Mine

Chapter 32

[Song Recommendation: Losing Game by CJBeards]

The sizzle of oil crackled in the pan, the meat fried, golden bubbles dancing around the edges as he stirred. His phone, propped up against a jar of seasoning, cast a soft glow on the counter.

One hand moved the spatula, the other scrolled mindlessly through his call log.

A list of names. Some familiar, some blurred by time. All of them were women he had once touched, owned, and discarded.

Tapping on one, he opened the chat box.

A photo.

Lacy black lingerie. Dark red lips curved into a smirk. A sultry pose against white silk sheets, her thighs parted just enough to tease.

Haven't heard from you in a while, baby. Wanna come over?

His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth. His eyes lingered on the picture for a second, maybe two, but the usual heat never sparked.

Instead, a voice snickered in the back of his head.

"Her? You had a thing with this one?"

He scoffed, thumbing back to his chat list. Another name. Another chat.

A blonde this time. Hair spilling over her shoulders like liquid gold, a sheer slip draping off her frame, teasing soft curves beneath.

Jiminie, you ghosting me? Thought you liked the way I taste.

He exhaled through his nose, clicking his tongue again as he rubbed at his temple.

"She isn't even that pretty." His brows furrowed.

Since when does that matter, Jiminie? His consciousness was brutal, mocking him with those sweet slur-nicknames he loved to be called once upon a time.

Click. Another chat.

This one was even bolder. A video. A slow, sultry bite of a strawberry, red juice staining glossy lips. A low, whispered, "You should be here instead of wasting time." Any sane man with desires would be on his knees, but why wasn't he feeling it? The same hunger, the same rush that used to ignite in him around the dolls of the night or the countless nameless faces in the crowd?

He had always appreciated beautiful women, welcomed their company like a luxury, pleasurable, fleeting, but never something that truly stirred him. Like an expensive pair of shoes admired for their design yet never quite tempting enough to own.

Maybe that was all they had ever been—a way to drain the exhaustion from his body. A means to an end.

But now?

What the hell had changed?

Why did they all seem... dull? Practically naked, openly inviting, yet not a single one could spark even a flicker of heat in him.

He felt... Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

He flicked his gaze away from the screen, back to the pan where the food was starting to caramelize, rich with the scent of spices.

And then—

"No innocence like that of hers, huh? They all have filters on, so many masks and you like it... naked, don't you?" His hand faltered. His consciousness was back with painted red nails to poke his sanity. "You've never been picky, Jimin. What changed?"

He tightened his grip on the spatula. Shut up.

"Is it because of... Maria? You have gotten used to her pure and raw essence, Is that's what its about?"