As time passed, their secret meetings turned into daily rituals—whispers over the phone, hurried texts under desks, lingering glances between classes. It all built toward something unspoken, something inevitable.

  After a quiet candlelight dinner—just the two of them, hearts flickering like the flame—they arrived at the hotel they’d chosen weeks ago but postponed until they were “ready.” Tonight, they were.

  The manager glanced up from his ledger, eyes briefly scanning their nervous figures.

  “No loud sounds,” he said flatly. “And don’t disturb the rooms next to you.”

  Clara’s cheeks flushed instantly, her gaze falling to the floor.

  Julian just smiled. That smile—cold, amused.

  The manager felt it before he understood it. A slow unease down his spine.

  Then, silence.

  Julian reached out, took the keycard, and whispered, “Amusing, isn’t it?”

  The manager blinked. By the time he looked up, they were already walking toward the elevator.

  Room 452.

  Fourth floor.

  The door clicked open. The hallway lights buzzed behind them.

  Julian held the door for Clara, eyes half-lidded with calm.

  And then—click—the lock turned, sealing them in.

  Julian turned to Clara. “If you want to freshen up, go ahead. I’ll get the bed ready.”

  Clara’s face blushed red once more. There was something in the way Julian spoke—so straightforward, so calmly assured—that made her more embarrassed than she expected. She pulled her nightwear from her handbag and disappeared into the bathroom.

  Julian waited a full two minutes.

  Just in case she came back for soap, a towel, something forgotten.

  When she didn’t, he reached into his bag and pulled out a small camera. No dark motive—just curiosity. Amusement. A desire to see how it would feel to capture the moment, not the act. He adjusted the angle, focused it on the bed. Confirmed the red recording light. Satisfied.

  The thrill hit before she even stepped out.

  He smoothed the bedsheets, clicked on the air conditioner, and nudged it to 28 degrees—not too cold, not too warm. Comfortable. Barely enough to need a blanket.

  Soft instrumental music filled the room, playing from his Bluetooth speaker—low, intimate, like a background hum for something private.

  Julian lay back on the bed, arms behind his head, eyes half-closed as he stared up at the ceiling.

  By the time Clara stepped out of the bathroom...

  He was already asleep.

  As she stepped out of the bathroom in her nightwear, Clara felt it all at once—anticipation, slight fear, and a thrill so sharp it made her heart pound harder than before. Even after the bath, her skin was slightly damp, not from heat, but from the rush in her blood.

  The chill of the air conditioner brushed over her, but it didn’t cool her. If anything, it made her more aware of the thudding in her chest.

  Julian lay on the bed, eyes closed, breathing slow like he was asleep. Clara hesitated at the edge of the room, watching his face for a second—then suddenly, his eyes opened.

  She flinched slightly and lowered her head, too flustered to meet his gaze.

  “Clara,” Julian said, voice low, steady, “why are you standing? Come here. Lie down.”

  She nodded faintly, her limbs stiff with nervousness, and walked toward the bed.

  As she drew closer, a faint trace of his perfume hit her—musky, woody, something warm and unplaceable. She almost inhaled deeper on instinct, but stopped herself.

  She lay down beside him—close, but not quite touching.

  Julian turned his head toward her, eyes now fully awake. The scent of rose soap clung gently to her, plain and clean—no extravagant perfumes, just her.

  He reached out, slowly, and held her hand.

  Both of them trembled.

  And in that trembling, Julian felt it—not just attraction, but something rawer, deeper.

  This. This right here.

  This is the excitement I want.

  Julian turned toward her and pulled her into an embrace. Her warmth, the soft scent of her skin, and his own musky wood perfume mingled in the air—an intoxicating mix that made his pulse quicken. The lights were dim. The music hummed softly in the background.

  And the camera, unnoticed in its corner, captured everything—quiet, steady, undisturbed.

  ---

  Morning light spilled through the window in gentle beams, brushing across the room like fingertips. Julian stirred first. Still half-asleep, he groaned softly, the sunlight pressing against his face.

  Clara lay beside him, the sheet curled around her shoulders, her breath slow and even. Julian untangled himself from the bed with quiet care, the warmth of her body still lingering on his skin.

  He dressed slowly, movements muted.

  One last glance at her. She hadn't stirred.

  He stepped to the window and drew the curtain closed, letting the room fall into a soft, gray shade. Then he moved to the shelf—precise, calm—retrieved the small camera, switched off the recording, and slid it carefully into his bag.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Not a sound.

