Hello, readers!
I’ve made available on my Patreon account images that represent the appearance of some of the characters from the story: Vanessa, Sofia, Bianca, Emily, and Grace. To access them, just follow the tip link on the story’s main page.
The artwork was created with the help of AI. I honestly thought it would be an easy process, but it ended up being an absurd amount of work over the past few days. Still, I’m very happy with the final result.
The idea behind the Patreon is to offer complementary content to the main story. I plan to post one image related to a specific chapter or scene, along with a third-person narration of that moment, providing a different perspective. It’s extra content meant to expand the narrative and further develop the characters.
I also plan to post NSFW / +18 content. To access this extra material, you’ll only need to become a member for a symbolic fee. The images will be posted throughout the course of the story, and afterward, if you subscribe, you’re free to cancel at any time without obligation.
I expect to finish the story by the beginning of March. As you may have noticed, I really enjoy working with multiple character perspectives of the same scene, which sometimes makes the story progress more slowly—but I believe it also leads to deeper character development.
I hope you enjoy the extra content.
I haven’t created the members-only section yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as it’s ready. This is just a preliminary notice and a showcase of the artwork and characters.
………
(POV Luke)
The alarm clock rang with that sharp, insistent tone, cutting through the silence of the bedroom like a thin blade. The sound seemed to echo inside my head, blending with the pleasant haze of someone who didn’t want to wake up. I opened my eyes slowly, blinking a few times until I could make out the shapes around me. Morning light filtered partially through the curtains, drawing golden stripes across the messy sheets.
That was when I felt the familiar, warm weight on top of me.
An arm was wrapped around my chest with relaxed firmness, while a leg fit perfectly between mine, as if that were its natural place. The soft, slightly sweet scent confirmed what my body already knew before my mind had fully caught up.
Olivia.
She shifted slowly, letting out an almost inaudible murmur, resting her chin on my chest for a few seconds before lifting her head. Her black hair was messy, spread across the pillow, and her blue eyes struggled to open. With the back of her hand, she rubbed one of them while the other remained half-closed.
“Good morning…” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep, before letting out a long, unrestrained yawn. The sleepy grimace that followed would have drawn a smile from anyone.
“Good morning,” I replied, feeling a comfortable warmth spread through my chest. “Did you sleep well?”
She nodded slowly, still processing the world around her.
“I did… very well. And you?”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I used the natural movement of my body to wrap an arm around her waist and roll us over, switching our positions. Olivia let out a small gasp of surprise, which quickly turned into a muffled laugh once she realized what I was doing.
“Luke!” she protested, without a trace of real conviction.
The morning contact made my body react almost automatically, an instinctive response. It was hard to ignore the closeness, the warmth, the intimacy built the night before. For a brief second, the idea of simply forgetting about the outside world—college, exams, responsibilities—felt far too tempting.
I leaned closer, feeling Olivia’s breath mingle with mine, and kissed her. At first, it was a slow, lazy kiss, filled with that rare comfort that only exists when two people wake up together. But the moment she slid her fingers along my cheek, deepening the contact, the kiss gained intensity, intention.
When we pulled apart, I stayed there, looking into her still-sleepy eyes.
“I couldn’t have slept better,” I murmured. “Last night was incredible.”
She looked away for a moment, a blush rising across her pale cheeks.
“I really liked it too,” she replied, almost shyly, before smiling in a way that made it clear she regretted nothing.
Reluctantly, I moved away and sat on the edge of the bed, gathering my clothes scattered across the carpet—silent traces of the night before. Olivia got up shortly after, walking toward the wardrobe to grab her toiletries.
As she moved around the room, my eyes followed her almost by reflex. The natural sway of her hips, the way the morning light traced her curves, made it impossible not to look. The sight was hypnotizing, too intimate to ignore.
I smiled to myself.
I imagined Nathan’s reaction if he knew that the woman he—and half the course—idolized from a distance had just spent the night with me. Olivia, the perfect girl in everyone’s eyes, now shared a routine with me that was starting to feel strangely normal.
Normal… and at the same time absurd.
It was strange to think that this was becoming part of my life. Not just Olivia, but everything: the closeness with incredible women, each with her own intensity, her own games and feelings. I didn’t know exactly where it would all lead, but for the first time in a long while, the uncertainty didn’t bother me.
I put on my shorts and the shirt that still carried the citrus scent of her room. As we had agreed, we would stop by my apartment so I could get properly ready for the exam. Olivia disappeared into the bathroom, and I spent a few minutes looking around the room, absorbing the silence that settled after the busy morning.
When she returned, she was already ready. Impeccable.
A basic black shirt that highlighted the contrast with her pale skin, and dark blue jeans that hugged her toned legs in a way that was almost provocative, yet elegant. Her hair was loose, softly wavy, and her face carried that confident expression she always wore at college.
“Just missing the perfume,” she said, stepping back into the room for a moment.
