Everyone calls me a pathetic doormat. When my husband Tristan gets intimate with other women in front of me, I just hurry over like a puppy and hand them a condom. “Use this,” I say with concern. “It’s safer.” Eventually, even Tristan sneered, “Moria, is this really love?” I’d nod, then shake my head, finally whispering, “Tristan, you’re mine.” That only made him call for more “takeout.” Their moans filled the air right before me. Afterward, he’d ask, “Am I still yours?” “Of course,” I’d reply, as if it were obvious. He’d scoff, “You’re a master of self-deception.” Later, while he slept, I’d gaze at his handsome face and lick my lips. “Delicious,” I’d whisper. “So delicious.” “The more wicked, the better they taste.” He doesn’t know I’m a succubus with a damaged bloodline. I can’t gain energy from sex—I have to eat promiscuous men. Their corrupted energy repairs my bloodline and restores my power. Tristan? He’s the prize hog I’ve been fattening for slaughter. … When Tristan woke up, I was curled up in his arms, studying a cookbook. The human world had its flaws, but the sheer variety of recipes was mind-boggling. He pushed me away. “What are you looking at a cookbook for?” I looked up, my smile innocent and pure. “To make you breakfast.” He just chuckled and got up to dress, not even glancing around the room. He didn’t need to. After every one of his… sessions, I meticulously cleaned everything and tied up all the loose ends. The “takeout” girls had already left; I’d even paid their final fees. As they were leaving, their faces were etched with contempt. “I’ve never seen a wife who orders escorts for her own husband.” I just offered a placating smile and bowed repeatedly. Once they were gone and I was sure Tristan wouldn’t be disturbed, I scurried after them, my posture subservient, my expression fawning. “Could I get your contact info? For next time.” They stared at me, dumbfounded, but gave it to me anyway. As they walked away, I heard one of them mutter, “Takes all kinds, I guess.” Back inside, I scrolled through my phone, calculating. Five more times. That’s all it would take. Then Tristan would be ripe for the picking. He’d cheated 9,995 times. The quality of his essence was about to reach its absolute peak. One more time after that, and he’d turn sour and rotten. Tristan noticed me zoning out and sighed with impatience. He’d always found me boring. A woman who never fought back was no different to a man than an inanimate toy. He held out his arms, and I stood to help him with his jacket and tie. After smoothing out the lapels of his suit, I felt a surge of satisfaction. My prize hog looked exquisite. The quality of his essence was practically radiating off him—firm, juicy, perfect. My mouth began to water. Tristan’s brow furrowed in disgust. He always assumed my drooling was some pathetic form of lust. “I’m going out,” he said, his voice low. “I won’t be back tonight.” I nodded. “Are you going to see Selene?” Selene was his mistress, the one he claimed to truly love. They were a perfect match—equal in status, looks, and background. A match made in high-society heaven, everyone said. Tristan, for all his wild behavior, was only ever reckless in front of me. He’d given me strict instructions: “Playtime is playtime, but no one, and I mean no one, is to ever upset Selene.” I had nodded vigorously, patting my chest in a solemn promise. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep a close eye on them for you.” One of his friends had been there and burst out laughing. “Why don’t you just divorce him and let Selene have him? Maybe then he’ll finally settle down.” But I had just shaken my head stubbornly. “Tristan is mine.” And so, the story spread throughout the city: I was hopelessly, tragically in love with Tristan. Willing to let him turn my world into his personal playground. Whenever I heard the rumors, all I could think was that a wild horse, allowed to run free, makes for better meat. The same was true for Tristan. “Wild thing… you make my heart sing…” I hummed a human tune as I started cleaning. Human songs were interesting. I felt like the horse tamer, and Tristan was my wild stallion. He might run wild and free, but in the end, every stallion must return to the ranch. Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. I peeked through the peephole and saw a young college student, her face streaked with tears. Another one of Tristan’s messes, no doubt. I opened the door. The student sobbed, her words coming in hiccuping gasps. “Are you… Mrs. Thorne?” I nodded, my eyes drawn to her swollen belly. Damn it. He didn’t use a condom again. This must have happened when I wasn’t there to supervise. The student clutched her stomach. “Ma’am, I had no one else to turn to. I’m pregnant.” She sniffled. “Tristan blocked my number. He just told me to come find you.” I sighed internally. That was Tristan all over—leaving me to clean up his filth. I ushered her inside, expertly brewing a cup of tea and setting out some pastries. The girl eyed the teacup suspiciously. I took a sip from my own cup. “It’s not poisoned.” She gave a weak, embarrassed smile but still didn’t drink. Human women were so strange. So guarded against other women, but so utterly defenseless against men. She pulled a wad of