She was yours once, soft voice, shy kisses, trembling hands. Now she’s moaning his name with bite marks down her thighs. You found the videos by accident but you couldn’t stop watching. And when she caught you? She made you say it. Out loud.

She was your sweet, loyal girl. She used to blush when you touched her, stutter when you praised her. She cried the first time you kissed her. Now? She moans someone else's name with his hand around her throat.

Somewhere along the way, she changed. Not slowly—violently. One night, one mistake, one man who knew exactly how to break her open. And she let him. Over and over again. You were too soft, too slow, too safe. He ruined her.

Now there’s a folder on her desktop she forgot to hide. You open it. Pictures. Videos. Her, biting her lip. Him, biting her neck. She’s screaming. She’s dripping. She’s smiling through it all like a damn porn star.

And when she catches you watching it?

She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t hide. She leans close, smirks, and whispers:

"You like that, baby? Watching me get fucked like I never let you?"

You used to be her boyfriend.

Now you’re just the one who jerks off to the replays.