Shattering the Playboy

[ "Bagged her in two days." ] He made sure to block my main account, but he completely forgot about the burner account I used for lurking.

Three months later, a photo of him on his knees, begging me to take him back, went viral across every platform.

I swiped past the screen and left a simple comment: [ "Nothing special." ] Chapter 1 Roman had the quintessential rich bad boy face, sharp, arrogant, and radiating raw control.

And I loved it. So when he singled me out and made his move, I gladly played along. I genuinely thought we could have a decent college romance. He clearly had other plans.

Because the very next morning, he posted a picture of me on his Close Friends story with the caption: [ "Bagged her in two days." ] I couldn't tell if that passiveaggressive little announcement was more about showing off or stroking his own ego.

I checked my other phone. Sure enough, he had blocked my main account. A scoff slipped past my lips.

The burner account I created just to check out his face was actually coming in handy. I originally didn't plan to make a big deal out of it.

My first thought was to screenshot the post, toss it in Roman's face, get an explanation, and mutually end things. That would have been the end of the story.

After all, who hasn't dated a couple of toxic guys in their youth? But some people just belong in the dumpster. My thumb refreshed the screen out of habit.

Just as I was about to take a screenshot, two new comments caught my eye.

One read: [ "She was way too easy." ] The other read: [ "She's been completely obsessed with me from the start.

I'm just worried that when I dump her, she'll act like a total psycho and cling to me like all the other girls.

Just thinking about it is a massive headache." ] He was replying to his own post, but I couldn't see the person asking the question.

He obviously just wanted to broadcast his little speech to everyone on his list. That move actually made me laugh out loud, a cold sound dripping with pure mockery.

Putting myself aside, a real man doesn't need to trash his exes just to prove his charm. Two chimes broke the silence.

He texted my other phone on iMessage: "Maeve, are you awake yet?

I'm waiting downstairs." He sounded exactly like the perfectly tamed, flawless boyfriend, entirely different from the guy showing off on his private story.

Staring at his twofaced act across my two phones, the corners of my mouth slowly curled up. Roman, since you want to play this game so badly, I'll play along.

Today I will teach you a lesson on what it means when they say in the game of love, the one holding all the chips wins in the end. You were too arrogant to actually figure me out.

I am definitely not some innocent sweetheart you can just push around. … By the time I finished getting ready and walked downstairs, over half an hour had passed since Roman's text.

He stood by the lawn outside my sorority house. His profile was striking, with deep, sculpted features.

A sharp, aggressive edge lurked in his eyes, perfectly blending with his lazy, careless vibe. There was no doubt Roman had the capital to be arrogant.

Between his looks and his family's money, girls constantly threw themselves at him. For him, changing girlfriends was just going through the motions.

Whoever it was, they just became another piece of gossip for him and his frat brothers to joke about later. He had never hit a wall in his little dating games.

After all, he threw cash around freely and always ended things cleanly.

According to a reliable source, the only reason he targeted me was because he heard someone say, "Maeve, that junior in the STEM program, is impossible to get." That sparked his interest.

But it was too bad. This time, he messed with the wrong girl. He walked right into his own trap.

Chapter 2 Roman leaned against his eyecatching black Porsche, checking the Rolex on his wrist. "What took you so long?" Wow, impatient much?

I knew he was eager, but he needed to take a breath.

Catching the hushed whispers and sideeyes from the people around us, I faked an absolute thrill, hooked my arm through his, and let the words slip out. "Because I'm seeing you.

I wanted to look my absolute best." It was a simple line, but the soft, deliberately sweet tone stroked his ego exactly the right way in public.

His expression instantly smoothed out. He cleared his throat lightly, tossing back a textbook line. "You don't have to try so hard next time.

I like you no matter how you look." I dropped my gaze, swallowing down the urge to gag. Acting perfectly flustered by his words, I clung to his arm as he led me off campus.

He walked like he owned the concrete beneath our feet, completely ignoring the mocking stares from the insiders who knew the real story.

And I maintained my harmless, goodgirl act, trailing after him with a hesitant, slight tremble.

This fragile display—looking like I would shatter into pieces without him—fed right into Roman's smugness.