tissues from her purse and started crying again, a heart-wrenching display. “Mrs. Thorne,” she choked out, “what am I going to do?” I took a tissue of my own and wiped the spittle that had sprayed onto my face. This was a real headache. They never asked for my help when they were in bed with him, but as soon as their bellies started to swell, they came crying to me. Seeing that she was about to unleash another flood of tears, I pulled out a credit card. “There’s ten million on this. You can have the baby, you can get rid of it—your choice. Just don’t ever bother Tristan again.” As for keeping her mouth shut, it didn’t matter. Tristan’s reputation was already ground meat. She snatched the card and stuffed it into her pocket, but her words were dripping with melodrama. “It’s not about the money! I love Tristan! I just want to be with him! Please, I’m begging you, let us be together.” Every one of them thought I was the one standing in their way. If only they knew how little I cared. I shook my head and pulled out my tablet. “It’s not me, sweetie. He’s just bored of you.” I scrolled through page after page of names until I found hers. “There were five other girls at the same time as you. Tristan’s always like this. He plays with his toys, and then he throws them away.” The color drained from her face. “Are we just playthings for you rich people?” she whispered, her voice trembling with rage. She grabbed her teacup to throw it at me, but it wouldn’t budge. After 99 near-misses with flying liquids, did she really think I wouldn’t be prepared? She stared at the immovable cup, then grabbed a throw pillow from the sofa to hurl at me instead. That didn’t move either. I had spent a whole night sewing the pillows to the couch. And besides, why was she yelling at me? I wasn’t the one who’d played with her. In the end, she left in a storm of tears, clutching her millions and her broken heart. I touched my cheek, still baffled. Humans were so bizarre. Their hearts screamed for money, but their mouths declared, “I want love.” Yet, if you offered them a life of love in poverty, they’d run for the hills. As a succubus, I could see the greedy delight sparkling in her soul. Just as I was clearing the table, a text from Tristan came through. “Get to the hospital. Now.” “Something’s happened to Selene.” … When I arrived at the hospital, Selene was pale as a ghost. Blood was trickling from a long gash on her delicate wrist, and a team of doctors was scrambling to treat her. “She’s lost too much blood,” one of them announced. “She needs a transfusion.” All eyes turned to me. Everyone knew that Selene and I shared the same rare blood type. A fact I had, of course, fabricated. I was regretting that little lie now, but it was too late. Tristan grabbed my arm and threw me to the floor. “Take her! Drain her!” he roared. Spoken like a true alpha CEO. So commanding, especially with helpless women. A doctor pinned me down, and a needle slid into my arm. I was about to fight back, but then I saw it. The number above Tristan’s head had ticked over to 9,999. Wow. An afternoon with his true love, and he’d managed to get it on four times. Impressive. Since he was ripe for the eating anyway, I relaxed and let them take my blood. They transfused it into Selene, and she recovered almost instantly, a healthy flush returning to her cheeks. She opened her eyes, her gaze shattered and tragic. Tristan knelt by her side. “Selene, I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me. I’ll never mess around again.” Oh, this is getting good, I thought, scrambling to my feet to get a better view of the drama. Who had spilled the beans about Tristan’s escapades to Selene? Selene’s voice was a weak, choked whisper. “Don’t. I’m not your wife. I have no right to tell you what to do.” Aaaand here we go, I thought. Back to me. Tristan clutched her uninjured hand, his voice thick with emotion. “As soon as you’re better, we’ll get married. You’ll be my wife, officially and publicly. Selene, I’ll do anything, just don’t leave me.” My eyes widened. How was this my fault? Selene closed her eyes, a single, perfect tear tracing a path down her cheek. A much more effective angle than the standard 45 degrees, I noted. As expected, Tristan dissolved into a blubbering mess. “I was wrong! I was so, so wrong!” They clung to each other, sobbing, and within minutes, all was forgiven. The next time I looked, they were cooing at each other like lovebirds, Tristan feeding Selene pieces of fruit from a platter. The sharp click of dress shoes announced the arrival of his assistant. “Sir, we’ve traced the anonymous tip. It was sent from inside your villa.” Tristan’s head snapped around, his eyes like daggers. And just like that, the hunter became the hunted. That clever little college student had played me. She had come to me feigning helplessness, all while secretly sending the evidence to Selene to frame me. Smart girl. Tristan didn’t even bother to ask for my side of the story. He just kicked me to the ground. I scrambled back up and gave him a thumbs-up. “Nice kick! Great form!” He froze, a flicker of something that looked suspiciously like exasperated disappointment in his eyes. I must have imagined it. Selene’s expression was one of profound sorrow. “Why would