"All that jealousy and posturing—it gets tedious. Debbie wanted to play games, so I gave her playmates."
"Sure."
"At first, she genuinely wanted someone who understood her. Someone who saw how hard she had it. But the moment any of them actually tried to touch her—"
He tapped one of the videos.
It was my third boyfriend. He'd leaned in to kiss me. I'd pushed him away, my face apologetic but firm: "I'm sorry. I just... can't."
Then I'd said the words.
"Let's break up."
Otis gestured at the screen.
"That's Debbie."
"Traditional to her core. Morality above everything."
"She's not capable of crossing that line. This whole thing was just to make me angry."
He opened WeChat next. Tapped on a conversation—my seventh boyfriend, reporting in.
"Mr. Sanchez, just as you predicted. The moment I suggested getting a room, Mrs. Sanchez looked at me like I was disgusting. Said I only wanted one thing. She ended it on the spot."
"Sir."
"Do you want me to keep pursuing her?"
I remembered him.
We'd shared so much—painting, art, even a love for silly anime. A month and a half of what felt like genuine connection. Then he'd suggested we get a hotel room.