BAD WIFE

Chapter {6}

A few days later...

Baylee woke up still feeling like she was nursing a hangover—but not the kind brought on by too much alcohol. No, this was worse. It was a Niko hangover. Her entire body ached with memory, her thoughts were fogged by the aftershock of his touch, and her limbs felt heavier than they had in days. The lingering echo of his lovemaking clung to her skin like a scent she couldn't wash off.

She hated how deeply it affected her. She couldn't focus on work. Or life, really. Everything that once came easy now felt distant and hollow, like she was watching her routine through a pane of glass.

Had she known it would haunt her like this, she might've stopped herself.
Okay, that was a lie.
She would've still done it. Every. Single. Time.

She missed him—more than she ever allowed herself to admit. And she loathed the vulnerability of even thinking that, let alone feeling it. But there it was—undeniable, festering. The truth didn't sneak up on her gently; it slammed her with the force of something raw and untreated. Her feelings for him were still alive, still pulsing beneath her skin like a wound torn open and left to ooze—ripe and raw and disgustingly honest.

And now she was left with the mess. Waking up every morning drenched in the scent of memories she hadn't invited, dragging herself from bed as if gravity had tripled. Dreaming of him. Reliving him. Her mind obsessed. Her body still traitorous.

Moving on from him had already felt impossible the first time—but now? After tasting him again, after letting him in? It was like ripping off a barely healed scab just to watch herself bleed.

But she was determined to climb out of this spiral. She had to. No matter how hard it got, no matter how pathetic she felt for letting him weaken her again—this time, she would learn. She had to learn. No more getting swept up in the heat of emotion. No more surrendering to the moment. It wasn't love—it was self-sabotage dressed as intimacy.

Her phone vibrated on the nightstand.

She grabbed it, sat up against the headboard, and squinted at the screen. A notification from someone she hadn't heard from in years—an old friend from her and Lola's college clique.

Curious, she opened it.

Her breath caught in her throat.

It was a photo.
Of Niko.

He was seated at a restaurant table beside someone she instantly recognized—Melissa.

Melissa. The ex-friend. The outsider of their college group. The girl who never quite fit in, who kept one foot out the door until she eventually went solo and ghosted the group altogether. She'd always been more frenemy than friend. Cool smiles and lukewarm loyalty. There was history there, but not the good kind.

Underneath the photo was a simple, mocking message:
"Isn't that Lola's brother?"

Baylee's fingers tightened around the phone.

She remembered graduation day so clearly—how their whole circle had secretly (and not-so-secretly) crushed on Niko. Even Melissa, the self-appointed outcast, had stared at him like a teenage girl at a boyband concert. Baylee had smirked that day, smug and satisfied, because he had been watching her. Not Melissa. Not anyone else. Her.

And now...

She bit down on her bottom lip, hard, her jaw tightening as she unintentionally ground her teeth together. How dare he?

Out of all the women in the world, he picked her?
Melissa?

He knew exactly what this would do to her. He knew. And he still did it anyway.