  His face gave nothing away.

  ---

  Three months passed.

  Their secret meetings became routine. Hotel rooms. Soft music. Whispers in the dark. Eleven times, maybe twelve—he stopped counting. At first, each encounter thrilled Julian. The secrecy. The tension. The strange purity in Clara’s gaze. But slowly, the edge dulled. The recordings began to stack like copies of a movie where he already knew every frame.

  It wasn’t boredom exactly. Just… silence. The kind that creeps in when the novelty fades and nothing new rises to replace it.

  One evening, after Clara left, Julian sat alone, phone in hand, screen glowing. He opened a dating app. Not out of need—just curiosity. Just for the thrill.

  One-night stands didn’t count, he told himself. They weren’t betrayal. Clara was still the one he loved.

  But this was different. Not love. Just excitement.

  Or at least, the version of her he loved still existed somewhere. Maybe.

  So he swiped.

  The hotel room smelled the same. Same mild air freshener. Same 28-degree hum of the air conditioner. The camera sat exactly where it always did, red light blinking quietly. But the girl on the bed wasn’t Clara.

  And that’s what made Julian’s heart race again.

  The thrill had returned—not because it was better, but because it was new. That same nervous excitement he felt the first night with Clara flickered through him like a forgotten flame. Familiar setting. Unfamiliar face. That’s all it took.

  Later, after the girl left, Julian lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, half-dressed and breathing slow.

  His phone buzzed.

  Clara.

  He answered casually. “Hello, Clara. What is it?”

  Her voice was sharp, laced with restrained hurt. “Julian, why haven’t you come to meet me the past two weeks? Are you… are you angry at me?”

  Julian chuckled. “Babe, don’t talk nonsense. I’ve just been tired, that’s all. We’ll meet tomorrow, okay?”

  A pause. Then Clara spoke, her voice quieter—nervous, almost rehearsed.

  “Julian… sorry, actually tomorrow a friend is visiting. She’s staying over, so I can’t meet you. Let’s meet next week?”

  Julian didn’t think twice. “Alright,” he said, voice still casual.

  He hung up.

  No suspicion. No guilt. And certainly… no thrill.

  The next day, Julian swiped again.

  Another girl. Another night. Another thrill. Same hotel. Same room request. Same routine.

  He didn’t think about Clara.

  Not until he stepped into the lobby—and saw her.

  Clara.

  Standing at the counter. Hair tied up, lips pale, eyes locked forward.

  Beside her stood a guy—taller than Julian, sharper jaw, dressed like he belonged on magazine covers. Rich-looking, easy smile, confident without trying.

  Julian's hands trembled.

  Clara didn’t speak. She didn’t flinch. Just glanced at him once—then at the girl standing beside him. Her lips pressed into a thin line.

  For a moment, time felt like it paused. A moment that hummed with guilt, fury, and the silent horror of recognition.

  The manager looked up from the desk.

  His eyes flicked from Julian to Clara, then back again. No words. Just a subtle, raised brow—half judgment, half amusement.

  He slid both keycards across the counter.

  Clara took hers without a word. Her gaze lingered—not on Julian, but on the girl clinging to his arm.

  Not embarrassed anymore. Just... disappointed. Cold.

  Julian opened his mouth—then closed it.

  No apology would land. Not here. Not like this.

  Clara turned. Walked away. And disappeared down the corridor with her new lover, her spine straight, her shoulders set like steel.

  Julian stood frozen for a moment.

  The girl beside him giggled. “That your ex or something?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Just took the key. And walked toward his room.

  But the thrill was already gone.

  Julian sat on the edge of the bed, the dim light painting shadows across the room. The girl beside him was already asleep, her breathing slow and even. He stared at the ceiling, mind stirring with a strange clarity.

  So this is what betrayal feels like, he thought.

  He’d told himself it wasn’t betrayal. That he still loved Clara. That the one-night stands didn’t mean anything. Just thrill. Just amusement.

  But seeing Clara with another guy—taller, sharper, cleaner—had cracked something open in him. It didn’t make him sad. It made him understand himself.

  So this was betrayal?

  “Oh,” he whispered to himself, lips curling into a half-smile. “That’s good.”

  He sighed, sank back into the bed, and closed his eyes. The soft background hum of music filled the silence, steady and calm.

  The next afternoon, Julian’s phone rang. Clara.

  He stared at the screen for a second. Then answered with the same flat tone as always.

  “Hello. What is it, Clara?”

