When My Boyfriend Turned Me into a Game for His Friends

I arrived at Hayes's apartment twenty minutes early, balancing his favorite Thai takeout in one hand and my keys in the other. The doorman nodded at me with familiar recognition as I stepped into the elevator. Five years of dating had made me practically a resident here. "Surprise," I whispered to myself, checking my reflection in the polished elevator doors. I'd taken extra care with my appearance today—Hayes had been distant lately, and I wanted to remind him why he'd fallen for me in the first place. The apartment was quiet when I entered. "Hayes?" I called out, setting the food on the kitchen counter. No response. "He must be running late," I murmured, noticing his iPad on the coffee table. A notification lit up the screen: "The Game: New Message." I shouldn't look.

Chapters

Chapter 1

"Surprise," I whispered to myself, checking my reflection in the polished elevator doors. I'd taken extra care with my appearance today—Hayes had been distant lately, and I wanted to remind him why he'd fallen for me in the first place.

The apartment was quiet when I entered. "Hayes?" I called out, setting the food on the kitchen counter. No response.

"He must be running late," I murmured, noticing his iPad on the coffee table. A notification lit up the screen: "The Game: New Message."

I shouldn't look. It's private.

But something made me pause. The group chat name seemed odd—formal, almost clinical. Before I could stop myself, I tapped the notification.

The chat opened to reveal a message thread that made my blood run cold.

"Seduction Wager: Aurora Davis ($50,000)"

My fingers trembled as I scrolled up. There it was—pinned to the top of the chat—a photo of me in my bikini at last summer's lake house getaway. Below it, my yoga schedule, favorite coffee shop, even my usual jogging route.

"Intel gathering complete," Hayes had written. "She's completely oblivious. Whoever nails her first gets the pot."

Marcus Chen: "Dude, you're betting on your own girlfriend?"

Hayes: "She's too naive to suspect anything. Besides, I need the money more than I need her."

My chest tightened as I read comment after comment from his friends, analyzing my body, my habits, my weaknesses. They discussed me like I was a game to be won, not a person they'd met at countless dinners and parties.

"Her tits are legit," someone named Tyler had commented on a photo Hayes had taken of me sleeping. "Worth at least twenty grand of the pot."

I felt sick. Five years. Five years of believing in us, of planning our future together, and he'd turned me into entertainment for his frat-boy friends.

A sound in the hallway jolted me back to reality. Hayes's key in the lock.

I quickly closed the app and placed the iPad exactly as I'd found it, my heart hammering against my ribs.

"Rory?" Hayes called out, his voice carrying that casual arrogance I once found charming. "You're early."

"In the living room," I managed, surprised by how steady my voice sounded.

He appeared in the doorway, already pulling out his phone, thumbs flying across the screen. He barely glanced at me.

"Sorry I'm late," he said, not sounding sorry at all. "Had to handle some business."

I watched him texting—probably back to his precious group chat—and felt something inside me harden.

"I actually just realized I have a splitting headache," I said, standing up. "I should go."

"What? But I haven't eaten yet." He looked up briefly, irritation flashing across his face.

"I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you tomorrow." I kissed him quickly on the cheek, careful not to let him see my eyes.

---

Isabella was folding laundry when I burst through our apartment door. One look at my face told her everything she needed to know.

"Aurora? What happened?" She dropped the t-shirt she was folding and rushed to my side.

I couldn't speak immediately, just handed her my phone with the screenshots I'd managed to take before leaving Hayes's apartment.

"Oh my god," she whispered, scrolling through the evidence. "That absolute bastard."

I expected tears to come, but instead, a strange calm settled over me. "I'm not going to cry over him."

"Good," Isabella said firmly. "What are you going to do?"

I paced the length of our living room, my mind racing. "He thinks I'm naive and oblivious. Let's use that."

"Use it how?"

I opened my laptop and began creating a new Instagram account. "They want to play games? I'll show them how it's done."

"Nemesis," I typed as the username, adding a profile picture that was just vague enough to be intriguing—a silhouette against city lights that could be anyone.

"Are you sure about this?" Isabella asked, watching over my shoulder.

"They turned me into a bet," I said, my fingers flying across the keyboard as I curated a mysterious but compelling feed. "Now I'm going to turn their game against them."

I followed each member of the group chat, studying their profiles, their likes, their weaknesses. Then I paused at Nikolai Walker's profile.

Unlike the others, he hadn't commented on any of my photos. His profile was minimalist but elegant—black and white photos of architecture, books, and a single landscape of mountains.

"He's different," I murmured.

"The landlord?" Isabella asked. "Isn't he Hayes's friend too?"

"He is," I said slowly. "But he's also the only one who didn't treat me like a piece of meat in that chat."

I hovered over the follow button, then pressed it. A second later, my phone pinged.

Nikolai Walker had accepted my request.

I stared at the screen in disbelief. "He accepted. Immediately."

Continue to next part

For three years, Annika Price believed she was married to a struggling man who had lost everything. She worked herself to exhaustion to support him—taking multiple jobs, giving up her dreams, and loving him with a devotion he never returned. Then she discovers the truth. “Everest Kennedy” was never poor. Never powerless. Never even truly her husband. Behind the fake marriage certificate hides one of the wealthiest and most ruthless billionaires in the country—a man who approached her under a false identity for reasons far crueler than she could have imagined. While Annika sacrificed everything for love, Everest and his elite circle watched her suffer like it was part of a game. Humiliated, heartbroken, and carrying a secret pregnancy he refuses to accept, Annika walks away determined to reclaim her dignity. But Everest, a man used to controlling everything, is suddenly unable to let her go. What begins as revenge spirals into obsession. And when the truth behind their marriage finally unravels, Everest must face the one thing money and power can never buy back: The woman he destroyed with his own hands.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.0

Fake Divorce, Real Retribution

8.0

The American Express alert chimed on my phone at exactly 2:47 PM, interrupting my review of quarterly investment reports. I glanced at the notification with the casual indifference of someone accustomed to substantial charges—until I saw the amount. Six thousand dollars. Hermès Beverly Hills. I set down my Mont Blanc pen, the burgundy leather of my home office chair creaking as I leaned back. Six thousand dollars wasn't unusual for our household expenses, but something about this particular charge felt off. Tanner typically consulted me about major purchases, a courtesy born from years of managing our combined finances with military precision. I opened the detailed statement on my laptop, my manicured fingers clicking across the keyboard with practiced efficiency. The transaction details populated: one limited-edition children's backpack, custom monogrammed, purchased for immediate delivery to the Shaw residence on Maple Drive. Atlas and Eliana's address.

