Conflict of Interest — 黎深, 夏以昼 Li Shen, Zayne / Xia Yizhou, Caleb / Reader, MC
When Zayne canceled your birthday dinner because of a medical emergency at Akso Hospital, Caleb came over to comfort you. Hurt, angry, and drunk on wine, you kissed him and regretted it immediately, hiding the betrayal from Zayne for a week. Unfortunately, when Zayne finally discovered the truth, your apologies fell flat. Zayne decided you deserved punishment, and Caleb would help carry it out.
warning: NSFW, f/m/m, possessiveness, sexual competition, cheating, 9.5k words
Zayne canceled on your birthday thirty minutes before he was supposed to pick you up.
You were already done up, having spent hours deciding what to wear and finally settling on a black midi-dress Zayne loved to undress.
Your hair had taken even longer. You couldn’t decide whether to tie it up or let it fall, and by the time his message came through, you’d redone it so many times that your arms ached.
Heart attack. I’m sorry. I won’t be able to make it tonight.
You read his message over and over, appalled by its simplicity.
That was all Zayne had said. Heart attack. You knew he wasn’t talking about himself. At Akso Hospital, someone’s heart had failed, and Dr. Zayne had been called to resuscitate the patient.
Even so, why hadn’t he had the decency to offer any further explanation, or even to reschedule? You understood it was urgent and, with some resentment, that it deserved his attention more than dinner did.
But on your birthday?
The one day a year when all eyes and attention were supposed to be on you, especially your boyfriend’s. You just couldn’t believe it.
You stared at the message until your phone dimmed in your hand, then typed back that it was fine and that you understood, though you did not. You typed that work must’ve been eating him alive, and that you knew tonight was not really about you.
Which was appalling, to say the least. It was both generous and false, and entirely about you.
You set your phone down and sat on the edge of your bed, pondering.
Gosh, how you wished Zayne were a careless person by nature. It would’ve been better for your anxious heart if he were one of those men whose shortcomings could be explained by a general lack of seriousness about his life.
But the truth was, Zayne had never lacked seriousness about anything. In fact, he attended to everything. He remembered every detail about you. Your moods, your habits, your medical history, and all the little things that made you feel prioritized. His concern would’ve bordered on obsessive if you had not found it so endearing.
That was why the cancellation hurt. He knew better and failed, anyway.
And although you knew it was unfair, your mind supplied Caleb as a point of comparison.
Caleb’s life was hard, too. His work was dangerous, and his responsibilities were no less demanding, yet he always found time for you. Birthdays, holidays, and ordinary afternoons that held no significance beyond your wanting him there — Caleb remembered them all.
It was an ugly comparison, one that made you sick to your stomach. Zayne had been called to save a life, while Caleb would’ve moved the sky to keep from disappointing you. Knowing that was unfair did nothing to ease your anger. If anything, it made you want to hurl, and the bottle of wine you had emptied while getting ready didn’t help.
You knew better than to do what you did next.
As if summoned, Caleb’s name appeared on your phone.
Caleb: How’s the birthday girl? Still out with Dr. Zayne?
You stared at the message.
Caleb had known about the dinner. He knew where Zayne was taking you, what time he was supposed to pick you up, and possibly, even what you planned to order. There were few details about your life Caleb had not extracted from you, either through persistence or the unfair advantage of knowing you for so long.
You should’ve left it alone.
Instead, you wrote back: No.
His reply came immediately: What happened?
You didn’t want to say much, only enough to relieve some of the pressure building inside you.
You: He canceled.
There was a pause.
Then: On your birthday?
The bluntness of the question made you stiffen. Zayne himself had not used the word birthday in his message, though he had known perfectly well what tonight was. You wondered whether naming it would’ve made the cancellation look worse.
You: There was a heart attack.
Caleb: His or someone else’s?
Despite yourself, you laughed.
You: Someone else’s.
Caleb: Sorry. Stupid question. If it were his, he’d probably operate on himself before canceling dinner.
You laughed again, though this time it hurt.
Then another message appeared.
Caleb: Are you home?
You hesitated before answering.
You: Yes.
Your phone rang. You watched Caleb’s name flash on the screen before finally answering.
“Hey,” you said.
“What do you mean, you’re home?” Caleb asked.
“I mean, I’m at home, Caleb. I didn't know that needed explaining.”
“You know what I mean. He really canceled?”
You leaned back on one hand, looking at yourself in the mirror across the room.
The dress. The hair. The makeup scattered across your vanity. The earrings you’d changed at the last minute because they seemed too flashy now looked ridiculous after all the trouble you’d taken to choose them.
“There was an emergency,” you said.
“Did he call?”
The shame of that was fresh all over again.
“No.”
Caleb went quiet.
You could picture the change on his face without seeing it — his mouth tightening, his eyes narrowing as Zayne committed an offense that Caleb would hold against him forever.
“He sent a message,” you added, already defending him. “He probably didn’t have time to call.”
Caleb was quiet again, as if considering.
“Have you eaten?” he asked at last.
You glanced at the empty wine bottle beside your bed. “No. Remember, I was supposed to go to dinner?”
“Stay there.”
You sat upright. “Caleb—”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
“You don’t have to come over—”
The call ended before you could finish.
Caleb arrived eighteen minutes later with takeout and a bottle of wine tucked under his arm. You recognized the label immediately. It was one of your favorites.
He stopped when you opened the door. His gaze swept over you once, from your styled hair to the black dress meant for Zayne to admire.
Then he smiled. “Well, at least someone gets to see the dress.”
Usually, that comment wouldn't bother you, but tonight, your neck grew hot. You stepped aside to let him in.
Caleb set everything on the coffee table, then noticed the empty bottle beside the glass you had carried out of your bedroom. His eyebrows shot up. “You drank all of that?”
“Not all at once,” you replied.
“That isn’t reassuring.”
You crossed your arms. “I’m fine.”
“You’re drinking water.”
He disappeared into the kitchen before you could object. When he returned, he handed you a glass of water and sat beside you. “Happy birthday. Under the circumstances.”
You accepted it with a scowl. “Thank you.”
For a while, you ate and talked about everything except Zayne. Caleb told you about work while you complained about the indignity of dressing up for a restaurant and eating takeout from your lap on your birthday.