  Like nothing had happened. No hesitation. No guilt. Just the same Julian as ever.

  On the other end, Clara paused. Her throat tightened. Somewhere inside her, guilt, anger, and doubt clashed in silence.

  Why is he like this? So calm… so normal. Was she the one who was wrong?

  Was she blinded by lust? By the comfort of someone taller, richer, more composed? Or was it that she hadn’t satisfied Julian enough—that he had to go to another girl?

  But that voice—so casual, so emotionless—made her question it all. Is it really him? Or… is it me?

  She didn’t know he’d been with others. She only saw the girl from yesterday. If she had known the truth—the weeks, the lies—maybe her doubts wouldn’t sting so sharp.

  Still, she shook the thoughts from her head.

  “We’ll meet this evening,” she said quietly. “Top floor. Usual place.”

  “Okay,” Julian replied.

  No questions. No emotion. No hesitation.

  Just… okay.

  He ended the call, let the phone fall beside him, and leaned back.

  It’s going to end. Where we started... Sigh.

  Then his lips curled.

  You think I’d just leave… just because you want to break up? Our love is a holy thing…Hehehehehehe.

  Then his face shifted—cold, sharp.

  He moved toward the small camera, detached the memory card, and connected it to his phone through a cable.

  Julian copied the private hotel video—the one between him and Clara—and loaded it onto his phone.

  A ready-to-upload page blinked quietly on his phone. Just in case. It wouldn't come to that, he thought. But still. Safety first.

  Satisfied, Julian left for the college rooftop.

  Clara was already there, waiting—the same as that first day.

  Rose flowers in one hand, a beer bottle in the other. The way she had proposed. Now... she wanted to end it.

  Their eyes met.

  Neither spoke at first.

  Finally, Julian broke the silence. "Clara. What is it you called me for?"

  Clara hesitated.

  His voice was too calm.

  No anger. No guilt.

  As if nothing had ever happened.

  "I think... we’re not made for each other," she said, forcing the words out. "I love Logan. And... we both haven't been honest. We should break up with a smile—before something worse happens."

  Julian looked at her for a long moment.

  "Clara," he said slowly, "we can love again. It's just a misunderstanding. We can understand each other, like before. Don't leave me."

  Clara froze. The first real emotion she'd heard from him.

  It almost made her hesitate.

  "No, Julian," she said. "We can't."

  Before she could finish her next sentence—Ding.

  A notification popped up on her phone. She opened it without thinking—and her blood ran cold.

  It was from Julian.

  It was that video.

  The private hotel recording. Their first night together.

  Her hands shook as she stared at him in horror.

  "You filthy—" Her voice broke. "You secretly recorded me... without permission? Are you going to show it to Logan? Is that it?"

  Julian smiled.

  Raised his finger, wagging it lazily. "No, no, no," he said softly. "I'm not that childish."

  Clara's body stiffened.

  "I don't care about your new boyfriend," Julian said, voice dripping amusement. "I only care that you belong to me. If you want to love someone else, fine. I accept it."

  She blinked—confused.

  Until he added, smiling wider, "But love has a rent. And you... or your new boyfriend... better pay it."

  Her world shattered.

  "Julian," she said, voice trembling, "don't play games."

  "I'm not playing," he said, stepping closer.

  "I'm serious. A hundred percent serious."

  She scrambled to call someone—anyone—but Julian lifted his phone higher.

  "Ah, ah, ah," he chuckled. "If you tell anyone, or report anything… The whole world will see this video. Even your dear college friends."

  His thumb hovered over the 'Upload' button.

  Clara sobbed out, "No! No! I’ll pay—how much you want—don’t do this!"

  Julian’s smile stretched.

  "Good girl," he said. "First... send $500. Consider it an advance."

  With trembling hands, Clara obeyed. Her body drenched in cold sweat.

  Julian casually reached for the rose and beer bottle in her hands.

  "Oh," he said with a grin. "This is how you proposed, isn’t it? I’ll take these too. Part of the advance."

  He stepped into her space, tilting her chin up with two fingers. His lips pressed against hers—firm, claiming.

  Clara didn’t resist. She froze, heart pounding, fear locking her in place. Tears leaked from her eyes. Her whole body shook—not from love, but from terror.

  "Bye, Clara," Julian whispered against her ear. "If you want to love me again… remember: there's a price now. Nothing free anymore.”

  He laughed softly, almost lovingly.

  Inside him, the excitement bloomed into full, dark flowers.