My Best Friend Tricked Me to Steal My Man

Ivy braced her hands against Gideon’s chest, panting softly. Slowly, she tilted her head up, surrendering to the scorching kiss of the man who did not belong to her—yet, at the same time, completely did.

In the darkness, Sylvie stood frozen, watching the intimate entanglement unfold before her. Her vision blurred, her fingers clenched at her sides, yet her body refused to move.

Until—

Her heel brushed against the door.

A faint sound, almost imperceptible, but enough.

Gideon's movements halted instantly. His eyes flickered with vigilance as he turned toward the disturbance.

"Who’s there?" His voice, low and sharp, sliced through the silence.

Sylvie instinctively stepped back, pressing herself into the shadows.

Gideon pushed open her bedroom door, peering into the darkness. Seeing nothing out of place, his gaze eventually landed on Sylvie, lying with her back to him, seemingly deep in sleep.

His footsteps approached, slow and deliberate.

Each rustling step against the floor felt like a hammer pounding against Sylvie’s chest. Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she forced herself to remain still, eyes shut, body steady.

A gentle whisper ghosted against her ear.

"Sylvie… I know you’re awake."

Her eyelashes twitched involuntarily.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she rolled over lazily, smacked her lips, and absentmindedly scratched her head—playing the role of someone lost in deep slumber.

Gideon studied her face for a moment longer before pulling back with a satisfied chuckle.

"You sleep so soundly," he murmured, as if reassuring himself.

Stepping away, he turned to Ivy, who had been standing at the doorway, arms crossed, lips pursed.

"Are you really that scared of Sylvie finding out?" she asked, dissatisfaction lacing her voice.

Before he could respond, a rustling sound came from outside the window.

Both turned their heads sharply—just in time to see a dark figure dart past.

A stray cat.

Gideon exhaled lightly, then cast Ivy a glance. "Don't overthink it. Sylvie is still my girlfriend, after all. I don’t want her to know… just yet." His tone was almost affectionate, but there was something cold beneath it.

"Now, go to sleep."

With that, he turned and left the room.

Ivy watched his retreating figure, an exaggerated pout on her lips—but a glint of resentment flickered in her eyes.

—

The next morning, Sylvie sat across from Gideon at breakfast.

Every time he looked at her, she averted her gaze, her fingers gripping her spoon a little too tightly.

Sylvie hadn't been able to gather her thoughts since last night. The scene replayed in her mind like a cruel joke. How was she supposed to face Gideon now?

A few years ago, he had been nothing more than an obscure gaming streamer.

She still remembered his first live broadcast. The tiny, dimly lit rental house. The flickering screen. The deafening silence in the chatroom.

There had only been three viewers.

Knowing how much his pride meant to him, she had secretly asked her friends to join and support him.

That night, he streamed for four hours, pouring everything he had into the game. By the end, he had earned a mere 10 dollars—more than 6 of which had come from her friends’ donations.

She had been with him through every struggle, sacrificing everything to follow him—even to the remote Scottish Highlands region.

And now, he could so easily hold another woman in his arms?

A bitter taste rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She refused to let her emotions betray her.

Silently, she turned back to her room and locked the door behind her.

---

That afternoon, Gideon left for the chapel, and Ivy claimed she was going for a walk.

Sylvie was left alone in the house.

The silence felt heavier than usual.

Then—

A faint rustling sound.

Sylvie stiffened.

She turned toward the window, her pulse quickening.

CRASH!

A stone shattered the glass.

Before she could react, a dark figure leaped through the broken window.

A gust of cold air swept in as the intruder lunged at her.

A rough hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her scream.

“Where is she?”

The voice was low, chilling—like a ghost demanding its sacrifice.

Sylvie struggled, kicking wildly, but the strength difference was overwhelming.

The man's piercing gaze raked over her, sharp and predatory.

“You’re quite pretty,” he sneered.

His fingers dug into her clothes, yanking at the fabric.

Then—his breath, hot and vile, touched her neck.

A sickening kiss.

Disgust surged through Sylvie.

She thrashed wildly, her desperation mounting.

Tears welled in her eyes.

No—

Just as despair threatened to consume her, something shifted—

A powerful grip yanked the intruder away.