He also made you laugh. Caleb had always been good at that, though there was nothing innocent about his determination right now. Every time your mood sank, he dragged it back up as though your unhappiness were his failure, and not Zayne’s.
Eventually, he opened the bottle he had brought and poured himself a glass.
You watched him. “I thought that was for me.”
Caleb glanced at the empty bottle near your feet. “It was, before I discovered you’d tried to drown yourself in the first one.”
“I wasn’t trying to drown myself.”
“What would you call it, then?”
“Celebrating.”
“That explains the festive expression.”
You held out your hand. “Give me some.”
“No.”
“Caleb.”
“You’ve already had an entire bottle.”
“I can still remember how awful my birthday was, so clearly, it wasn’t enough.”
His amusement faded. For a moment, you expected him to refuse again. He probably should have. He studied your face, poured a small amount into a clean glass, and handed it to you.
“One,” he said. “And finish your food.”
“Aren’t you bossy?”
“Someone has to keep you alive until Zayne finishes keeping everyone else alive.”
The remark made you wince.
You drank.
You managed to avoid talking about Zayne until the food was almost gone and the second bottle was empty. Then Caleb, who had only been waiting for you to feel better before making you feel worse again, returned to the reason he had come.
“Has it been like this for a while?” he asked.
You looked down at your glass. “Like what?”
“Zayne canceling. You sitting around acting like it doesn’t bother you.”
“I don’t know.” You swirled the wine in your glass. “His work is unpredictable.”
Caleb gave you a look. “So is mine.”
You looked at him. Caleb held your gaze without apology.
“It isn’t the same,” you said.
“Right,” he agreed. “It isn’t.”
“He saves people’s lives,” you went on.
“I know what he does.”
“Then you know he didn’t cancel because he wanted to.”
“I never said he did.”
“Well, you’re definitely thinking it.”
Caleb leaned back against the couch, one arm draped over the backrest. “You want me to tell you he had a good reason?”
“He did,” you insisted.
“Then why do you look like you’re trying to convince yourself?”
You took another drink, the liquid burning your throat. “Look, I know I’m being unfair. That’s the worst part. If I really needed him, he’d come. He’s always there when something goes wrong.”
“But you wanted him tonight.”
Your fingers tightened around the stem of your glass. “It just gets old, okay?” you admitted. “Being understanding all the time.”
Caleb fell silent for a moment. Then he said, “That sounds exhausting.”
You waited for him to say more, perhaps expecting advice or a defense of Zayne once his initial anger had cooled.
Caleb gave you neither.
He reached forward, took the glass from your hand, and set it on the table. “You’re done with that.”
You frowned. “I thought you came here to make me feel better.”
“I did. Alcohol poisoning would undermine the effort.”
“I won’t get alcohol poisoning.”
“That’s what every drunk person says before making their night everyone else’s problem.”
You glared at him. Caleb smiled, entirely unrepentant, and nudged the takeout toward you. “Eat.”
You took a resentful bite, which only widened his smile.
Silence settled between you. Caleb sat so close that his thigh pressed against yours, the contact warm and increasingly hard to ignore. You were keenly aware of him now. His arm stretched behind you, his breathing, the way he looked at you. His gaze had long since stopped pretending to admire the dress. It traveled slowly over the neckline, followed the fabric as it clung to your waist, then dipped toward your bare thighs before returning to your face.
Obviously, you had noticed. You just weren't sure why you wanted him to do it again. Was it the wine, the proximity, or the humiliating relief of having Caleb beside you after Zayne failed to show up? More likely, it was all of those things conspiring to cloud your judgment.
You spoke first. “I probably sound awful. I’m complaining because my boyfriend had to treat someone having a heart attack.”
Caleb shook his head. “You’re just upset because Zayne let you down. Call it what it is, whether it’s an emergency or not. Is he the only cardiac surgeon in Linkon?”
You looked down at your hands. “You’re really not going to take his side tonight, are you?”
“No.”
The answer came quickly. You laughed, but Caleb did not.
“What?” you asked.
His eyes stayed on you. “Nothing. You don’t want to hear what I really think.”
“Since when has that stopped you?”
A smile tugged at his mouth. “Fair point.” He shifted toward you, his arm still resting behind your shoulders. “I think you spend so much time making his life easier, that you’ve forgotten your life isn’t supposed to get harder by default.”
At that moment, you should’ve defended Zayne. Caleb was crossing a line. You should’ve reminded him that a dying patient hadn’t scheduled their medical emergency to ruin your birthday and that Zayne’s absence wasn’t proof of indifference.
And you knew all of that.
But deep down, really deep down, you were tired of being reasonable. Whether it was anger or the alcohol flooding your bloodstream, you couldn’t say. Reason had left you dressed for a man who was not coming, and you thanked Zayne for the privilege. So you sat there and let Caleb be unfair on your behalf.
“I hate this,” you said.
Caleb raised an eyebrow, confused. “What?”
“I hate that I know I’m being unfair, and I’m still upset, anyway.”
Caleb’s expression changed. “Being hurt doesn’t make you unfair.”
“No, but this might.”
You didn’t know what you meant until Caleb’s gaze dropped to your mouth and held there, his lips parting. Your mouth tingled at the sight.
This was the boundary. You ought to have walked Caleb to the door and reclaimed what was left of your birthday. You should've remembered Zayne at the hospital, his gloved hands over a failing chest, while you sat here resenting him for being a decent human being.
But you stayed where you were.
Caleb raised a hand to your face, giving you every chance to stop him. His thumb grazed the skin beneath your eye, then slid lower, tracing the curve of your cheek before settling near your mouth. You searched his face for judgment and found only want.
You knew then that this was Caleb’s final act of mercy toward you that night, and perhaps, his cruelest. He wanted you to believe there was nothing to be ashamed of, so that when he finally kissed you, neither of you would have to insult the other by calling it an accident.
What followed—and what you had not seen coming—was how quickly Zayne realized Caleb was the man you had betrayed him with.
The next morning, Zayne apologized for missing your birthday.
It turned out the patient’s condition had deteriorated, and what had begun as a heart attack had escalated to the point that an emergency procedure was required. Zayne admitted he should have called. He had meant to, actually, hoping the patient would stabilize quickly so he could salvage some part of the evening.
