My girlfriend sat down on our plush sofa, her dress still hugging her curves tightly. Her blonde hair was tousled, and her makeup slightly smudged. She looked disheveled, but there was a strange satisfaction in her eyes.

"I need to tell you something," she began, her voice husky. Her gaze was steady, her hands folded in her lap. She looked at me, her eyes filled with a strange mix of regret and satisfaction.

"I cheated on you tonight," she confessed, her voice low. My heart pounded in my chest as I tried to comprehend her words. She seemed almost excited as she spoke, the corners of her mouth twitching into a smile.

"Tell me everything," I demanded, my voice shaky. I needed to hear the details, to understand what had happened. She began recounting her night, each word etching a deep scar into my heart.

She described the man, his touch, the thrill of the forbidden. Her words were like daggers, each one stabbing me deeper. She was painting a picture of betrayal, and I was the canvas.

I asked who the man was, my voice barely a whisper. Her smile widened as she said his name, a cruel satisfaction in her voice. She had given in to her desires tonight, she admitted.