Betrayal and Redemption Arc.
Copyright© 2025 by Monster Flower
Chapter 1
The kitchen buzzed with late-night energy half empty glasses, flushed faces, and just the right amount of chaos. Hank stood near the table, the ring of old friends gathered close, and the whiskey in his hand dangerously low.
He didn’t smile much tonight. But he looked focused.
Because this wasn’t just another party.
This was payback.
Across the room, Eliza moved silently, wrapped in a dark shawl, her bare shoulders tense beneath it. She hadn’t spoken much tonight. She barely looked at Hank. The air between them had turned cold weeks ago ever since Hank found the message.
The one from her office colleague. The one with hotel reservations and words no married man should read about his wife.
She’d apologized, begged. Said it meant nothing. Said it was just one mistake.
Hank had smiled then. Just like he smiled now.
“Gentlemen,” he said, placing five cards in front of each man. “We’re playing a special version of Uno tonight.”
Tyler, Marcus, Rafael, Owen they laughed, leaning in, slightly drunk, unaware of the fire underneath the surface.
“Eliza,” Hank called. She hesitated.
“Now.”
She stood up, slowly removing the shawl to reveal a black lace ensemble beneath. It wasn’t her choice. Hank had left it on the bed earlier, with a note: Wear this. Be ready.
The men turned, blinking. No one said a word at first.
“You’re joking,” Marcus muttered.
Hank’s tone dropped. “Do I look like I’m joking?”
Eliza’s eyes pleaded with Hank for restraint. But he looked right past her, to the cards.
“The winner gets five minutes with her,” he said. “Right here. At the table.”
The room fell silent. The men exchanged glances. Uneasy. Excited. Curious.
Eliza sat down on the bench, far from Hank. She didn’t look at anyone.
She didn’t want to be here.
But Hank had made it clear earlier: You broke the vow. Now you’ll keep mine.
They played. Slowly, with tension and laughter that felt forced. Every time a man laid down a good card, Hank would smirk. Every time Eliza adjusted her slip, someone would cough nervously.
It was Owen shy, married Owen who laid down the final card. A red two.
“You win,” Hank said. “Time starts now.”
Owen looked stunned. “Wait Hank, are you sure”
“She’s yours for five minutes.”
Eliza didn’t move. Her lips trembled.
Hank leaned closer. His voice low. Cold. “Go. Make it convincing.”
She stood. Walked to Owen.
The room didn’t laugh. No one cheered. But the alcohol in their blood made them stay, their curiosity dulling their conscience.
Owen didn’t touch her. Not at first.
She sat beside him. Placed her hands on the table. Waited.
Like a queen trapped in a court she no longer ruled.
Owen sat stiffly, unsure where to place his hands or eyes. The kitchen’s overhead light flickered faintly, casting long shadows across the wooden table. Eliza stood beside him, still wrapped in that nearly sheer black lace, her eyes distant.
The others stayed silent, whiskey glasses paused halfway to lips, unsure if they were guests or witnesses.
Eliza finally sat beside Owen, just close enough that their knees almost touched.
She didn’t look at her husband.
“I don’t want to do this,” she whispered.
“I know,” Owen replied, voice gentle. “We can just talk, if that’s okay.”
But Hank spoke up from across the table. “She’s not here to talk.”
Eliza winced.
Owen looked apologetic, his hand hovering near hers on the table. “You okay?”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she leaned in not out of desire, but out of expectation.
Five minutes, she reminded herself.
Just five.
Her fingers brushed Owen’s wrist. Soft, trembling.
He looked down at the touch, then back up at her. She was trying no, performing. There was a difference.
He could see the flicker behind her gaze. The way her shoulders stayed tense, even as she tilted her head, letting her hair fall gently to one side.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, unsure whether the words were comfort or temptation.
Eliza gave a faint smile. Practiced. Hollow.
Her hand grazed his chest, fingers trailing the collar of his shirt. Every movement was slow, deliberate like a dancer who no longer enjoyed the music.
Owen leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching. She smelled faintly of jasmine and wine.
Behind them, one of the other men cleared his throat. The clock ticked.
“You don’t have to do anything more,” Owen whispered.
But she moved anyway. Her lips brushed his not a kiss, not really. Just a test of what counted as ‘enough’ in this twisted game. Her hands reached up, fingers in his hair, pulling him just slightly closer.
His hand rested on her thigh, respectful. Careful.
Their lips finally met this time, softer. Longer.
For a brief second, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine someone else. Anyone else.
Not Hank. Not the kitchen. Not the eyes watching.
Just a flicker of connection. Human. Warm.
But it passed too quickly.
The timer on the stove beeped.
Five minutes.
She pulled back.
“That’s enough,” Hank said, standing up with a smirk.
Eliza stood too, adjusting the strap on her shoulder, her eyes avoiding all of theirs now.
Owen looked down, cheeks flushed with shame.
She walked out of the kitchen silently. But forced to stay here.
When her back was turned, Tyler’s voice broke the hush. “Next challenge?”
Hank set down his glass with a decisive clink. “Pull-ups. No fancy moves just good old-fashioned strength. Five minutes on the bar for the winner.”
The men cheered, gathering near the pull-up bar strung between two kitchen beams. Eliza sipped her coffee, her heart racing at the memory of Owen’s tender attempts and at the thought of giving herself again under the gaze of a stranger.
“I don’t think I can watch more,” she whispered to Hank, voice low.
He reached across the counter, brushing a fingertip against her wrist. “It’s your penance.”