When she returned, she exuded a sweet, fresh fragrance that felt like a natural extension of her. White sneakers, study bag over her shoulder, ready to face the day.
“Shall we?” I asked. “We stop by my place and then grab breakfast at that bakery near campus.”
“Sounds good,” she smiled. “I can wait.”
We left early enough to avoid the chaotic traffic that usually formed after seven-thirty. The drive was calm, and we talked about possible topics for the Economics exam. I wasn’t exactly the most dedicated student in the course, but the confidence that came from a good night’s sleep—and good company—made me feel capable of anything.
I parked on the street in front of the building a few minutes later. We went up in the elevator, still debating economic theories that, ironically, felt less important than the subtle tension settling between us.
When I opened the apartment door, I was greeted by the unmistakable aroma of fresh coffee.
It was a scent that, over the past few days, had become a symbol of change. Bianca.
What wasn’t common was seeing her awake so early. She appeared from the kitchen with a light, almost serene expression.
“Oh… hi! Good morning,” she said, with a sweet, disarming smile.
It caught me off guard. It was a version of her I was still learning to appreciate.
But Bianca’s smile faded the instant her eyes landed on Olivia standing just behind me. The change was subtle, but impossible to miss. The brightness dimmed, replaced by something harder, more tense. Frustration. Jealousy.
Olivia, in turn, kept her posture flawless.
“Good morning,” she greeted politely, almost diplomatically.
“Good morning,” Bianca replied, her voice slightly raised, in a clear attempt to sound indifferent.
The air in the living room shifted. It grew heavier.
“What are you doing up so early?” I asked, trying to ease the mood.
“I have a meeting early today,” Bianca explained, straightening her posture. “I’ll probably close a contract with a perfume company for a new commercial.”
No matter how complicated our relationship was, it was impossible to deny her talent. Bianca was made for cameras. Every movement, every expression, seemed calculated to capture attention.
“I can give you a ride,” I offered. “I just need to shower and change.”
I left the two of them alone in the living room. As I climbed the stairs toward the bathroom, I could feel their gazes on my back. There was something there. A silent, unspoken tension.
In the bathroom, I turned on the shower and let the water run over me, trying to organize my thoughts. The day had barely begun, and I already felt that something was shifting.
…
(Olivia’s POV)
My mind was still wrapped in that soft haze that only waking up after an intense night can produce. My body woke before my thoughts, and even so, the smile refused to leave my lips as I felt the warm water of the shower slowly running over my skin. It was a comforting heat, almost protective, allowing me to stay there a few extra minutes, postponing my return to the real world.
Without realizing it, I brought my hand to my lips, touching them gently, as if I could still feel the weight of the kiss Luke had left there moments before. It wasn’t just the kiss itself that made me smile, but everything it represented. The naturalness. The absence of urgency. The way each gesture felt discovered together, not imposed.
Everything that happened on Sunday—every touch, every word spoken in a low voice, every shared silence—had its origin in something seemingly trivial: a phone call made on Friday afternoon, at a moment when I didn’t expect anything in my life to truly change.
Vanessa.
Our friendship was recent, and if someone had told me months earlier that I’d end up getting close to her, I would have laughed. At first glance, we were too different. But it all started with a casual lunch because of Luke, and almost imperceptibly, that occasional coexistence gained substance. We discovered shared tastes, conversations that flowed effortlessly, laughter that came too easily to be forced.
Alternative music few people on campus seemed to know. Suspense novels that kept us up all night. Old films we watched more for the atmosphere than the plot. With Vanessa, I didn’t have to uphold the image of the “perfect girl” the college seemed to demand from me. I didn’t need to measure every word or calculate every gesture.
I could simply be.
That afternoon’s conversation stayed light, filled with ironic comments about professors, small campus gossip, and mischievous observations about people who took themselves too seriously. Until, inevitably, his name came up in the middle of a sentence.
“And Luke, Olivia?” Vanessa asked, in that tone that always seemed to carry an unrevealed secret. “You’re interested in him, aren’t you?”
I felt my cheeks heat instantly. There was something in her directness that made any attempt at denial useless. With Vanessa, lying felt not only unnecessary, but impossible.
“Yes… I am,” I admitted after a brief silence. “He’s different.”
She laughed on the other end of the line, a low laugh laced with humor that flirted with the mischievous.
“I know exactly what that feels like,” she replied. “But how far have you gone? Has anything happened yet?”
I hesitated. The word “happened” felt bigger than it should have.
“We… kissed,” I said, almost in a whisper, feeling the blush rise up my neck as if she could see me.
“Just a kiss?” Vanessa clicked her tongue theatrically. “Olivia, you need to sleep with him to find out what’s really good. Trust me, Luke is a surprise worth uncovering.”
My heart raced. Not just because of what she said, but because of what it implied. I knew they were close—that was never a secret. But hearing it out loud confirmed a physical intimacy that until then had existed only as a suspicion in my mind.
