My Ex-lover Begged for My Love after He Abandoned me

The Royce villa was a tomb when I returned—grand, hollow, and heavy with ghosts. Not the dead kind. The kind that still breathed, still touched, still lied.

I climbed the stairs, the velvet runner swallowing the sound of my heels. Everything looked the same. Polished. Perfect. Except me.

As I passed his door—Creed’s door—I heard it. A breath. A moan. A name.

Alina.

I should’ve walked away. Should’ve let the moment rot untouched. But I didn’t.

The door was ajar. I looked.

Creed sat on the edge of the bed, shirt undone, sweat on his skin, tattoos stretched across his chest like sin. One hand clutched a photograph. The other moved between his thighs, slow and desperate.

“Alina… goddamn, baby… so fucking tight…”

It gutted me. The picture in his hand was hers.

I’d been fucking him in this very house. In my bed. In the dark hours when his job was supposed to be guarding me. I remembered how he touched me—like he was starving. How he moaned my name like a man drowning in need.

But now?

Now it was her name he choked out in pleasure. Her name he poured himself into. Like I had never been anything but a placeholder.

My mouth was dry. My pulse ice.

Then his burner buzzed.

He answered without hesitation, still breathless, knuckles pale against the mattress.

“What?”

The voice on the other end was male, smug. “Yo, Man. You still playing bodyguard for the Royce bitch? Richest man’s son playing house for a second-rate heiress—just to sniff Alina’s trail? You’re a lovesick joke.”

Creed gave a soft, almost reverent chuckle. “She’s my first. My only. She needed protection, not pressure. I’d wait another lifetime if it meant she was safe.”

“And Scarlett?” the voice teased.

Creed laughed—quiet and cruel. “Scarlett was just warm skin and open legs. A way to forget. But love? That was never hers. Never could be.”

I didn’t wait to hear more. Couldn’t.

My blood went silent. My vision tunneled.

I kicked the door open.

He looked up, startled. And for the first time in years, his eyes met mine with no mask, no pretense. Just shock.

I was ice. Sharpened and deadly.

“Don’t stop on my account,” I said, voice lined with venom. “Wouldn’t want to interrupt your worship.”

The second Creed looked up, I caught it—that flash of hunger in his eyes. Then just as fast, it was gone. Buried. The guy tucked the photo back under the silk pillow and zipped himself up like this wasn’t the first time he’d nearly come undone over my sister’s face.

Figures.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t scramble. Just leaned back against the velvet headboard like nothing happened.

I leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. “Didn’t finish the show? Or saving the grand finale for later? You always did have a thing for pain, Creed.”

His eyes didn’t even twitch. Just adjusted his gloves, staring ahead like I wasn’t even in the room. “You need something, Scarlett?”

Scarlett. Funny. He could still barely remember my name when he was too busy chasing her.

“I’m racing tonight,” I said, deadpan. “You will come with me.”

Creed’s eyebrow shot up. “Thought I had the night off.”

I didn’t even look at him. Just leaned against the car, my voice as cold as the pavement. “Alina’s in the lineup.”

That shut him up.

He was quiet for a beat—two—then, “Understood.”

Of course. One mention of her, and his attention snaps like a rubber band. I wasn’t surprised. Let him chase her. Let him. I’d set the stage for his little obsession—then let it crash.

---

By the time we pulled up to the underground garage, Creed was already out of the car, all sleek and dark in his tailored suit, the kind that belonged in a magazine, not this grimy world of fast cars and desperate gamblers.

I didn’t look at him as I stepped out. My heels clicked against the concrete, sharp as a warning.

The silence between us was thick, full of unspoken things.

The race was already buzzing when we arrived. The kind of place you don’t just show up at—you’re invited, or you don’t get in. It was buried deep under the Mirage Hotel, with walls lined in velvet, neon lights flashing over polished chrome, and the air heavy with money that wasn’t clean.

And there she was.

Alina.

That high-pitched laugh that felt like nails on chalkboard. It hit me like a punch to the gut.

I froze for half a second. Creed didn’t. He’d already spotted her, eyes locking onto the blonde in ivory silk, her hair falling perfectly like she had a personal team of stylists. He wasn’t Creed the bodyguard now. He was Creed the fool. The chaser.

She saw me too, of course. And sauntered over like we were old friends. “Sis! Didn’t expect to see you here!”

I didn’t even flinch. “Don’t touch me.”

Alina blinked, then pouted, the kind of pout that could’ve melted anyone else. “Creed, I just wanted to see her. She’s been so distant lately.”

Creed didn’t even look at me.

“I heard you put in an extra lap when I was hurt, Creed,” she cooed, clutching onto his arm. “So sweet. I really like you.”

I bit back a laugh. That night, he’d barely been able to stand, bloodied and drained. Yeah, real sweet.

“I owe you dinner,” she added, all sugar and lies.

Creed didn’t argue. “Sure.”

“You wouldn't mind, right, Scarlett?” she chirped, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Oh, sis, you look pale. Everything okay?”

I gave her a smile so sharp, it could cut steel. “You’re not my sister. You’re just the mistress’s side project with a revolving-door face. Know your place.”