But the situation only grew worse, and by the time Zayne realized he would not be leaving the hospital anytime soon, there had been no time for anything beyond the message he sent you.
As you listened, your shame gathered all at once, hot and ugly, until you apologized to him in your head for a crime he didn’t even know you had committed.
Afterward, he asked what you had done for the rest of your birthday, and the shame surged back up.
“Nothing,” you said much too quickly.
You explained that you had just stayed at home, eaten, and gone to bed, and that was true. But then you added details he hadn’t asked for and repeated that, really, nothing had happened, saying it with a conviction that made the word itself sound suspicious.
Zayne’s eyes remained fixed on your face throughout it all, attentive yet puzzled by your insistence. After all, a person telling the truth would not have tried so hard to sound convincing, right?
The entire ordeal was gross. You kept expecting your guilt to outweigh your appetite. Surely, shame would (eventually) overcome desire, giving you the natural opportunity to look Zayne in the eye and confess everything.
Then you remembered Caleb’s hand on your face and the way he had kissed you until you forgot why you had been angry in the first place.
You also remembered how badly you had wanted him to continue.
A week later, Zayne rescheduled your birthday dinner. The evening arrived with dread. As you stood before the mirror, your hands began to shake as you did your hair.
That was how you burned your neck.
The straightener hit the side of your throat, making you jerk back and swear aloud. When you looked in the mirror, the mark was already rising under your skin.
You stared at it.
It looked like a hickey.
“Are you serious?” you asked your reflection.
Frantically, you changed into a turtleneck dress. The fabric rubbed against the burn with every nervous swallow as you fidgeted with the collar. This could not be happening, you thought. Zayne would be here any second, and you—
There was a knock on the door.
Every bit of blood drained from your face. You were still adjusting the collar, but you did not want to keep Zayne waiting. You straightened the fabric as best you could before opening the door to greet him.
His gaze dropped immediately to the high collar of your dress, and his brow furrowed. You stiffened before realizing what had caught his attention.
It was hot outside. Far too hot for a turtleneck.
Fuck.
“A bit warm, don’t you think?” he asked.
You looked down at yourself. “I didn’t like the other dress.”
His eyes moved from your collar to your face. “I liked the other dress.”
“You saw it?”
“You sent me a picture, remember?”
Right. Dumbass.
He leaned down to kiss your cheek, but at the last moment, you turned and reached for your bag. His lips barely grazed the corner of your jaw.
You pretended not to notice the surprise on his face.
Zayne did not grant you the same courtesy.
At dinner, you convinced yourself you might make it through the evening. The restaurant was cool; the air conditioner was blasting. Wearing a turtleneck in the hottest month of Linkon no longer looked stupid.
Then Zayne looked up from the menu and asked, “Are you sure you’re not warm?”
Your hand stopped at your throat. “What?”
“You’ve adjusted your collar six times since we sat down.”
You lowered your hand and said, "I didn’t realize you’d been counting.”
Zayne raised his eyebrows and said nothing after that, probably because you’d gotten defensive and he didn’t know why.
He closed his menu and set it on the table. His gaze then shifted from your face to your throat, where the edge of the burn had shown through the fabric.
“I’m fine,” you assured.
The server approached before Zayne could reply. Zayne ordered lemon jasmine tea with full sugar. You asked for wine, drawing another glance from across the table. Once the server left, his attention returned to you.
“Is there a reason you didn’t want to kiss me tonight?” he asked.
The question surprised you. You said the first thing that came to mind. “Don’t be dramatic.”
Zayne sat back, appalled now. “All right.”
You hated how you were acting. Zayne would let you ruin the evening if you wanted to. That was the miserable truth. He would sit across from you, eat dinner, and watch you lie to him with your entire body.
He was giving you the opportunity to stop.
You reached for a napkin, and the motion pulled your collar aside.
Zayne’s gaze dropped to your throat. He went completely still. “What happened to your neck?”
Your hand rose before you could stop it. “Huh? Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
You lowered your hand reluctantly. “I burned myself with the straightener while I was getting ready.”
It was difficult to lie to a doctor, even though you technically weren't lying to him. Zayne looked at injuries for a living and had no reason to be intimidated by yours.
“It’s a burn,” you insisted.
He studied the mark. “I can see that.” His eyes lifted to yours. “Is there a reason you thought I wouldn’t?”
Your brow furrowed, feigning ignorance. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Zayne—”
“You turned away when I tried to kiss you earlier,” he interjected for the first time, catching you off guard. “You’ve been hiding your neck since I arrived, and now you’re explaining an injury I already believe you accidentally caused. You want me to accuse you of something else, right?”
You looked away.
Zayne watched your face anyway. “What did you think I would assume?”
“Nothing,” you said. “It’s the truth.”
He shook his head. “The burn is the truth. The rest of this doesn’t seem so. What’s going on?”
Your mouth went dry; the confession that’s been haunting you for a week was on the tip of your tongue, but it refused to come out.
Zayne was still waiting. He had always been excellent at silence, with no desire to rescue you and certainly no inclination to let you get away with your lie unscathed.
“I made a mistake,” you said at last.
Something changed in his expression. “What kind of mistake?”
You looked down at the table, ashamed. “On my birthday.”
“What happened?”
You suddenly felt bad for instinctively downplaying it. You wanted to say you’d been drunk, lonely, and furious. You wanted to explain that Caleb had come only because you were angry at Zayne, and that neither of you had planned what happened next. All of it was true, but it wouldn’t make it hurt any less for Zayne.
“Caleb came over,” you said.
Zayne’s face did not change, but his hand went still.
You ignored it and forced yourself to keep going. “He brought food. We talked, and I’d already had too much to drink—”
“What happened?” he repeated.
You swallowed, feeling cornered, and confessed. “We kissed.”
For several seconds, Zayne said nothing, which did nothing to slow your pulse, beating so hard you thought it would burst from your chest. Then he said in a low voice, “You kissed Caleb,” and your heart sank.
He went on, “And you waited until now to tell me.”
“I-I didn’t know how,” you managed.
“Yes, you did. You chose not to.”
You looked away again, bile rising in your throat.
