Vegaspete Oneshort

melted chocolate

Vegas had always known that his jealousy wasn’t normal. It was never a petty, fleeting thing. No, it was something deeper, something darker—an obsession that ran through his veins like poison, turning into fire whenever Pete was involved.

And right now, that fire was consuming him.The reason?

A 5’9”, 58kg brat with two damn dimples who was pushing every single one of his limits.

Vegas admitted that it was his own fault. He had chosen to go to that stupid meeting, even when Pete had clung to him, lips forming a perfect pout, demanding that he stay.

“Don’t go,” Pete had whispered against his collarbone, his fingers tracing lazy circles on Vegas’s face.

And what had Vegas done? He had kissed his forehead, ruffled his soft hair, and left.

Because it was important. Because he was Vegas Theerapanyakul—a man who ruled the city, who had an empire to run. So for a moment he thought it would be okay if he didn't listen to his husband for few hours....

And now?Now, his bratty husband was taking revenge.

But again he came back in time, didn’t he? He had walked into his own damn bar just before 8, expecting to find his husband drinking or maybe sulking over his absence.

Instead—he walked straight into a nightmare.Vegas should have known the moment he stepped into the dimly lit bar, the bass of the music vibrating through the floor, that something was wrong. His eyes immediately found Pete, and what he saw made his breath hitch, then boil into pure rage.

Pete  his pete was standing on the dance floor, his body swaying to the bass-heavy beat of a K-pop song. His lean frame was wrapped in a deep red suit—a backless red suit, one that left his entire spine exposed, a silver ornament dangling at the center, glinting under the flashing lights.