, skilled hands made her feel like she owned her body again. The woman massaging her spoke gently, telling her to relax, breathe, let go. Saraphina almost cried when she felt the tension leaving her shoulders.
Then came the waxing.
Painful. But necessary.
Afterwards, she smelled like vanilla and roses. Her skin felt smooth. Light.
Next, the salon.
She had her hair washed, curled into soft waves, and styled. Then came the makeup—something subtle but glowing. The beautician highlighted her cheekbones, softened her lips with a rose gloss, and brought out the quiet charm in her round face.
"You have beautiful eyes," the woman had said, smiling.
Saraphina hadn't known how to respond.
She couldn't remember the last time someone told her that.
She left the salon and hesitated before stepping into the next store—a lingerie boutique. Her cheeks burned the moment she walked in. Her fingers shook slightly as she picked up a wine-red satin piece. It felt… sinful. Like something stolen from someone else's life.
But she bought it anyway.
It wasn't for comfort.
It wasn't for fun.
It was a weapon.
And finally, the dress.
Not too revealing. She still wanted to look like herself. But this one—this one hugged her figure in just the right way. Soft satin, a rich burgundy color, with sleeves that draped down gracefully and a neckline that hinted rather than showed.
It made her look elegant.
Charming.
She stood in front of the full-length mirror and studied herself.
Her breath caught.
She looked… different.
Yes, she was still fat. The weight hadn't vanished.
But her skin glowed like honey under light. Her hair framed her face like soft silk. The makeup brought out the tenderness in her eyes. And the dress—flowing and luxurious—made her look like a woman someone could fall in love with.
Her heart fluttered when she looked at her shoes.
Heels.
She couldn't remember the last time she wore any.
She took a deep breath and whispered to her reflection,
"I must look good. For Christian. To bring his heart back."
She pressed her palm softly over her stomach.
Although Saraphina had promised herself long ago—no sex until marriage—her heart was no longer firm.
Not after what happened.
Not after what she saw.
If giving herself to Christian now would stop him from chasing other women, then maybe…
Maybe she had to.
Maybe love demanded more.
Maybe this was the price.
With her heart pounding, Saraphina grabbed her small purse and left.
The hotel glowed faintly under the night sky.
She entered quietly, head down, her heels tapping against the polished floor like echoes of uncertainty. The receptionist smiled politely as she passed by,
She took the elevator to the first floaor.
Room 105.
She stood outside the door for a moment.
Then knocked—softly.
No answer.
Her hand turned the knob. It wasn't locked.
The room was dark.
The curtains were drawn. No lamps on. Only shadows and silence.
"Christian?" she called, her voice barely above a whisper.
Nothing.
She hesitated, then reached into her bag for her phone. She needed the flashlight—just to find the switch on the wall.
But before she could even unlock it, a hand grabbed her waist.
Her body froze.
And then—
A hot kiss landed on the side of her neck.
Her breath hitched.
She wanted to push him away. Her fingers reached for his chest—trembling, unsure.
But then she remembered why she came.
She had dressed for this.
Prepared for this.
Christian was hers.
So she let her hands fall to her sides.
Let the kiss continue.
His lips moved to her jaw. Then her cheek. His hands ran along the shape of her waist.
Saraphina let out a soft, confused breath.
The most they'd done before this was a brief kiss. A peck on the lips after dates. Awkward, shy affection.
But this?
This was different.
This was heat. Intention.
Her back bumped against something soft—a mattress.
He had guided her there in silence.
"Christian..." she moaned, breathless, unsure if she was saying it to him or to herself.
He paused.
For a second, she thought he looked down at her.
But then—he bent his head and kissed her again. Harder.
And every time she opened her mouth to say his name, to ask a question—he kissed her again. Deeper. Hungrier.
And every time he kissed her, her thoughts scattered.
Her mind swirled.
I'm doing this for love, she told herself.
For us.
To keep him.