My Arrogant Ex Is My Gaming Master

Grace pushed open the door to her off-campus bedroom. Her eyes skipped over the chaotic stacks of pre-law textbooks on her desk and locked onto the glowing screen of her MacBook.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her chest tightened, the air suddenly too thick to pull into her lungs.

She pulled out the rolling chair and sat down. Her fingers trembled so violently she had to press her palms against her thighs to steady them. She reached for the trackpad and clicked on the PDF file named Vaughan-Stanley Family Trust.

The cold, white light from the screen washed over her pale face. Her eyes darted straight to page twelve. Section 4.b.

Unilateral Termination.

Grace sucked in a sharp breath. She grabbed her iPhone resting face-down on the desk. The Face ID unlocked instantly, illuminating her tense features.

She opened iMessage. Her thumb hovered over the search bar. She typed the name she had kept on mute for two entire years.

Adelbert.

The chat history was completely empty. Nothing but a gray timestamp from the system. The physical emptiness of the screen sent a sharp ache through her eyes. It was a blank void that perfectly mirrored their relationship.

Her thumb hovered over the digital keyboard. She typed the first sentence.

We need to talk about the trust.

She stared at the words. Her stomach churned. It sounded too desperate. Too pathetic. She hammered the backspace key, watching the cursor eat the letters.

She typed again.

I am invoking Section 4.b. Please contact your lawyers.

She didn't let herself hesitate. She squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her thumb hard against the blue send button.

The progress bar shot across the top of the screen. A soft swoosh sounded in the quiet room. The text message turned into an invisible radio wave, shooting out of her apartment window.

It crossed three blocks of the freezing Boston night sky, dropping straight into the wireless network of the Delta Kappa penthouse.

Massive subwoofers vibrated the hardwood floors of the frat house. Adelbert lounged deep in the corner of a black leather sofa. He swirled half a glass of bourbon in his hand, the amber liquid catching the strobe lights.

The screen of his iPhone, resting on the glass coffee table, lit up. A blue bubble shattered the darkness of his lock screen.

Adelbert frowned. He set the heavy crystal glass down. His long fingers swiped across the screen. His eyes scanned the cold, clinical words.

His pupils contracted. The relaxed line of his jaw instantly snapped tight. The deafening bass of the party seemed to fade into static.

Jax, sitting on the armrest next to him, leaned over to peek at the screen. Adelbert smoothly flipped his hand over, blocking the text with his knuckles.

A cold laugh scraped the back of Adelbert's throat. The corner of his mouth curled into a sharp, mocking smirk. Playing hard to get. It was just another pathetic trick to get his attention.

He typed with one hand. His thumb struck the glass screen with unnecessary force. Four letters.

Done.

He hit send. He flipped the phone face-down onto the glass table with a sharp clack. He grabbed his bourbon and downed the burning liquid in one swallow, trying to drown out the sudden, irrational spike of irritation flaring in his chest. A bitter, metallic taste instantly coated the back of his throat. The single word he'd just sent felt like a heavy stone dropping into his own gut. He stared at the blank glass of the phone's casing, his jaw locked tight. What the hell had he just done? Why did he let his temper dictate that response?

Grace's phone buzzed violently against her desk.

She snapped her eyes open. She snatched the phone. The single word sat there, isolated in its gray bubble.

Done.

It felt like a physical blade sliding right behind her ribs.

She stared at it for two full seconds. A hollow, self-deprecating smile pulled at her lips. The back of her throat burned. Her eyes stung, but she dug her fingernails into her palms to keep the tears from falling.

A small, foolish part of her had hoped for at least a question. A single word of confusion. Not out of care, but out of basic financial prudence. But he gave her nothing. Not even the cold courtesy of a business transaction.

Grace tossed the phone onto the desk. It hit the wood with a dull thud. She stood up and walked straight into her small bathroom.

She twisted the faucet. Freezing water poured into the sink. She cupped her hands and splashed the ice-cold water onto her face, gasping at the shock.

She gripped the edges of the sink and stared at her reflection. Drops of water slid down her cheeks like fake tears. The vulnerability in her eyes slowly hardened into something cold and solid.

She turned around and walked back to her desk. She grabbed the mouse, clicked on the PDF file, and dragged it straight into the trash bin.

She clicked Empty Trash. She watched the little animation of the paper disappearing. She let out a long, shaky exhale, expelling the last two years of suffocating pressure from her lungs.

She stood up and yanked the curtains shut, blocking out the Boston skyline. She clicked off the desk lamp. The room plunged into absolute, suffocating darkness.

The relationship was dead.