“But… you and him…” I began hesitantly. “You don’t mind?”
Vanessa sighed, as if choosing her words—or perhaps just enjoying my discomfort.
“I like him, yes. But I’m not his girlfriend,” she replied calmly. “And I’ll tell you something: I think there are more people watching that guy than just the two of us.”
There was a brief pause, followed by a lighter, almost teasing tone.
“I’m just messing with you to see you blush. But seriously—if you want to sleep with him, go for it. I won’t get mad. Who knows, maybe one day the two of us do it together with him?”
She hung up laughing, leaving me alone with a confusing mix of shock, indignation, and curiosity. I spent the rest of Friday trying to ignore the conversation, but it was useless. The idea had been planted.
On Saturday, it stayed there, silently hammering away.
“I wanted Luke.”
I wanted to know if the chemistry I felt when he kissed me after the party was real or just a product of the moment. I wanted to find out whether that connection had depth or would dissolve at the first more intimate contact.
On Sunday morning, I found the courage.
I grabbed my phone and called him, using the most classic and safest excuse of all.
“We need to study for tomorrow’s exam… don’t you want to come over?”
It worked.
Luke showed up, and what started with open books, macroeconomics graphs, and half-improvised explanations slowly lost focus. The conversation drifted. The space between us shrank. And when night fell, I already knew there was no turning back.
It was more than I expected.
More careful. More intense. More genuine.
And perhaps most importantly, I felt that, for the first time, I had managed to leave behind the bad experience I had when I was younger with my former boyfriend. With Luke, there was no rush, no pressure. Just presence.
Now, as I stepped out of the bathroom, I saw him sitting in the living room, absently scrolling through his phone. His black hair was still messy from the night before, and my lips curved into an involuntary smile. That simple image carried an intimacy I was still learning to process.
I walked past him and into the bedroom. I chose the perfume I wore every day—familiar, comforting—and grabbed my bag with my college materials.
Shortly after, we left my apartment and headed to his.
The moment we crossed the door, the feeling changed.
Bianca was there.
I still couldn’t quite define what existed between them. She lived with Luke, took care of the house, moved through that space with authority. But there was something more. Something dense. An energy too charged to be reduced to the word “family.”
When I felt her amber-colored eyes travel over me from head to toe, catching every detail of my clothes, my still slightly damp hair, my posture, Vanessa’s words echoed with renewed force in my mind:
“I think there are more people watching that guy than just the two of us…”
Bianca’s expression upon seeing me there so early was impossible to ignore. It wasn’t neutral surprise. It was jealousy.
And I needed confirmation.
I needed absolute certainty that she was one of the women Vanessa had mentioned.
“Make yourself comfortable, Olivia,” Bianca said, but her words sounded mechanical, like forced politeness unsupported by her tone. “I’m just finishing getting ready for my meeting.”
“Thank you, Bianca,” I replied, with my best polite smile.
Luke left us alone for a few moments and went upstairs to shower. The silence that settled in the living room was immediate and uncomfortable, broken only by the rhythmic sound of Bianca’s heels and my own heart, beating faster in anticipation of what I was about to do.
When Luke finally reappeared, refreshed and carrying the clean scent of soap, we headed down to the car together. He took the driver’s seat. I settled into the passenger seat. Bianca sat in the back.
The atmosphere inside the car felt stifling, despite the air conditioning. I could feel her gaze fixed on the back of Luke’s neck… and on me.
That was when I decided to act.
“Luke, let me see the palm of your hand for a second?” I asked, turning slightly toward him, with a carefully crafted look of innocence.
“My hand? What for?” he laughed, but extended his right hand toward me, keeping his left firmly on the steering wheel.
I placed my hand in his and interlaced our fingers firmly. I felt the warmth of his skin, the rough texture of the calluses left by martial arts. It was a solid touch, far too familiar to be casual.
“I just wanted to feel your touch again… I like how your hand fits into mine,” I said in a soft tone, deliberately loud enough for whoever was sitting in the back seat to hear.
It was an inside joke. A veiled reminder of the way he had held me in bed the night before.
I glanced at the rearview mirror.
The reaction was immediate. Bianca turned her gaze to the window, but not quickly enough. I saw the discomfort and bitterness flash across her face. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she suddenly seemed very interested in the city passing by.
The confirmation came like a silent shock.
Vanessa was right.
Bianca wasn’t just a stunning model or an efficient housemate. She was involved. Deeply.
I looked sideways at Luke, who seemed slightly surprised by my sudden display of affection. “He’s a womanizer,” I thought, feeling an uncomfortable mix of irritation and desire. Luke attracted strong, intense, complex women—and did so without even seeming aware of his own effect.
But when I felt his hand squeeze mine back, firm and present, I knew one thing with absolute clarity:
Regardless of how many were in line…
I had no intention of giving up my place anytime soon.