The server returned with your wine and set it beside you. The sight of it made you queasy. Zayne thanked them with perfect composure. You wished he had shouted instead.
He waited until they had left before asking, “Did Caleb know I canceled?”
You nodded.
“And that you were upset with me?”
You nodded again, though more slowly this time.
Zayne’s expression was cold now. Whether that coldness was meant for you or for Caleb, you could not tell.
Probably both.
“He called me,” you explained. “He asked how dinner was going, and I told him you had canceled. Then he came over with food—"
“And wine.” Zayne glanced at the glass in front of you. “You mentioned drinking when you told me about that night.”
Curse my big mouth. You had given Zayne so many unnecessary details in your attempt at honesty that you had unwittingly handed him ammunition.
“I had already finished a bottle before he came,” you tried.
“Did he know how much you’d had?”
“Not until he got there.”
“But he stayed, right?”
“He made me eat. He gave me water.”
“How responsible of him.”
You flinched at that. Zayne saw it and looked away, his jaw clenching. For the first time since the conversation began, his composure slipped.
“I-I’m not defending what happened,” you said. “I’m just trying to explain—.”
“Why Caleb came over? Why you were drinking? How hurt you were?” Zayne’s eyes returned to yours. “How about you explain why you kissed him?”
Your face went completely pale.
You had asked yourself the same question for a week and had come up with dozens of answers. You were angry with Zayne. You were drunk and stupid. Caleb had been kind to you when Zayne had been indifferent. None of those explanations answered the question, but right now, you decided to accept defeat and admit the truth, lest you lose your relationship.
“I-I... I just... I wanted to,” you said at last.
Zayne tensed. He didn’t seem to expect that. “I see… Did you want to before that night, too?”
You hesitated. There was truth to that, as well, but you weren't sure how much more shame you could endure in one night. “Zayne—”
“Before that night, too?” he pressed.
“I-I don’t know.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You do.”
You stared at him, exasperated. “What do you want me to say?”
“The truth, preferably, before I have to extract it one sentence at a time.”
You looked down at the table again. “Maybe.”
“And Caleb?”
“What about him?”
“Had he wanted you before that night?”
You glanced up. “I don’t know.”
Zayne gave you a look so unimpressed that you almost resented him for it. He was angry. You knew him well enough to know how much effort it took to hide it. Dr. Zayne would allow nothing to crack his demeanor, even as you watched yourself break his heart.
He spoke at last. “Caleb came to your apartment after learning I had disappointed you. He brought your favorite food and wine, spent the evening telling you you deserved better, then kissed you while you were drunk and angry at me.”
The order of events, laid out so plainly, stung. Still, in your stupidity, you tried to defend yourself. “That isn’t exactly how it happened.”
“Then tell me exactly how it happened.”
“He didn’t spend the entire night insulting you,” you said. “Most of the time, we talked about other things.”
“But he criticized me.”
You faltered. “Yes.”
“You allowed it?”
“Yes.”
“Did he kiss you, or did you kiss him?”
“He kissed me.”
Zayne nodded, though there was no relief in it. “And did you stop him?”
“No.”
“Did you want him to stop?”
You stared at him. The question was intimate in a way the others had not been. Zayne had moved beyond the existence of the kiss and into its private mechanics. What you had wanted, what Caleb had wanted, before either of you acted.
When you did not respond, Zayne asked, “How long?”
You frowned. “I told you. It only happened once.”
“How long did he kiss you, I mean?”
Heat rose under your skin. “I don’t know.”
“A few seconds?”
“No.”
“A minute?”
“I wasn’t timing it.”
“Mhm,” he said. “I imagine you were busy.”
Your face burned hotter. Zayne leaned back, studying you with an unreadable expression. He was hurt. That much was obvious, but something else was there as well.
“Where did he touch you?” he asked.
The question startled you. “What? Why do you need to know that?”
“Because ‘we kissed’ can be anything from a moment of poor judgment to the start of an affair.” His eyes did not leave yours. “I would like to know which one I am being asked to forgive.”
“It wasn’t an affair.”
“You hid it for a week.”
“I didn’t see him again.”
“Are you saying that’s the same thing?”
It wasn’t. Not even close.
“He touched my face,” you said.
“Only your face?”
You hesitated.
Zayne went on. “Where else?”
The memory surfaced with shame: Caleb’s palm pressing against your side, his fingers tightening as you leaned into him, the heat of his body as the distance between you closed.
“His hand was on my waist,” you said.
“And?”
“That was all.”
This time, it was true.
Zayne looked away toward the restaurant windows. Outside, people walked along the sidewalk, unaware that your relationship was being dissected at a table for two.
“Did you think about him afterward?” he asked.
“Yes,” The word slipped out before cowardice could stop it.
His attention returned to you. “Did you want it to happen again?”
You could hear your pulse. “Zayne—”
He waved a dismissive hand and reached for his wallet.
Your stomach dropped. “What are you doing?”
“Paying for the wine.”
“Zayne, wait—”
“I’m not having this conversation here anymore.”
Panic rose so quickly that you almost stood. “Are you leaving?”
His eyes lifted to yours. “I haven’t decided.”
It was the first frightening thing he had said all evening. He placed several bills under the untouched wine glass and stood. “Come with me.”
“Where?”
“My apartment.” His face had returned to its usual composure. “We are going to finish this conversation, and then you are going to call Caleb.”
Zayne let you into the apartment and locked the door behind you. The entryway light was dim, and his keys clinked as he set them in a dish by the door. You stood there, your bag slung over one shoulder.
He turned to face you, his eyes on your collar. “Let me see the burn.”
You hesitated.
“I already trust you,” he said. “However, I would still like to look at it, please.”
You set down your bag, gathered your hair over one shoulder, and folded the collar back.
Zayne stepped closer and turned your face toward the light. “A superficial thermal burn along the lateral neck. It should heal within a few days.” His eyes met yours. “I understand the injury, but not your reaction to it.” His thumb grazed your throat, and your breathing quickened.
Zayne paused. “Are you enjoying this?”
You went still. “What?”
“Being questioned.”
“No.” The lie had been ambitious. You had to give yourself credit for that.