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.2

My Husband Saved Her Cat While My Father Bled to Death

8.2

The smell hit me first. Candles. Lilies. Something underneath it all — sweet and wrong, the way a room smells when it's trying too hard to hide something dead. St. Augustine's was packed. Every pew filled, every face turned toward the front of the nave where Julien Herrera lay in a mahogany casket lined with white satin. The priest was still speaking. I couldn't hear the words. All I could hear was my own breathing and the low, steady pressure of Clyde's hand on my back, steering me down the center aisle like I was luggage.

Modern Mystery Romance

9.2

The Billionaire's Secret Heir: Sign the Divorce

9.2

I spent three years as the perfect, silent wife to billionaire Ezequiel Sanford, enduring a marriage colder than the marble floors of our Manhattan mansion. The day I finally saw two pink lines on a pregnancy test was the same day my world burned down. I found Ezequiel at the hospital, but he wasn't there for me. He was cradling his ex-girlfriend, Alexa, with a gentleness he had never shown me, while my own father was being rushed into the ICU after a suicide attempt triggered by our family's bankruptcy. Instead of comfort, Ezequiel handed me divorce papers. He had checked a box that read "No Issue of Marriage," effectively erasing any claim I had to his legacy. He blackmailed me, promising to save my father’s company only if I signed away every cent of alimony and walked away with nothing. When Alexa called him claiming an emergency, Ezequiel shoved me aside so violently I hit the sharp corner of his glass desk. As I collapsed to the floor, clutching my abdomen in sudden, searing pain, he didn't even look back. "Stop acting," he sneered, his voice dripping with disgust. "It’s pathetic. I will never love you, Claudia, no matter how many times you fall down." He walked out to be with her, leaving me bleeding on his office carpet with the secret he had spent years trying to avoid. He thought I was a gold-digger faking a crisis, never realizing I was actually carrying the Sanford heir he claimed didn't exist. Now, I’m hiding in a private clinic while my husband’s security team scours the city for me. My childhood friend just handed me a one-way ticket to Paris and a chance to restart the medical career I sacrificed for a lie. The money just hit my father's account. I’m signing the papers and disappearing. By the time Ezequiel realizes what he’s lost, I’ll be a world away, and he’ll never even know my child’s name.

Billionaire Modern Romance

7.1

The Billionaire's Shadow Wife

7.1

To the world, Nayla was the picture of perfection. But behind her elegant smile lay a wound that cut deeper than anyone could imagine. Her world shattered in a single night when she discovered her husband's betrayal with the one woman she trusted most-her own best friend. Instead of drowning in tears, Nayla chose a different path: she walked away without looking back. She wasn't running; she was reclaiming the dignity that had been trampled upon. Destiny led her to Arzlan Dirgantara, a young, handsome, and cold-hearted CEO who lived his life without a single flaw in the public eye. Unbeknownst to her, Arzlan had been captivated by Nayla since the moment their paths first crossed-and he was a man who never played games. Arzlan offered Nayla something extraordinary: A love contract with a shocking condition. At first, it was nothing more than a cold business arrangement. But as time passed, the walls they built around their hearts began to crumble. The clinical agreement slowly transformed into a flame that turned their lives upside down. Caught between the scars of her past and a blossoming new love, Nayla must make a choice: Will she return to the past that destroyed her, or embrace a future with a man willing to kneel for her happiness?

Billionaire Modern Romance

8.3

The Jilted Mafia Heiress Takes It All

8.3

I stood at the altar of St. Patrick's Cathedral, the daughter of New York’s most feared Don, ready to lower myself to marry a common soldier. Then, a toddler in the front pew shrieked, "Daddy." Liam didn't squeeze my hand for reassurance. He dropped it like it was a branding iron. In front of five hundred of the criminal elite, he ran down the aisle, scooping up his secret child and the mistress who had been blackmailing him. He left me standing there, humiliated and alone. Three months later, the "Jilted Princess" title still clung to me. Yet, Liam had the audacity to bring her to my father's birthday gala. Sarah, wearing a dress far too tight and a smug smile, cornered me in the middle of the ballroom. She wanted to twist the knife. "He hates you, you know," she screamed, loud enough for the Dons and Capos to hear. "He says sleeping with you was like sleeping with a statue. He chose real love! He chose a family!" The room went deathly silent. Liam looked at me with pity, thinking he had won. He thought I was broken. He thought I was alone. I took a slow sip of my champagne and set the glass down. "I am not alone, Sarah," I said calmly. I turned toward the shadows near the entrance. "Ethan?" I called out. The crowd parted instantly for the scarred, lethal man who stepped forward—The Ghost of Chicago, the most feared Underboss in Europe. He walked over and wrapped a heavy, possessive arm around my waist. "I’d like you to meet my husband," I told a horrified Liam. "And our daughter is waiting upstairs."

Billionaire Mafia Modern

When My Boyfriend Turned Me into a Game for His Friends

Chapter 1

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