you send me those things?” I leaned over the assistant’s shoulder to look at the phone. Wow. High-definition. A big-budget production. All of Tristan’s greatest hits were there: one-on-ones, group battles, team competitions—the works. I stroked my chin thoughtfully. “Honey, your quality and speed seem to be declining.” The room fell silent. The doctors quietly slipped out the door. The assistant stood frozen, holding the phone like a hot potato. Selene’s face was ashen as she stared at Tristan with utter disillusionment. Tristan’s eyes were spitting fire. He lunged at me, his hands closing around my throat. He squeezed, and I stopped breathing, just for effect. Then I remembered—I didn’t actually need to breathe. He choked me for a full minute, my face remaining perfectly calm and composed. The assistant finally snapped out of his trance and grabbed Tristan’s arm. “Sir, stop! You’ll kill her!” Tristan let go with a cold snort. “I told you, no one upsets Selene. I can’t believe I ever thought you were harmless. Moria, if you don’t want to be Mrs. Thorne anymore, then you’re fired.” He pulled out his phone to call his lawyer and file for divorce. I clutched my neck, coughed dramatically a few times, and then shouted at the top of my lungs. “Oh, heavens above, judge the innocent and the guilty!” A clap of thunder rattled the window, and a flash of lightning illuminated my grief-stricken face. “Darling, it wasn’t me! I’m completely devoted to you! Why would I ever stand in the way of you finding happiness with others?” The assistant looked like he’d been struck by the lightning himself. Even Tristan seemed at a loss, pressing a hand to his forehead. Selene, who was meeting me for the first time, just stared, utterly dumbfounded. She had heard of my reputation, but she had never witnessed a live performance. I dropped to my knees, snot and tears streaming down my face, and began my tale of woe. “A college student came to the house today! It must have been her!” The assistant nodded. “That’s right, sir. I was just about to say that.” My performance came to a screeching halt. I shot him a murderous glare. Didn’t his mother ever teach him to get to the point? Tristan looked uncomfortable, a rare flicker of guilt in his eyes. But all he said was a dismissive, “Oh.” I understood. Alpha CEOs don’t apologize. He reached into his jacket, pulled out a credit card, and tossed it at me. “This is for your trouble.” I was ecstatic. “Your divorce settlement,” he added. Years from now, I’d be sitting in my rocking chair, telling my grand-demons, “I was just one away from a full meal. If I’d eaten him, you’d all be high-level succubi by now.” Just kidding. If I didn’t eat Tristan, I wouldn’t have any grand-demons. So, I immediately dropped back to my knees, tears erupting from my eyes like geysers. “Darling, don’t leave me! I was wrong! Next time, I’ll be more careful! You can run the background checks, and I’ll check their phones!” Tristan’s face turned beet red. He glanced nervously at Selene, who was now glaring at me, all traces of her fragile vulnerability gone. The assistant covered his ears and stared at the ceiling. “Darling,” I wailed, “can’t we just wait until you’ve cheated one more time? At least let me catch you in the act!” That was the last straw for Tristan. “Get out!” he roared, kicking me away. I obediently rolled a few times, right back to his feet. For a good meal, a little humiliation was nothing. He gritted his teeth and had the assistant drag me out of the room. From the hallway, I could hear him on his knees, begging and pleading with Selene. Then came the sound of her soft sobs, and the fateful words, “Let’s break up.” The assistant lowered his voice. “Ma’am, do you really love him that much?” My eyes filled with tears. “Of course. I’ve watched him grow up, after all.” From 0 to 9,999—I had put in so much effort. Suddenly, I heard the sound of a struggle from inside the room, followed by a muffled grunt and a soft moan. The assistant’s face turned bright red as he pulled out a pair of earplugs. My eyes lit up. I pressed my ear to the door, listening intently. This was it. It couldn’t be more than one. Just one was all I needed. Selene’s moans grew louder, culminating in a final, sharp cry and a low male growl. Then, silence. I tried the door. It was locked. Focusing my energy into my leg, I kicked it open. There, shimmering above Tristan’s head, was the glorious, golden number: 10,000. I saw the two of them on the bed, preparing for round two, and I rushed over, pulling them apart. Taking a deep breath, I delivered the line I had been rehearsing for five years. “Tristan, you have disappointed me for the last time!” “You cheated on me!” They stared at me, stunned, clutching the sheets to cover themselves. I whipped out my phone and started snapping pictures, uploading them to the internet. As the flood of negative comments transformed into streams of corrupt energy and flowed into Tristan’s body, I could see the quality of his essence changing, ripening. I stretched out my hand. “Tristan, you have hurt me and betrayed me. Now, it’s time to pay your debt.” Silence. Then, a low growl from Tristan. “What kind of crazy act are you pulling now?”
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