Zayne lowered his hand. “You’ve been hiding something from me all week, and now that I know, you can't look away.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“Very little about tonight has been.”
You stepped back and folded your arms. His eyes dropped to your movement.
“Don’t shut yourself off now,” he said with a sneer. “You were willing to tell me where Caleb’s hands were. You can answer one last question.” He stepped closer. “If Caleb had kissed you again, would you have pulled away?”
You could not answer.
“That is what I thought. Did you enjoy telling me that?”
Heat rushed to your face. “What? No, I- I didn’t. I mean, I wanted to tell you eventually, but I—”
“You were ashamed to admit you kissed him, but not when I asked you how.”
Your breath caught, and your entire body suddenly grew warm.
“You remember where his hand was,” he continued. “You remembered it when you described it to me.”
“Stop.” The word came out weaker than you meant.
“Why?”
“Because you’re angry, and—and—” Your thoughts scattered under his stare. You looked away, but that only heightened your awareness of your burning face and uneven breathing.
“I am angry,” Zayne admitted.
“Are you trying to humiliate me?” you asked.
“If I wanted to humiliate you, you would not have to wonder.”
The reply sent a pulse of heat through you, tightening your thighs. Zayne stepped back into your line of sight. “Look at me.”
You did.
“Did you like the risk?” he asked. “Did you like knowing Caleb wanted you, even though you are mine?”
Your pulse throbbed. “Zayne, I didn’t mean to hurt you—”
“That was not the question.”
You stared at him. His gaze did not waver. “Do you like that I know?”
At that point, there was no dignity left to uphold, yet instinct still drove you to hide. Before you could answer, Zayne stepped forward, closing the gap between you.
His hand rose to your throat. “You kissed Caleb because I left you alone. Now you're in my apartment, responding to me because I won't let you hide.”
Your breathing had gone shallow.
“That is not merely confusion,” he continued. “It is appetite.”
He released your face and stepped back.
The sudden distance felt punitive. Your skin was warm where his fingers had been, and without him holding you still, you were painfully aware of the heat building beneath your clothes.
He held out his hand. “Your phone.”
You stared at his open palm. “What?”
“Did I stutter?”
Your pulse stumbled, then raced. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. You are going to call Caleb.”
Your knees went weak. For a moment, you thought you had misunderstood him, but Zayne’s patient hand stayed extended between you.
“Unless you have changed your mind.”
You had not. That was the worst of it. Even now, with shame crawling hot and the full consequences of what you had done, you still had not changed your mind.
Your fingers fumbled with your bag’s clasp. You took out your phone and placed it in his palm, unable to suppress a shiver as his fingers curled around it.
Zayne waited while you gave him the code, then unlocked the screen and found Caleb’s name. He handed the phone back to you.
The choice was yours.
You looked up at him, searching his expression for any sign he’d stop you. “What am I supposed to say?”
“The truth would be novel.”
You pressed Caleb’s name before you could lose your nerve.
He answered on the second ring. “Hey, pipsqueak.” His voice was warm and unsuspecting. “How was dinner?”
Your mouth went sour. You could not bear to look anywhere but at Zayne as you said, “It isn’t over.”
A beat passed. “What happened?”
“I told Zayne.”
Caleb’s voice lost its warmth. “Told him what?”
Your grip tightened around the phone. “You know what.”
The silence on the other end twisted your gut. Then he asked in a low voice, “Is he there?”
Zayne took the phone from your hand and held it to his ear. “Yes.”
Caleb stammered. “Hey, man, look, I don’t want any trouble—”
“That is not why we called.”
Another pause. “Then what do you want?”
Zayne looked directly at you, even though the answer was meant for Caleb. “For you to come here.”
Caleb arrived twenty-five minutes later.
Zayne sat in an armchair across from you while you both waited, with one ankle resting on his knee. He asked you nothing else.
When the doorbell finally rang, Zayne stood up right away and crossed the apartment. You stayed on the sofa, suddenly nervous about how the scene would look to Caleb: your bag on the floor, you seated in Zayne’s apartment with your collar still folded down, exposing the burn that had started it all.
Zayne opened the door.
Caleb stood on the other side, wearing a hoodie, and with his hair slightly disheveled. His gaze first fell on Zayne, then passed him to you.
He looked you over quickly, checking your face, your posture, and the distance between you and Zayne. “You okay?”
Zayne’s hand was still on the door as he said, “She is.”
“I asked her.”
“I’m fine,” you said.
Caleb’s attention stayed on you for another second before returning to Zayne. “Why did you want me here again?”
“To have a conversation that should have happened a week ago,” Zayne replied, stepping aside.
Caleb’s jaw clenched, but he entered anyway.
Zayne closed the door behind him.
The three of you stood in silence.
Caleb looked at your exposed neck and frowned. “What happened?”
“My straightener," you replied.
His eyes met yours and understood immediately. “That’s how he found out?”
“That is how she told me,” Zayne corrected.
Caleb looked at him. “If you called me here to make her feel worse—”
“She actually called you,” Zayne continued. "Come, sit."
Caleb removed his hoodie but did not sit. He draped it over the back of a chair, then folded his arms. “All right,” he said. “I’m here.”
Zayne returned to the armchair. “Sit.”
Caleb gave him a humorless smile. “I’m comfortable.”
“I wasn’t asking whether you were.”
The two men glared at each other.
You had known that putting Zayne and Caleb in the same room after the kiss confession would be unpleasant. Zayne’s cold authority would clash with Caleb’s refusal to be commanded by anyone, especially a man he already regarded as occupying a position in your life that might otherwise have been his.
Caleb sat.
Zayne studied him. “How much had she had to drink?”
Caleb’s expression changed. “She’d finished a bottle before I arrived.”
“So why did you open another?”
“I poured her one glass.”
“After she had already finished an entire bottle?”
“I made her eat first.”
“That was not my concern.”
“I understand exactly what you're concerned about.”
“Then answer it, Colonel.”
Caleb leaned forward, his forearms resting on his knees. “She knew what she was doing when I kissed her. She could’ve told me to stop.”
Your face grew hot.
Zayne kept his eyes locked on Caleb. “She kissed you back, no? Why didn’t you tell her to stop if you knew she was taken?”