He let out a low, careless laugh, generously wrapping his hand around mine to play the comforting boyfriend amidst the calculated whispers. "Don't be intimidated, Maeve.

You're Roman's girlfriend now." He looked down at me, a practiced gentleness in his eyes.

He played the part perfectly, acting like he was my sole anchor and salvation in a noisy world judging my every move. Relief washed over me.

If I hadn't been drawn in by his face in the first place… if I hadn't deliberately played the innocent, helpless type he preferred… I'd already be next on his list of weeping exes, tossed aside for his frat brothers to laugh at.

After all, when a face that flawless is staring right at you, it's easy to lose your grip on reality, even when you're just acting. … My dates with Roman didn't look any different from what normal couples did.

The only real difference was how freely he threw cash around.

Maybe it was his wealth, or maybe he understood the game perfectly—if you want to catch the most beautiful prey, you have to drop the most expensive bait.

He never even blinked when paying for my gifts or covering our tabs.

It reminded me of a comment I read once on a Reddit relationship thread: [ "A guy who spends money on you might not love you, but a guy who refuses to spend a dime on you definitely doesn't give a damn." ] Men lean heavily into realism.

If a guy is genuinely into a girl, he has no problem opening his wallet.

So, when a guy refuses to spend on you and uses the excuse of just being a clueless guy who doesn't know romance, it's glaringly obvious.

He's not into you; he just wants to soak up your free devotion. Roman was far from a good guy, but he understood this rule flawlessly.

And physically, he kept his hands to himself, playing the perfect gentleman. There was no desperate rush to drag me to a hotel room, no arrogant showing off.

Because of that, for those first few weeks, we played our parts perfectly. We looked like two people obsessed with each other, locked in a honeymoon phase.

Chapter 3 But exactly two weeks into this flawless act, I shattered the peace. I shifted my strategy, purposely picking tiny fights and starting friction.

Because I saw it in his eyes, he was getting bored. I couldn't let that happen.

The show I had meticulously set up for him hadn't even started yet. … Playing the perfectly submissive girlfriend was just to cement my image in his head, a girl with zero backbone, so hopelessly obsessed with him that she would lose herself.

Stirring up drama was the next phase, forcing him to see the contrast. Sweet and obedient one second, sharp and temperamental the next.

Because only in the early stages of dating will a guy tolerate a girl throwing a tantrum. To them, it is just cute and fresh.

So, to make the setup flawless, I dragged myself out of bed at dawn for three days straight, waiting on the lawn outside his frat house.

Finally, on the third day, I caught my opening. The second I saw him, I trailed behind him, radiating pure gloom, playing the part of a girl drowning in her own heavy thoughts.

Roman clearly had zero intention of asking what was wrong. After all, I wasn't important enough for him to give a damn about my feelings. But I spent the entire day acting crushed.

The silence inside his car was suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel. The heavy tension finally cracked his patience.

He glanced at me, his voice clipping with annoyance. "What is wrong with you?" He probably thought he was showing rare consideration for his new girlfriend.

He had no idea that the moment those words left his mouth, he sealed his own fate. It was the exact trigger he needed to start paying the price for his sheer arrogance.

Because with that single question, the trap I built specifically for him finally snapped shut. … Snagging the exact question I wanted, I kept my eyes glued to the passenger window, letting the silence stretch.

A few beats later, right as the car braked at a red light, I turned my head.

I looked at him with wide, devastated eyes and delivered the kill shot in a soft, trembling whisper. "Roman, we need to break up." His tapping fingers froze on the leather wheel.

Two seconds passed before his head snapped toward me, his brow furrowing. "What did you just say?" Tch. Deaf, huh.

I cleared my throat, forcing my voice a notch higher, layering it with a perfectly practiced, suppressed tremble. "I said, we need to break up!" That time, he heard me loud and clear.

His jaw locked. He slammed his foot on the gas, scanning the street before wrenching the steering wheel to pull over. Park. Shift. Ignition off.

He turned to me, a muscle feathering in his jaw. "Why?" It took everything in me not to burst out laughing at his reaction, but I stayed in character and delivered my rehearsed lines. "I saw you talking to that girl today…" I kept it vague, but it was enough for him to connect the dots.

