Page 10 of Cyber Revenge

TEN

LYDIA

I haven’t been on a real date in over two years.

Like… Get-dressed-up, wear-actual-pants, shave-everything kind of date.

So the fact that I’m doing all that now, because of Patrick , kind of makes me hate myself.

But also… not really.

He’s been relentless since the video. The one I accidentally sent him. I thought he’d be turned off, or at the very least, awkward about it.

Nope.

He doubled down. Flowers. Voice messages. Compliments so smooth I almost forgot he was paying to be in my DMs.

Then the invite came.

“One date. I’ll pick you up. No pressure. If you hate it, you never have to see me again.”

And somehow, I said yes.

He arrives exactly on time. Clean black Audi. Soft music is playing when I get in. Dressed like a damn catalog model, black button-down, sleeves rolled just enough to show forearms that know their way around a gym.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, eyes raking over me in a way that doesn’t feel gross. It feels intentional. “You look even better in person.”

“You’ve seen me live,” I say with a smirk.

He shrugs. “Not like this.”

We drive to a rooftop restaurant I’ve never heard of, one of those private, reservation-only places you only find if someone rich lets you in. The city looks like a painting from up there. Warm lights. Breeze in my hair. Music, soft and classy.

He orders for me without asking, but it isn’t rude. It’s confident. He picks all the right things, my favorite cocktail, the appetizer I’d been eyeing before I even said a word.

The conversation is easy. Light. He asks about my streams, what I like about gaming, and if I ever get tired of being watched.

I laugh. “I don’t mind being watched. I just hate people.”

He grins. “That’s fair. I don’t like most people either.”

He doesn’t ask questions like a creep. He doesn’t press about my OnlyFans or the things I post. He compliments me, sure, but it doesn’t feel thirsty. It feels like he’s studied me.

When dessert comes, he leans in, his voice lower.

“I’m really glad you said yes.”

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “I didn’t think I would.”

“Why not?”

I shrug. “I guess I figured you liked the idea of me more than the real thing.”

He doesn’t flinch. “I like both.”

Something in my stomach flips. But not in a bad way. More like… oh fuck way.

He walks me to my door after dinner, hand brushing mine, the air thick with possibility. He doesn’t kiss me. Just tucks a curl behind my ear and says, “Text me when you’re safe inside.”

It’s sweet.

Weirdly… respectful.

But when I get inside and lock the door, something tugs at me. Just a little.

The way he ordered without asking.

The way he redirected the convo when I asked too much about him.

The way he knew what I liked before I even told him.

Not red flags. Not really.

More like… pastel yellow ones. Hazy. Almost invisible.

Still, I can’t stop smiling.

Until I open TikTok.

There he is.

Trip.

Mask on. Shirtless. Black gloves gripping the back of a chair.

The camera is angled low, the light behind him casting everything in silhouette, except the veins in his arms, the line of his throat, the tattoo peeking out under his collarbone.

His voice cuts straight through me.

“You think you’re safe because he opened your door. Because he said the right words. But when he leaves, you’re still alone. And you’re still wet from the last time you said my name.”

The screen dims.

My pulse doesn’t.

My phone slips from my hand and hits the floor.

And for the first time since I got home, I don’t know who I’m thinking about anymore.