Caleb glanced at you. It lasted only a second, but Zayne noticed. “Look at me when you talk,” he said.
Caleb glared at him again. “You don’t get to order me around.”
“Fine,” Zayne said. “But if looking at her makes it easier for you to lie, I’d prefer that you didn’t.”
Caleb let out a chortle, then looked directly at Zayne. “Because I wanted her. Happy, now?”
Zayne’s expression stayed neutral. “Just for that one evening?”
“No.”
“How long, then?”
Caleb’s eyes flicked toward you again. “A long time. Longer than you have.”
Your stomach clenched.
There he was, Caleb, walking into your apartment on your birthday, his desire for you disguised as food, wine, and concern. He knew you first. He had loved you first. In his accounting, chronology was ownership. Zayne was only the man who'd shown up so late that Caleb would’ve called him an intrusion.
Zayne absorbed the answer without showing any reaction. “So when I canceled, did you see an opportunity?”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “She was alone and miserable.”
“Did you go there intending to kiss her?”
“No.”
“Did you hope it might happen, then?”
Caleb did not answer. You knew that hesitation. You had used it yourself all evening, repeatedly and without success.
“Yes,” he said eventually.
The honesty struck you low in the stomach.
Zayne turned his attention to you.
You should’ve looked ashamed. You were ashamed. Unfortunately, shame was entangled with the memory of Caleb’s hand at your waist, the way his mouth had opened against yours when his restraint finally broke. Your body, having contributed nothing useful to the evening, chose that moment to remember everything.
Zayne watched the memory pass through you. His gaze dropped to your parted lips before returning to your eyes.
“Is that all?” Caleb asked.
Zayne looked back at him. “No.”
“What else do you want to know?”
“How you kissed her.”
Your breath caught. Caleb’s expression changed, surprise first, then speculation. “You asked her that?”
Zayne nodded. “She answered, too.”
Caleb leaned back, surprised again. Zayne stood, and Caleb felt he had to rise as well.
You stayed seated between them, your pulse climbing as Zayne crossed the room. He stopped in front of you and held out his hand. “Stand up.”
You looked up at him. His face revealed nothing, but you saw Caleb watching from behind him.
“Why?” you asked.
“I want to know whether you can follow a simple instruction.”
Under ordinary circumstances, the remark would’ve irritated you.
These were not ordinary circumstances.
You placed your hand in his.
Zayne drew you to your feet, steadying you with one hand at your waist. His palm rested where Caleb had touched you the week before. “You said his hand was here, right?”
Flustered, you nodded.
His fingers gripped the fabric. “And that was all, right?”
“Y-Yes.”
“Show me.”
You frowned. “What?”
“How he kissed you.”
Heat rushed into your face.
Caleb’s voice came from behind Zayne. “You don’t have to.”
Zayne glanced over his shoulder. “Now you are concerned about boundaries?”
Caleb’s expression hardened. “I’m concerned about hers.”
“So am I.” Zayne looked back at you. “Which is why I am asking.”
You could refuse. Zayne had given you plenty of chances to leave. Even now, with his hand warm and firm against your waist, he was still waiting.
“What happens if I show you?” you asked.
“That depends on what you want to happen.”
Your eyes moved toward Caleb. He stood several feet away, shoulders tense, watching you with the same hunger he had shown on your birthday. Guilt and anger were on his face now, but neither had lessened his desire.
Zayne followed your gaze. “Do you want him?” he asked.
You looked back at Zayne with defeat. “...Yes.”
Caleb inhaled. Zayne’s hand stayed at your waist. “What about me?”
“I want you, too. I've always wanted you, Zayne.”
Zayne’s eyes softened. “That’s the first honest thing you’ve said tonight.” He turned his head toward Caleb. “Unfortunately, I have a strong sense of justice and cannot let her go unpunished. Perhaps it’ll make me feel less guilty if you can assist. Colonel?”
Caleb’s pupils widened as he stared at Zayne, his mouth agape.
“That doesn’t mean I forgive you,” Zayne continued. “It doesn’t give you permission to claim her, either. If she tells either of us to stop, we stop.”
Caleb’s gaze moved to you. “What if she doesn’t want us to stop?”
Zayne gripped your waist again. “Then we’ll both have to face the reality of her desires.”
Caleb considered that, but looked to you for clarity first. Whatever authority Zayne had assumed over the evening, Caleb would not touch you simply because another man had permitted it. He needed your consent as well.
“Do you want me to?” he asked.
There was no dignified answer left. You wanted Caleb to kiss you again. You wanted Zayne to kiss you, too. You wanted the hand at your waist to hold you while another man's hands roamed over you.
To top it off, you wanted them both to know it.
“Yes,” you said at last.
Caleb crossed the room until he stood directly in front of you. His gaze swept over your face, searching for uncertainty. Finding none, he raised one hand and pressed it to your cheek.
The touch was familiar, painfully so, but the circumstances were nothing like those of your birthday night. Then, you had been drunk, hurt, and alone with him. Tonight, you were sober, willing, and within reach of the man you had betrayed.
“You’re sure?” Caleb asked.
“Yes,” you assured.
His thumb grazed beneath your eye, repeating the gesture that had preceded the first kiss. He leaned in, and his mouth brushed yours, offering one last chance for sense to intervene.
But sense, having been ignored all evening, did not make another appearance.
You caught the front of Caleb’s shirt and pulled him back.
His restraint broke at once.
Caleb kissed you deeply, one hand threading through your hair while the other rested at your waist. His mouth covered yours, with none of the uncertainty from the first time. He already knew the soft moan you made when his tongue met yours and how your body yielded when he drew you against him. Your hands moved up his chest, and his muscles flexed beneath your palms.
Then Zayne spoke. “Was it like this?”
Caleb’s mouth slowed against yours. You opened your eyes. Zayne stood a few feet away, one hand at his side while the other loosened his sleeve cuff.
Caleb's thumb grazed your lower lip, swollen now from his mouth. “No. She was drunk then. I was more careful.”
Zayne stepped closer and rested his fingers beneath your chin, turning your attention from Caleb to him. To Zayne’s surprise, you reached for his tie and tugged. He lunged forward with a gasp, catching himself on the sofa’s backrest.
His face came to a stop an inch from yours. “You are in no position to make demands.”