Roman stared at me. His brow arched, and then realization flickered in his eyes. "Are you serious right now? She is just a girl from my class. We were literally just talking.

If you hate it that much, I will keep my distance from her." He let out a scoffing laugh and reached over to ruffle my hair, trying to shut down the conversation with his usual condescending affection.

But I wasn't about to give him a free pass. I acted like I hadn't heard a single word of his excuse, pouring every ounce of fake vulnerability I had into the performance.

First, I bit down hard on my lower lip. Then I looked up at him through my lashes, stammering out a choked whisper. "But…" "But what?" Chapter 4 Impatience radiated off him.

His icy posture screamed that if I pushed one more inch, he would dump me right on the spot. After all, Roman didn't have the patience to coax a girl throwing a baseless tantrum.

Judging by that Close Friends post, he was already planning to find an excuse to shake me off soon anyway.

All his playacting over these past couple of weeks was just to prove a point to his frat brothers—Look, you all said Maeve was untouchable, but Roman bagged her without breaking a sweat.

But in his mind, the breakup wasn't supposed to come from me. That messed with his pride and his flawless playboy reputation.

If I made things too complicated, though, he wouldn't hesitate to cut his losses and dispose of me like a lingering headache. Too bad he messed with Maeve. I always pay my debts.

He couldn't dump me today even if he tried. Because what I was about to say was going to teach this spoiled rich boy what a real power imbalance looked like.

What it really meant when the ultimate predator disguised herself as a hopelessly obsessed girl. The car fell dead silent.

I looked up at Roman, forcing my eyes to go wide and bloodshot, completely ignoring the irritation rolling off him as I pushed forward with my script. "But, I just can't keep feeling this constant anxiety over losing you." That made Roman freeze.

He had been waiting for an opening to cut me loose, but my words threw him completely off balance. "Why would you… feel anxious about losing me?" Hook, line, and sinker.

I choked out a sob and turned my face away, giving him a trembling shoulder to overanalyze. Hidden from his view, the corners of my mouth curled up.

Showtime. "Roman, you have no idea.

When you asked me out that day… it was something I didn't even dare to dream about." "You're so perfect, and there are always so many girls throwing themselves at you.

I've never been anyone special my entire life. Just being with you made me feel so incredibly happy and lucky." "But people are greedy.

At first, I just wanted to look at you from a distance. Then, I wanted to be yours.

And once I had you, I selfishly wanted you all to myself." "I know you have your own world, and I shouldn't interfere.

But every time I see those girls around you—girls who are so much better than me—I just crash." "I lose control. I feel so worthless, like I don't deserve you at all.

It makes me feel so incredibly small." "So I thought… maybe letting you go and going back to just watching you from the crowd is the best thing for both of us.

That way, I won't have to live in absolute panic every single day, and I won't ruin your mood or be a burden." Finishing my little monologue, I let out a helpless, shaky breath.

I turned back to face him, forcing a painfully fragile smile. Roman, who was brimming with annoyance a second ago, was completely blindsided by my strategic retreat.

His brain just crashed. His impatient scowl melted into absolute bewilderment. Every cold, calculated breakup line he had locked and loaded evaporated into thin air.

He stared blankly at me, overwhelmed by this supposed raw, vulnerable confession.

In his entire rich boy career, he had clearly never encountered anyone this supposedly authentic and painfully honest.

He would never in a million years guess that a girl who looked this insecure was actually reversemanipulating him into total submission.

Chapter 5 After all, nobody can resist pure authenticity. Especially when it is a raw confession from a girl hopelessly in love with them.

So, after a solid thirty seconds of stunned silence, Roman let out a heavy sigh, like he was finally giving in. He leaned over, pulling me tightly into his chest.

His hand stroked my hair, a gentle rhythm meant to soothe my spiraling emotions.

He probably thought this was his playboy heart finally showing mercy, completely missing the smug curve of his own lips. And me?

I stayed buried in his chest, making all the right crying sounds while my eyes remained dead and freezing cold. What a joke. I have the face, and I have the body.

I am hot enough to slaughter my way through your entire circle of trustfund babies. I don't deserve you? I could eat you alive.