“I’m not demanding.” You pulled the tie again. “I’m asking.”
His eyes dropped to your mouth. “Then ask properly.”
“Kiss me.”
Zayne looked past you toward Caleb. A silent exchange passed between them, too slow for your patience.
You settled the matter by kissing Zayne first.
His composure held for about a second. His hand closed around your jaw, and his mouth covered yours.
Zayne didn't kiss like Caleb. Caleb kissed with a hunger starved by years of deprivation, as though every moan he drew from you vindicated his belief that he was the one you should have chosen.
Zayne was slower and more careful. He learned what you wanted while he gave it to you, adjusting the angle of your face and the pressure of his mouth until your fingers fiddled with his tie.
You gasped into Zayne’s mouth when Caleb pulled you back against him, the hard line of his body pressing along yours. His lips found the uninjured side of your neck, just beneath your ear, before moving lower.
Zayne's hands were now at your hips, gliding along the curve of your body beneath your dress. His palms rested beneath your breasts. “Take it off.”
You reached for the hem, but Caleb caught your wrist. “He wasn’t talking to you.”
Your pulse jumped.
Caleb gathered your hair over one shoulder, grasped the hem of your dress, and drew it up your body. You raised your arms, letting him pull it over your head. He tossed it aside.
Cool air brushed over your skin.
Zayne touched you first. His fingers traced the top of your bra before curling around one breast through the fabric. His thumb prodded your nipple, gauging your reaction.
You gasped at his touch.
Caleb’s mouth returned to your neck as his hand covered your other breast. He was less restrained, squeezing it and rolling your nipple between his fingers.
“Which do you prefer?” Zayne asked you.
Caleb chuckled against your skin. “Are you taking notes, Doc?” He pinched your other nipple, and a moan slipped out. Satisfied, he smiled. “There’s your answer.”
Zayne ignored him, slipped two fingers under the center of your bra, and pulled you into another kiss. Caleb unfastened the clasp behind you, and your bra fell away between them.
Caleb’s eyes moved over your body. “That dress was wasted on dinner.” He pulled you back against him again, and you shuddered, feeling how hard he was through his pants. You reached behind you and dragged your hand over Caleb’s erection through his pants. His breath hitched against your neck.
Zayne’s palm gripped around your breast. “You enjoy provoking him, don’t you?”
You glanced at him. “You told me not to hide what I wanted.”
“You're right.” His hand slid down your stomach to the waistband of your underwear.
The first touch between your thighs made your knees go weak. Zayne held you around the waist with his other arm, keeping you upright as his fingers parted you.
His expression changed when he felt how wet you were.
Caleb looked over your shoulder. “Well?”
Zayne’s eyes lifted to his. “She has been enjoying herself far more than her guilt suggested.”
Your face felt like it were on fire.
Caleb slipped his hand into your underwear from behind, his fingers joining Zayne’s in the tight space.
You gasped.
Their hands stopped.
“Too much?” Caleb asked.
“Tell us what you want,” Zayne said.
You swallowed. “I-I want you both to touch me.”
Caleb kissed just below your ear. “Like this?” His finger found your clit and circled it slowly.
Your hips jerked. “Mhm.”
Zayne pushed one finger inside you. A moan caught in your throat as Caleb continued rubbing your clit, their movements falling into an effortless rhythm.
Zayne added another finger. Your head fell back against Caleb’s shoulder. One of his arms wrapped around your waist while his other hand worked between your thighs, keeping you open for Zayne’s thrusts.
“That’s it,” Caleb murmured into your neck. "You're so wet for us."
Pleasure tightened in your stomach, making you cry out. Caleb gripped you as your knees threatened to buckle. “Keep going,” he told Zayne.
Zayne did not appreciate being told what to do. His expression made that clear, but he did it anyway. His fingers thrust again, faster this time, while Caleb circled your clit.
You clutched Zayne’s shoulders. “Please.”
“Please, what?” Zayne asked.
You looked at him, disbelief on your face.
Caleb laughed against your skin. “He enjoys making you finish your sentences.”
“I’m going to come,” you said, and Caleb’s circling moved even faster.
The pressure broke. Your body clenched around Zayne’s hand. The orgasm surged through you, sudden and violent, tearing his name from your lips. Caleb held you through it, his lips pressed to your throat as your hips trembled helplessly.
Zayne withdrew his fingers. Caleb’s hand followed, giving you one last stroke that made your body jolt. You sagged against him, struggling to catch your breath.
Zayne looked at Caleb. “She said my name.”
Caleb scoffed. “It’s early.”
The promise in his voice sent another surge of heat through your exhausted body.
Zayne’s gaze dropped between your thighs, then lifted to your face. “You still want both of us?”
Your breathing was uneven. “Yes.”
Caleb turned you in his arms and lifted you without warning. Your legs wrapped around his waist as he carried you toward the bedroom. You caught sight of Zayne following behind him, removing his tie with one hand.
For the first time, you fully appreciated your situation. You had spent a week wanting both men, treating that desire as if secrecy were the only immoral part of it.
Now, there would be no secrecy at all.
And judging by the way Zayne closed the bedroom door behind him, there would be very little mercy either.
Caleb lowered you onto Zayne’s mattress, his hands under your thighs, keeping your legs wrapped around his waist as he leaned over you. Behind him, Zayne shut the door. The click of the lock made all three of you pause.
Caleb looked over his shoulder. “Expecting company?”
Zayne removed his watch and set it on the dresser. “Just don’t want any interruptions.”
His composure was obscene. You were half-naked on his bed, with Caleb between your thighs, while Zayne arranged his belongings as if he were prepping for surgery.
Finally, he approached the bed.
Caleb straightened, though he did not move from between your legs. The two men looked at each other over you, their hostility now clear in neither man's willingness to yield your attention to the other.
Zayne touched your chin. “Tell him what you want.”
You teased. “You already know.”
“That answer has caused enough trouble.”
Caleb’s mouth curved. “He has a point.”
You looked up at him. “I want your mouth.”
“Where?” Zayne asked.
You flushed. “Between my legs.”
Caleb inhaled, smiling as he quickly settled between your thighs. His hands slid beneath your knees, opening you to him as his mouth traced a slow path upward. The first intimate touch of his tongue made your back lift off the mattress. Your fingers curled into his hair, tightening as you looked toward Zayne.
He was unbuttoning his shirt, eyes never leaving your face, when he held out his hand. “Come here.”
You reached for him. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you higher on the mattress without forcing Caleb to stop. The shift left you kneeling at the edge of the bed, with Caleb now behind you and Zayne standing directly in front of you.
Caleb’s hands dropped firmly around your hips, holding you in place where Zayne had left you. His mouth returned to its work, drawing a broken gasp from you.
Zayne watched your lips part and then touched your chin. “You wanted both of us, right?”
“Mhm,” you said between gasps.
His thumb glided across your lips. “Open.”
You obeyed without hesitation.
Dark satisfaction gleamed in Zayne’s eyes as his fingers slipped between your lips. The moment your mouth closed around them, his free hand threaded through your hair, holding you steady. What began as a slow rhythm quickly grew rougher, each thrust pressing deeper and returning faster. He watched your face throughout, refusing to slow his pace until the intensity brought tears to your eyes.
Zayne stopped at once. “Are you okay?”
“Mhm,” you managed.
Relief softened his expression. “Good girl.”
Caleb, meanwhile, had not stopped. The pleasure of his mouth made you moan around Zayne’s fingers, and the vibration drew a breath from him.
Zayne withdrew his hand. A thin strand of saliva stretched from his fingers to your lips before snapping. He dragged his thumb across your mouth, smearing the evidence of what he had made you do.
“Help me,” he said, his eyes dropping to his belt.
Your fingers were unsteady as you reached for the buckle, but you managed to unfasten it while keeping your eyes on Zayne.
“Keep going,” he said while you lowered the zipper, deliberately taking your time.
Caleb chuckled from between your legs and said, “She’s just teasing you.”
“She knows better." Zayne’s grip on your hair suddenly tightened, making you yelp. "Am I correct?”
He was. You did know better. You were just discovering that knowing better had never kept you from making a poor decision when the consequences looked like this.
You slipped your hands beneath the loosened fabric and pushed it down over his hips. Zayne stepped free, then returned immediately, leaving you kneeling before him while Caleb still held you open from behind.
Your mouth went dry. Zayne caught your chin. “You asked for this.”
“Yes,” you said.
“Then take it.”
You leaned forward. The touch of your mouth drew a low groan from him. His hand clutched your hair, guiding your pace as you took him deeper.
It was not the way he had demanded with his fingers. Zayne moved deliberately, his patience fraying every time your lips gave in to him. He slowed whenever your breathing caught, pressing deeper when you relaxed around him.
Caleb did not give you the same chance to recover. His mouth worked against you with renewed determination, treating Zayne’s loss of composure as a personal challenge. Your concentration shattered, and a helpless moan vibrated around Zayne’s member.
Zayne looked down. “Do you enjoy having both of us use you?”
The indecency made you falter.
Zayne drew you back to speak. “Tell me.”
"Y-Yes," you attempted.
“Then open.”
You did.
His control grew rougher after that. One hand was in your hair while the other cupped your jaw, guiding you through each forceful motion.
“Just like that,” he panted. “Fuck. Keep doing that.”
The command in his stare sent another wave of heat through you. You tried. God, you tried. Tears gathered along your lashes again, and Zayne watched them with an expression that understood the pleasure you had begged him not to stop.
Caleb’s hands then spread across your hips, holding you firmly as he grew less patient. Each lick of his tongue was faster than the last, driving pleasure through you before the last sensation had time to recede.
Your hands clutched at Zayne’s hips, fingers digging into his skin as the pressure inside you rose too quickly.
Zayne looked down at your hands. “Close?”
You made a desperate sound.
Caleb answered for you. “Very.” His voice was rough now, stripped of humor. He was no longer performing for Zayne or trying to prove anything. His attention had narrowed to you and the way your body was losing its rhythm.
“Look at me,” Zayne said.
Your eyes lifted to his.
“Let him finish what he started.”
The permission broke something in Caleb. His restraint vanished. The pace became unbearable, each sensation arriving on top of the last until pleasure stopped feeling like something happening inside your body and became the body itself. There was no room left for thought, shame, or the week you had spent regretting the first kiss. There was only Caleb behind you, Zayne before you, and the filthy circuit of pleasure passing between all three of you.
Your breathing failed first. Zayne withdrew just enough to let you gasp, but his hand stayed in your hair, keeping your face turned toward him. “Say it.”
“I’m going to—”
Caleb did not slow.
Your voice fractured. “Zayne, please.”
“Come for him,” he said. “But keep looking at me.”
That sent you over the edge. The climax tore through you so madly that your body folded forward. Caleb caught your hips before you could collapse, holding you against his mouth as every wave forced another cry from you.
Zayne kept you upright from the front. Your hands clutched at him, your eyes struggling to stay open while he watched tremors pass through you. There was nothing clinical in his expression now. He looked furious, hungry, and unbearably satisfied that even with Caleb’s mouth responsible for your pleasure, it was Zayne’s name breaking apart on yours.
Caleb continued until the pleasure became too intense. You twisted helplessly in his grip. “Caleb—please—”
Only then did he relent.
The sudden absence of sensation was almost as overwhelming as its presence. You sagged between them, shaking and breathless, held up by Caleb’s hands at your waist and by Zayne’s fingers threaded through your hair. The sounds of pants, sighs, and gasps lingered for a few moments before Caleb pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh.
“She came because of me,” he said smugly.
Zayne gave him a flat look. “She said my name.”
You closed your eyes and sighed. Even your orgasm had become disputed territory, and neither man could be trusted to judge it fairly. Both were far too invested in claiming the outcome.
A conflict of interest, then.
Well, at least Zayne finally gave his treatment.
apologies for the nearly month-long hiatus. i thought i’d return with a classic snowapple xxxsome, much longer than my usual fics. i hope to update more frequently!
also: i do not condone or romanticize cheating. infidelity can be deeply traumatic, and this fic is not intended to minimize that. this is a fictional polyamorous fantasy written for fun. if zayne were real, betraying him would truly break my heart...
AVAILABLE ON AO3 /
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
sincerely, supernova