That little crying session actually managed to trigger whatever trace of a conscience Roman had left. He started clearing his schedule, spending way more time with me.

He had no idea that to the rest of the world, it looked exactly like I had him whipped, like the notorious player was finally retiring his jersey. And Roman himself?

He was still completely drunk on the illusion that I was obsessively in love with him, spiraling over the thought of losing him.

The second I caught him snapping back to reality, I would run the exact same play, milking his tiny supply of guilt dry. But this was only the opening act.

A single crying fit wasn't enough to plant roots in his head. It wouldn't plant the seeds of absolute ruin I needed for later.

So, now that I had erased his plans to dump me, my next move was to personally hand him the Broken Window Theory. The Broken Window Theory is simple psychology.

It states that if a window in a building is broken and left unfixed, it sends a subconscious signal that no one cares, practically inviting people to smash the rest of the windows.

In a relationship, the theory translates to this: never hand someone your trauma, because they will use those exact wounds to tear you apart over and over again.

And I was going to weaponize that exact theory and flip it right back on him.

After that deep latenight confession, it was like a layer of dust had been wiped clean between Roman and me. The ice was finally cracking.

He started dragging me to his frat parties and innercircle hangouts, effortlessly introducing me as his girlfriend.

He created this flawless illusion that I was the one, the girl who finally made the player settle down.

If it weren't for the mocking, predatory glint in his friends' eyes, watching me like a joke they were all in on, a weaker girl would have completely drowned in his fake affection.

Once the timing was perfect, I started weaving myself deeper into his life. I started opening up. I started handing him my trauma. And the first piece of bait was my family.

On the drive back to campus after dinner one night, I turned in the passenger seat and stared at Roman without blinking.

Feeling my eyes on him, he let out an amused breath. "What are you staring at?" I rested my chin in my hand, keeping my gaze locked on his face.

I tossed out my response, making it sound careless when it was actually a highly calculated strike. "I'm looking at you." Roman didn't expect the blunt honesty. He genuinely froze.

Chapter 6 After a long beat, his laughter finally broke the quiet tension in the car.

The sound was low and slightly raspy, carrying a magnetic edge. "You are really something, Maeve. Playing games with me now, are we?" I let out a soft giggle.

I looked at him with a face radiating absolute happiness, playing the part of a girl whose entire universe revolved around him perfectly. On the outside, I was all smiles.

On the inside, I was flipping him off. But I still had to deliver my lines.

I looked at him and let my voice drop into a slow, soft murmur. "Roman, I am so glad I have you." "You are glad you have me?" "Yeah.

You are just really amazing." My relentless, wideeyed praise dragged another amused scoff out of him. "How exactly am I amazing?

Go ahead, tell me." "Because today when I got in the car, you had my favorite orange gummy bears waiting in the glovebox." Roman shot me a look of pure disbelief. "That makes me amazing?" I gave him a solemn nod. "Yes, it does.

Because you are just like my mom." "Your mom?" His confusion deepened, and a spike of irritation laced his tone at being compared to my mother.

I pretended not to notice his annoyance and kept feeding him the illusion. "Yeah, my mom. Because when I was little, my mom would always do exactly what you did today.

She would always keep a stash of my favorite orange gummy bears waiting for me in the passenger seat glovebox." He let out a breathless, mocking laugh. "Is that really all it takes for you, Maeve?

You get all choked up over something I just did in passing." "Besides, you are my girlfriend.

Taking care of you is just what I do." That little speech of his not only stroked his own ego but painted him as the ultimate, flawless boyfriend. I did not respond right away.

The script I had carefully written for this moment was reaching its climax, and I was not about to let him derail the emotional pacing.

In a highstakes game, victory or defeat is always decided in a split second. I shook my head slowly.

I wiped the adoring look off my face, replacing it with a hollow, distant expression. And then I started telling him a story.

A story about the mother who used to leave candy in the glovebox for me. Of course, it was a complete fabrication I spun up right on the spot.

In my little tragedy, I had a miserable childhood. The root of that misery was my parents' bitterly failing marriage.

That same mother, who used to be so sweet and attentive, started to look at me with absolute disgust because I resembled my father.

It got so bad that in the end, she actually screamed hysterically in my face, telling me I was just a burden who ruined people's lives and she wished she had never given birth to me.

The story was simple, but the psychological trap I was setting was not. I told Roman that because I grew up in that toxic environment, I completely gave up on the idea of love.

But then I met him. I told him his mere existence made me want to believe in something as fragile and terrifying as love again.

In short, I painted him the ultimate, irresistible masterpiece of devotion.

I did not just tell him that maybe all the suffering I went through was just to save up enough luck to finally meet him.

I went further, brainwashing him with a pictureperfect future. "If I could just marry you after graduation, that would be enough.

I do not need some massive wedding of the century or a massive diamond ring. I just need you to be good to me." Just look at that.

A girl so deeply traumatized and terrified of feelings, yet blindly handing her entire bleeding heart right over to him. Chapter 7 Roman didn't doubt a single word of my story.

He pulled me back into his arms, his chest rumbling as he tried to soothe the childhood scars I had just invented.

A guy like him, used to getting his way and never having to apologize, was clearly out of his element. He didn't know what to do with a girl sobbing into his shirt.

So, he did the only thing a trust fund billionaire knew how to do. He threw money at the problem. "Don't cry, baby. Do you want a new car?

Just say the word." He stroked my hair, his voice dropping into that low, persuasive hum. "Or that couture brand you like?

My brother just got back from an auction with a jewelry set. I think you would look stunning in it." "Anything you want, Maeve.

Just stop crying." I expertly wiped my tears in his arms. I didn't say yes, but I didn't say no either.

With Roman's personality, those things would end up in my hands sooner or later. And I am not Mother Teresa. Why would I turn down a payout?

I just hoped my parents, currently halfway across the world on their tenth honeymoon, wouldn't mind me using them as props. After all, what a child says doesn't count.

And even if I am in my early twenties, in my parents' eyes, I will always be their little girl. I was sure they would forgive me.

Now that the family trauma was out of the way, it was time to move on to the pain in love phase. But Roman wasn't giving me many openings.

I thought a guy who bragged so loudly on his private story would have some real game. Instead, he seemed completely hooked on my traumatized but obsessed persona.

Between my supposed undying love for him and my tragic backstory, he spent the next two months acting like a model boyfriend.

He was there every single day, waiting outside my sorority house like a loyal dog.

He sat through my STEM lectures even when he didn't have classes, patiently taking notes just to stay close to me.

On weekends, he curated every date to match my tastes, constantly surprising me with gifts.

It made me realize that his brag about girls being clingy psychos after a breakup probably wasn't just him being arrogant. It was reality. Roman was a very specific type of toxic.

He knew he didn't have a heart, so he compensated for it by being perfect in every other way. It reminded me of an opinion I had seen on a Reddit relationship forum a few days ago.

My roommate's birthday had just passed. She had asked her boyfriend for a lipstick she had wanted for months.

That guy, who swore he was so in love with her, actually told her: "Why are you being so materialistic?

I would have bought it for you, but the second you asked for it, the gesture lost its meaning." "Now I don't want to give it to you.

Do you understand?" My roommate cried, and honestly, I didn't understand either. Because that same day, Roman walked in with a bouquet made entirely of luxury lipsticks. His reason?

Happy 75th day of being mine. If Roman weren't a heartless player, he would actually be the best boyfriend on the planet. But there are no ifs in this game.

If he weren't a player, he wouldn't know exactly how to make a girl's heart skip a beat. It was a closed loop.

It was like trying to eat your cake and keep it on the plate at the same time. In the real world, absolute loyalty and ultimate romance never come in the same package.

Chapter 8 To avoid wasting too much time on Roman, and to make absolutely sure I never deluded myself into believing I was the Chosen One who could fix a player, I started making moves.

I deliberately shifted our dates to crowded, public places.

And whenever his frat brothers invited him out, I threw perfectly calculated tantrums, crying and begging him to stay with me.

That sent his little entourage into a fullblown panic. They were genuinely terrified that Roman had slipped up and let me slip a leash around his neck.

They were giving him way too much credit.

By the time they extended their fourth invitation and I launched into my routine crying act, Roman's minuscule reserve of patience finally hit rock bottom